Some of the tickets were square, others oval, with a bacchante's head in the centre.
"Paris under the Commune" by John Leighton
Women have been set free to be Bacchantes; they have been set free to be Virgin Martyrs; they have been set free to be Witches.
"All Things Considered" by G. K. Chesterton
A "Bacchante" is in the Museum at Agen; a portrait bust in the Museum of Alger.
"Women in the fine arts, from the Seventh Century B.C. to the Twentieth Century A.D." by Clara Erskine Clement
I am a vestal bacchante.
"The Man Who Laughs" by Victor Hugo
Plaintive at first were the tones and sad; then soaring to madness Seemed they to follow or guide the revel of frenzied Bacchantes.
"Voices for the Speechless"
The Bacchante of Frederick MacMonnies is in bronze in the Metropolitan Museum and in bronze replica in the Boston Museum of Fine Arts.
"The Art Of The Moving Picture" by Vachel Lindsay
We find the same instrument on all the monuments in the hands of the Bacchante.
"Three Expeditions into the Interior of Eastern Australia, Vol 2 (of 2)" by Thomas Mitchell
Some of these tickets were square, others oval, with a Bacchante's head upon them.
"France in the Nineteenth Century" by Elizabeth Latimer
You, a Bacchante of passion, to be puling about your sins.
"The Altar Steps" by Compton MacKenzie
But shall I be more like a Bacchant holding the thyrsus in my right hand, or in this?
"The Tragedies of Euripides, Volume I." by Euripides
But when she smiles she's here again
Rosy with comrade-cheer,
Puritan Bacchante made
To laugh around the year.
"My Lady In Her White Silk Shawl" by Vachel Lindsay
"And I am torn of jealous women's hands,
Because to my dead love I held me true;
Me the Bacchantes, over-drunken, slew;
Now, bodiless, I drift upon thine island sands.
"The Orphic Legacy" by Maurice Thompson
Some fever of the blood and brain,
Some self-exalting spell,
The scourger's keen delight of pain,
The Dervish dance, the Orphic strain,
The wild-haired Bacchant's yell,--
"The Brewing Of Soma" by John Greenleaf Whittier
With every autumn blossom,
And with the brown and verdant leaves of vine,
We have filled your hair divine;
From the cupped hollow of your delicious bosom
We have drunk wine, Bacchante, purple wine.
"Bacchante" by Clark Ashton Smith
Bacchante, with her vine-crowned hair,
Leaps to the cymbal-measured dance
With such a passion in her air--
Upon her brow--upon her lips--
As thrills you to the finger-tips,
And fascinates your glance.
"To Alexander Galt, The Sculptor" by James Barron Hope
You appear as a bacchante who has stolen by deceit
Martyrdom's green wreath of myrtle mingled with a maiden's pleat
Holy was the Virgin's spirit, prayer's very counterpart,
While a long spasmodic frenzy pictures the bacchante's heart.
"Venus and Madonna" by Mihai Eminescu