Book 6
night then was in their secret; and at night
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the slopes of Rhodope resounded loud
with clashing of shrill cymbals. So, at night
the frantic queen of Tereus left her home
and, clothed according to the well known rites
of Bacchus, hurried to the wilderness.
Her head was covered with the green vine leaves;
and from her left side native deer skin hung;
and on her shoulder rested a light spear.—
so fashioned, the revengeful Procne rushed
through the dark woods, attended by a host
of screaming followers, and wild with rage,
pretended it was Bacchus urged her forth.
At last she reached the lonely building, where
her sister, Philomela, was immured;
and as she howled and shouted “Ee-woh-ee-e!”,
She forced the massive doors; and having seized
her sister, instantly concealed her face
in ivy leaves, arrayed her in the trappings
of Bacchanalian rites. When this was done,
they rushed from there, demented, to the house
where as the Queen of Tereus, Procne dwelt.
When Philomela knew she had arrived
at that accursed house, her countenance,
though pale with grief, took on a ghastlier hue:
and, wretched in her misery and fright,
she shuddered in convulsions.—Procne took
the symbols, Bacchanalian, from her then,
and as she held her in a strict embrace
unveiled her downcast head. But she refused
to lift her eyes, and fixing her sad gaze
on vacant space, she raised her hand, instead;
as if in oath she called upon the Gods
to witness truly she had done no wrong,
but suffered a disgrace of violence.—
Lo, Procne, wild with a consuming rage,
cut short her sister's terror in these words,
“This is no time for weeping! awful deeds
demand a great revenge—take up the sword,
and any weapon fiercer than its edge!
