te
heavens, the firm soil, and the savage sea, and drave away the glooms of
night with his brisk and clamorous team, then sleep fast-flying quickly
sped away from wakening Attis, and goddess Pasithea received Somnus in her
panting bosom. Then when from quiet rest torn, her delirium over, Attis at
once recalled to mind her deed, and with lucid thought saw what she had
lost, and where she stood, with heaving heart she backwards traced her
steps to the landing-place. There, gazing o'er the vast main with
tear-filled eyes, with saddened voice in tristful soliloquy thus did she
lament her land:

"Mother-land, O my creatress, mother-land, O my begetter, which full sadly
I'm forsaking, as runaway serfs are wont from their lords, to the woods of
Ida I have hasted on foot, to stay 'mongst snow and icy dens of ferals, and
to wander through the hidden lurking-places of ferocious beasts. Where, or
in what part, O mother-land, may I imagine that thou art? My very eyeball
craves to fix its glance towards thee, whilst for a brief space my mind is
freed from wild ravings. And must I wander o'er these woods far from mine
home? From country, goods, friends, and parents, must I be parted? Leave
the forum, the palaestra, the race-course, and gymnasium? Wretched,
wretched soul, 'tis thine to grieve for ever and for aye. For whatso shape
is there, whose kind I have not worn? I (now a woman), I a man, a
stripling, and a lad; I was the gymnasium's flower, I was the pride of the
oiled wrestlers: my gates, my friendly threshold, were crowded, my home was
decked with floral coronals, when I was wont to leave my couch at sunrise.
Now shall I live a ministrant of gods and slave to Cybebe? I a Maenad, I a
part of me, I a sterile trunk! Must I range o'er the snow-clad spots of
verdurous Ida, and wear out my life 'neath lofty Phrygian peaks, where stay
the sylvan-seeking stag and woodland-wandering boar? Now, now, I grieve the
deed I've done; now, now, do I repent!"

As the swift sound left those rosy lips, borne by new messenger to gods'
twinned ears, Cybebe, unloosing her lions from their joined yoke, and
goading the left-hand foe of the herd, thus doth speak: "Come," she says,
"to work, thou fierce one, cause a madness urge him on, let a fury prick
him onwards till he return through our woods, he who over-rashly seeks to
fly from my empire. On! thrash thy flanks with thy tail, endure thy
strokes; make the whole place re-echo with roar of thy bellow