Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, SONG OF THE SATYRS TO ARIADNE, by WILLIAM ROSE BENET

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SONG OF THE SATYRS TO ARIADNE, by             Poet's Biography
First Line: Round the ivied bowl
Last Line: To our queen divine!
Subject(s): Ariadne

The satyrs sing to Ariadne. She is deserted by Theseus on Naxos, where Dionysus sues and wins
her. The marriage-rout recedes into the forest.

Round the ivied bowl
Rapturous in revels dear,
Maidens all, wild of soul,
Gaily footing, curtsy here!
You whose wreaths aslant
Show faun faces 'neath the green,
In mad shaggy mirth the chant
Raise to this new woodland queen!

Airy legion --
O'er your region
Phoebus in his tent above --
Shower our singing
With your winging
Golden darts of mirth and love!
Brilliant feathered,
Birds of this our dream demesne, --
As your chant is,
Fauns, bacchantes,
Hail the queen!

Toss the flowery chains!
All the rosy rout delays.
Bronze, wild woodland swains,
Twinkling horns, the paean raise!
Cloven hooves, bare feet, beat time, --
Brown-coned thyrses, sway and swing
Round the riot of this rhyme
To our trolling woodland king!

As to Bacchus
In Lampsacus
Roared the festal fires by night,
Where mad riot
Shook the quiet
Of dark forests crimson-bright,
Let this even
Ruddy levin
Roll around our bonfires' blaze!
Hearts beat quicker
To rich liquor
Broached in woodland ways!

Now these covert aisles
Gloom from green. The furry folk
Steal to join our wiles.
Dusk from alder and from oak.
Hares and dappled deer,
Wonder-eyed they hem us round --
Forms familiar drawing near
Phantoms of their hunting-ground.
Rosy misting
From this trysting,
Maenads, whirled in dizzy dance --
Cymbals clashing,
White limbs flashing --
Lure your lovers, laugh and glance!
Dark-shanked, swarthy
Satyrs for ye
Gambol gleesome, cry and call.
The dim moon swimming
Night o'erbrimming
Drenches gleams o'er all!

Bound with green and gay
Flowery and leafy chains
On our swaying way
Rollick mirth with tumult reigns!
Sleep the fresh warm mornings through,
Sleep not while dark skies so deep
Dazzle -- myriad-starred -- our crew!
Casual day for sleep!

Night hath spilt her
Purple philter
From the wine-skin of the sky!
Waking, leaping,
Our unsleeping
Comrades of the copse draw nigh.
Shake the staining
Lees remaining
From your carven goblets! Fill!
By the soaring
Bonfire's roaring
Mirth shall have its will!

Queen new-won of us,
(Sun thy crown, thy face the moon,
Pale and luminous!)
Wane not from our sight too soon!
House not with thy glorious spouse
Till once more the flaming wine
Drench our throats and dash our brows
To our queen divine!

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