At the purple close of evening
careless Bacchus sleeping lay;
pirates, from the coast of Naxos,
bore him to their deck away.
When the slumb'ring god awakened,
wond'ring he beheld the deep,
while the pirates laughing told him,
boys should ne'er be caught asleep.
Haha, Bacchus! Haha, Bacchus!
Boys should ne'er be caught asleep.

As they jeered green vines kept springing,
rich as fed by southern gales,
from each plank their broad leaves flinging,
mingling with the cords and sails,
circling mast and spar like beauty
round the neck of warrior brave,
while the ship, unfit for duty,
lay all helpless on the wave.
Haha, Bacchus! Haha, Bacchus!
Who's the captor? Who's the slave?

All amazed, the pirates gazing
watched the clustering grapes ascend,
to the topmast spar aspiring,
as their riches ne'er would end.
Then the pirates, lowly kneeling,
strove to turn the boy-god's frown;
but the ship, like drunkard reeling,
with a sudden shriek went down.
Haha, Bacchus! Haha, Bacchus!
Fathoms deep the traitors drown!