Girls and boys, with all your strength carry full baskets of the black-skinned grapes on your shoulders and your hips.
Cast them in the press and let naked men tread them underfoot and crush the new life from the bunches.
Let each one honour this good God with a vintage-hymn, let each sing such praises that every nook is filled with them.
Go and watch this flowing God, this God who laughs in the vat, the new God they imprison while he still heaves with rage.
So soon as the good old man has tasted this inspiring God, he dances gaily, shaking from head to foot.
And when some amorous youth glances too nearly at the breast of the shepherdess sleeping in the tree's shade,
Then Love, guessing his intent, favours the plan with a delicate zest and fires her bosom.
He comes to her, she repels him and is wroth, but he pays no heed; and at last so tames her that she yields softly in his arms.
Thus playful Bacchus sometimes dares to seduce and to surprise youth when filled with wine.