“Who mayst thou be, of mortal men? Most brave Art thou, yet never in the glorious fight Have I beheld thee. Thou surpassest now All others in thy daring, since thou com’st Within the reach of my long spear. The sons Of most unhappy men are they who meet My arm; but⁠—if thou comest from above, A god⁠—I war not with the gods of heaven; For even brave Lycurgus lived not long, The son of Dryas, who engaged in strife With the celestial gods. He once pursued The nurses of the frantic Bacchus through The hallowed ground of Nyssa. All at once They flung to earth their sacred implements, Lycurgus the man-slayer beating them With an ox-driver’s goad. Then Bacchus fled And plunged into the sea, where Thetis hid The trembler in her bosom, for he shook With panic at the hero’s angry threats. Thenceforward were the blessed deities Wroth with Lycurgus. Him did Saturn’s son Strike blind, and after that he lived not long, For he was held in hate by all the gods. So will I never with the gods contend.