The Satyrs – on Saturday Arise, Arise, you drowsy goats, it’s time for the hunt, raise up your horns, and drink. Sound the call with lusty voice, and run, run with the wine in your veins, run with us! I tremble beneath the weight of my own ridiculousness. The childish absurdities of my soul cry out to you, and you answer. Your laughter bubbles up in my throat. Your stomping dance leaps in my feet. I am unbound and filled with joy beyond all reason and madness. Great and terrible are the blessings of the Satyrs, graceless and beyond beauty. Insatiable gluttons for the greatest pleasures, may you be honored in the absurd pursuits of our deepest desires. Seek pleasure, seek greatness! Seek whatever you will, seek whomever you will! Let us chase you as you chase us, let us take you as you take us. Let us enjoy you as you enjoy us, let us open you as you open us. Pour your hot, heady wine into our throats and hearts. Erect your thyrsi, wild Satyrs, Hircine tricksters! Tongue the last drop of wine, and pluck the last grape, always calling out for more!
[Source and credits]
Orphic Hymn 54. To Silenos, Satyros and the Bacchia
Incense: Powdered Frankincense
Hear me Bacchos’ foster father and nurturer,
by far the best of the Silenoi,
Honored by all the gods and by mortal men in the same triennial feasts.
Pure and honored marshal of pastoral band,
Wakeful reveler and companion of the fair-girt nurses,
Leader of the ivy-crowned Naiads and Bacchantes,
Take all the Satyrs- half men, half beasts-
and come howling to the Bacchic lord.
With the Bacchantes escort the holy Lenean procession,
In sacred litanies revealing torch-lit rites,
Shouting, thyrsus-loving, finding calm in the revels.