Yes, I may sing the Thyiad crew,The stream of wine, the sparkling rillsThat run with milk, and honey-dewThat from the hollow trunk distils;And I may sing thy consort's crown,New set in heaven, and Pentheus' hallWith ruthless ruin thundering down,And proud Lycurgus' funeral.Thou turn'st the rivers, thou the sea;Thou, on far summits, moist with wine,Thy Bacchants' tresses harmlesslyDost knot with living serpent-twine.Thou, when the giants, threatening wrack,Were clambering up Jove's citadel,Didst hurl o'erweening Rhoetus back,In tooth and claw a lion fell.Who knew thy feats in dance and playDeem'd thee belike for war's rough gameUnmeet: but peace and battle-frayFound thee, their centre, still the same.