Sophokles, Choral Ode from Antigone
God of the many names, Semele’s golden child,
child of Olympian thunder, Italy’s lord.
Lord of Eleusis, where all men come
to mother Demeter’s plain.
Bacchus, who dwell in Thebes,
by Ismenus’ running water,
where wild Bacchic women are at home,
on the soil of the dragon seed.
Seen in the glaring flame, high on the double mount,
with the nymphs of Parnassus at play on the hill,
seen by Kastalia’s flowing stream.
You come from the ivied heights,
from green Euboea’s shore.
In immortal words we cry
your name, lord, who watch the ways,
the many ways of Thebes.
This is your city, honored beyond the rest,
the town of your mother’s miracle-death.
Now, as we wrestle our grim disease,
come with healing step from Parnassus’ slope
or over the moaning sea.
Leader in the dance of the fire-pulsing stars
overseer of the voices of night,
child of Zeus, be manifest,
with due companionship of Maenad maids
whose cry is but your name.
