along by the gale. A little wine-god had fallen and lay in the yellow leaves, playing with his chubby legs, purple-red from the juice of grapes; he was crying because he had been left behind; then he succeeded in getting on to his feet, and tottered after the procession. . . .
The nymphs laughed loudly at the little wine-god; they dived under and beneath the rocks.
The wind blew, the yellow leaves whirled about.
And the wood became still and lonely.
