All hail! All hail! Attis I sing,
the beautiful youth, the Great Mother's beloved,
who wears the splendid solar crown on his head,
and dances with light feet through the forest,
leaving a wake of fragrant flowers and new growth on the trees.
He plays a shepherd's pipe at the revels of Kybele,
driving the galli mad with the ancient Phrygian tune.
He smiles as they dance and leap,
tossing back heads of full, scented hair,
their women's skirts flowing like drops of blood in a clear pool.
Whirling about, dizzier and dizzier,
they transcend the flesh and touch God,
as he lifts them up to dance in the heavens,
the shepherd of the shining stars, Attis.
All hail! All hail!