At your word Pentheus wiped out, Lycurgus Too, of the double axe, ungodly men! And both undone—while you, awe-striking Bacchus, Threw Tuscan sailors into wave-tossed waters. Even now crowds follow where your chariot Leads them, the flash, the glitter of the Lynx- Drawn car—satyrs and women and even A drunken elder staggering with his stick Who leans, reeling, against the hollow belly Of his mule. Wherever you may go, the crowd Is there, the shrieks of girls, the shouts of boys, Tympanum roaring and the cry of flutes.
I'm getting some serious Jack Kerouac stream of consciousness here.
