Often, on the mountain height,
When the gay and solemn rite
Of the revels, with their myriad voices,
The immortal Gods rejoices,
Dost thou bring thy pail of gold—
Such a mighty vessel as the shepherds hold—
And with white hands dost thou press
From the full dugs of the lioness
Milk, a noble, noble cheese to make,
Round, unfailing, shining white!