In Springtime, O Dionysos,
To thy holy temple come,
To Elis with thy Graces,
Rushing with thy bull-foot, come,
Noble Bull, Noble Bull

In strange ways hard to know gods come to men.
Many a thing past hope they have fulfilled,
And what was looked for went another way.
A path we never thought to tread God found for us.
So this has come to pass.

In strange ways hard to know gods come to men.
Many a thing past hope they have fulfilled,
And what was asked for went another way.
A path we never thought to tread God found for us.
So this has come to pass.

The picture of the bacchante who stands motionless and stares into space must have been well known. Catullus is thinking of her when he tells of the abandoned Ariadne, who follows her faithless lover with sorrowing eyes as she stands on the reedy shore ‘like the picture of a maenad.’ Indeed, melancholy silence becomes the sign of women who are possessed by Dionysus. […]
Madness dwells in the surge of clanging, shrieking, and pealing sounds, it dwells also in silence. The women who follow Dionysus get their name, maenads, from this madness. Possessed by it, they rush off, whirl madly in circles, or stand still, as if turned to stone.

Receive the god into your kingdom
pour libations, cover your head with ivy, join the dance!

They sent forth men to battle, But no such men return; And home, to claim their welcome, Come ashes in an urn