To the Curetes
Leaping Curetes, who with dancing feet
And circling measures, armed footsteps
beat:
Whose bosom's mad, fanatic transports fire,
Who move in rhythm to the sounding lyre:
Who traces deaf when lightly leaping tread,
Arm bearers, strong defenders, rulers
dread:
Propitious omens, guards of Proserpine,
Preserving rites, mysterious and divine:
Come, and benevolent my words attend,
(In herds rejoicing,) and my life defend.