Bacchos of the vintage, unfogettable seed, many-named and redeeming demon,
Holy offspring of the gods born in secrecy, reveling Bacchos,
Plump giver of the many joys of fruits which grow well.
Mighty and many-shaped god, from the earth you burst forth to reach the wine-press,
And there beome a remedy for man's pain, O sacred blossom!
A sorrow-hating joy to mortals, O lovely-haired Epaphian,
You are a redeemer and a reveler whose thyrsus drive to frenzy,
And who is kind hearted to all, gods and mortals, who see his light.
I call upon you now to come, a sweet bringer of fruit.
Incense: Aromatic Herbs
And your paths are secret, O joyous and chthonic ones, nurses of Bacchos.
You nourish fruits and haunt meadows,
O spightly and pure travelers of winding roads who delight in caves and grottoes.
Swift, light-footed, and clothed in dew, you frequent springs.
Visible and invisible, in the ravines and among flowers,
You shout and frisk with Pan upon mountain sides.
Gliding down on rocks, you hum with clear voice,
O mountain-haunting, sylvan maidens of fields and streams.
O sweet-smellin vigins, clad in white, fresh as the breezes,
With goat-herds, pastures and splendid fruits in your domain.
You are loved by creatures of the wild.
Tender though you are, you rejoice in cold and you give sustenance and growth to many,
O playful and water-loving Hamadryad maidens.
Dwellers of Nysa, frenzied and healing goddesses who joy in spring,
Togehter with Bacchos and Deo you bring grace t mortals.
With joyful hearts come to this hallowed sacifice,
And in the seasons of growth pour streams of salubrious rain.
Incense: Aromatic Herbs
Bull-horned Nysian redeemer, god of the wine-press, conceived in fire.
Nourished in the thigh, O Lord of the Cradle,
You marshal torch-lit processions in the night, O filleted and thyrsus-shaking Eubouleus.
Threefold is your nature and eneffable your rites, O secret offspring of Zeus.
Primeval, Erikepaios, father and son of gods,
You take raw flesh, and, sceptered, you lead into the madness of revel and dance
In the frenzy of triennial feasts that bestow calm on us.
You burst forth from the earth in a blaze... O son of two mothers,
And, horned and clad in fawnskin, you roam the mountains,
O lord woshiped in annual feasts.
Paian of the golden spear, nursling, decked with grapes,
Bassaros, exulting in ivy, followed by many maidens...
Joyous and all-abounding, come, O blessed one to the initiates.
Incense: all other things save frankincense- a libation of milk too.
Who, together with the fair-tressed nymphs, is roused.
In the sacred halls of Persephone he slumbers,
And puts to sleep pure, Bacchic time every third year.
When he himself stirs up the triennial revel again he sings a hymn,
Accompanied by his fair-girdled nurses,
And, as the seasons revolve he puts to sleep and wakes up the years.
But, O blessed and fruit-giving Bacchos, O horned spirit of the unripe fruit,
Come to this most sacred rite with the glow of joy on your face,
Come all-abounding in fruit that is holy and perfect.
Incense: Powdered Frankincense
Honored by all the gods and by mortal men in the same triennial feasts.
Pure and honored marshal of pastoral band,
Wakeful reveler and companion of the fair-girt nurses,
Leader of the ivy-crowned Naiads and Bacchantes,
Take all the Satyrs- half men, half beasts- and come howling to the Bacchic lord.
With the Bacchantes escort the holy Lenean procession,
In sacred litanies revealing troch-lit rites,
Shouting, thyrsus-loving, finding calm in the revels.
