Chorus
You made burnt offerings that were neither right nor holy, in the chambers of the gods,
[1355]
and you have incurred the wrath of the great mother, child, by not honoring her sacrifices. Oh! Great is the power of dappled fawn-skin robes,
[1360]
and green ivy that crowns a sacred thyrsos, the whirling beat of the tambourine circling in the air, hair streaming wildly for the revelry of Bromios,
[1365]
and the night-long festivals of the goddess. . . . You gloried in your beauty alone.