Tread we thine infinite treasure, Iacchus, the vintage sweet!
Weave we the Bacchic measure with paces of wildering feet.
Down flows the vast clear stream, and the ivy-wood bowls, as they float
O'er the surging nectar, seem each like a fairy boat,
Close we stand as we drink and pledge in the glowing wine--
No warm Naiad, I think, need kiss in your cup or mine! See, o'er the wine-press bending, the maiden Roseflower beams--
Splendour of loveliness sending that dazzles the flood with its gleams.
Captive the hearts of us all! Straightway no man that is here
But is bound to Bacchus in thrall--to Paphia in bondage dear.
Cruel--for while at our feet he revels in bountiful rain,
Longing most fleet--most sweet--is all she gives for our pain.
- Agathias