With a cup full of Bacchus’ best wine,
I hail the Giants, and Titans, and Gods,
and Monsters, and Labyrinth-dwellers,
and mighty Heroes and Heroines,
and Spirits of Earth, Water, Fire and Air,
the lusty Satyrs, the sage Sileni,
the wardance-loving Korybants,
the Nymphs who nurse him,
the Nymphs who love him,
the Nymphs who protect him,
the Mad Ones, the Hanged Ones,
the Kings and Artists,
the Blessed Initiates,
the experts in Orphic rites,
and the Dead who belong to him,
all forming an invisible troop
of wild spirits that march unseen
but clearly heard in Dionysos’ processions,
who race through the fields,
and forests, and city streets,
on certain especially dark nights,
in pursuit of victims of the hunt,
delighting in the chase,
driven to frenzy by their God, Zagreus
the far-roaming one, the master pursuer.
Hail, you Furious Host, and may you never thirst!