Let us begin,
singing of the Muses of Helicon.
The great sacred mountain, Helicon,
belongs to them.
Around its deep-blue spring,
with gentle feet
they shall dance, worshipping
at the altar of Zeus, the mighty son of Cronus.
First they bathe their soft skin
in the stream Permessus, or in the Hippocrene [5]
(the Spring of the Horse) sprung by Pegasus’ hoof,
or in the sacred river Olmeius.
Then up on the peak of Helicon,
they put their feet into the dance.
They are beautiful.
With passion and grace, they move nimbly.
They rise up in excitement, high on the peak.
Under abundant mist,
in the middle of the night,
they chant the most beautiful music. [10]
They hymn to Zeus, him who holds the aegis,
and to her, Queen Hera, the Argive
who walks in golden sandals,
and to the daughter of Zeus the aegis holder,
steely-eyed Athena,
and to shining Apollo,
and to Artemis, the archeress,
and to Poseidon, Earth Holder and Earth Shaker, [15]
and to compassionate Themis,
and to Aphrodite with the darting eyes,
and to golden-crowned Hebe,
and to beautiful Dione,
to Leto and Iapetus and Cronus
(he of the famously evil stratagem),
to Dawn (Eos) and great Sun (Helius)
and shining Moon (Selene),
to Earth (Gaia) and great Ocean (Oceanus)
and black Night (Nyx), [20]
to the others of the sacred family of immortals,
they who live forever.
The Muses once taught Hesiod
a song, a beautiful song.
He was shepherding sheep
by sacred Helicon.
And this is the very first thing
the goddesses said to me. This is a direct quote
from the Muses of Olympian Zeus,
from the daughters of the aegis holder: [25]
“Shepherds are bumpkins. They are a disgrace.
They think of nothing but the next meal.
We, we know how, with lies, to tell a tale.
Lies that, in so many ways, resemble the truth.
We, we know how, when we wish,
even to sing flat-out about what is real.”
So said the clear-speaking daughters
of great Zeus.
Then they gave me the staff of authority,
a branch of luxuriant laurel [30]
they had plucked, wondrous to behold.
They breathed into me a voice
inspired, so I might celebrate
what will be and what has been.
They bid me to hymn the family
of the blessed, they who live forever.
They of the same, from first to last,
always sing.
And what have these things (more to sing)
to do with oak or rock, with what is real? [35]
You are blessed, so let us begin
with you, O Muses. You, to your father, Zeus,
sing hymns, delighting him,
the great mind of Olympus.
You say what is and what
will be and what has been.
Harmonious are your voices.
Sound flows effortlessly,
sweetly from your mouths.
A father’s roar of delight fills the palaces of [40]
Zeus (he who makes loud sounds) when
your delicate song, like a lily,
starts to spread itself out. It peals
across the peaks of snowy Olympus and
throughout the palaces of the immortals.
You send your divine melodies
in celebration of the revered
family of the gods. You start
from the beginning, when from Earth (Gaia)
and wide Sky (Uranus) they were born, [45]
they, the Titans, from whom the Olympian gods,
who now give blessings to us, came.
Finally, you celebrate Zeus,
the Zeusfather of gods and husbands.
It is he for whom you Muses begin
your hymns and end your songs.
You celebrate how he surpasses
all the gods, in power and might.
Along the way, you tell the story
of the family of humans, and of the powerful Giants, [50]
and in so doing you delight Zeus,
the mind of Olympus.
You, O Muses of Olympus, are
the daughters of Zeus, who holds the aegis.
In Pieria, she lay with your father,
Zeus, and she gave birth,
she, your mother, Memory (Mnemosyne).
Guarding the fields of Freedom (Eleuther),
she lay with him to forget her troubles
and to take a break from all her cares. [55]
For nine nights, strategic Zeus
(he made good use of his time) lay with her,
far away from the immortals.
In the sacred bed, he made his ascent.
But then the year went on.
The seasons turned, around
the passing months. A length of days
was completed.
She gave birth to nine daughters. Like her in mind,
only for the song in their hearts [60]
do they care. They do not carry
a competitive spirit weighted with cares.
Down a little from the highest
summit of snowcapped Olympus,
the Muses’ radiant choirs and beautiful palaces
are there.
Beside them the Graces (Charites)
and Sweet Longing (Himerus) dwell also,
ready for the festival. Lovely is the sound
sent forth from their mouth. [65]
In song and dance they celebrate
the laws and customs cherished by all
the immortals. In praise,
they chant out, lovely.
Then they go up Olympus,
exulting in their beautiful voice
and divine dance. All around them,
the dark Earth resounds
as they hymn. A charming beat
rises up from beneath their feet [70]
as they move towards their father.
He is King over the Sky.
He it is who holds the thunder
and the smoldering bolt.
He conquered his father, Cronus,
with that power. Then justly with each of
the immortals did he establish right order for all.
He guarded their honors.
Of these things (more indeed to sing), the Muses,
who hold palaces on Olympus, now do sing. [75]
Nine daughters, the Muses are
the offspring of great Zeus:
Cleio and Euterpe and
Thaleia and Melpomene and
Terpsichore and Erato and
Polyhymnia and Urania and
Calliope, who is the most
excellent of them all,
for it is she who attends
to revered kings the most. [80]
Whichever king the daughters of great Zeus
attend to with reverence,
whichever king they watch from
birth (since all kings are raised up by Zeus),
it is upon his tongue they pour
a sweet dew, so that
from his mouth gentle words
might flow. The people
all look to him. He comes
to decisions about the laws [85]
with frank judgments.
He addresses them steadfastly,
to quickly and skillfully end
even a great quarrel.
Kings are prudent. The need is clear.
The need for people
who harm one another is
an end to it.
In the Assembly there is an end to vengeful deeds.
Retaliation appears easily. But he talks things
over, persuades with soft words. [90]
As he walks into the Assembly, they seek,
as if he were a god, to win his favor
with gracious deference.
Among those assembled, he is conspicuous.
Such is the Muses’ sacred gift
for humans.
Thanks to the Muses
and far-shooting Apollo,
men on the ground
can be poets and musicians. [95]
But a king? He is from Zeus. And fortunate is he,
the king whom the Muses also
love. A sweet voice streams
from his mouth.
If anyone is suffering,
from a freshly wounded competitive spirit,
if anyone has a heart
dried out by sorrows, the poet,
servant of the Muses,
sings of the deeds of past humans [100]
in a hymn. In this hymn, he sings
of the blessed gods who hold Olympus.
At once anxieties are forgotten.
Not a single worry
is recalled. Quickly do they divert, they,
the gifts of the goddesses, the gifts of the Muses.
Welcome, children of Zeus.
Grant to me your charming song.
Praise the holy family of immortals,
who live forever. [105]
Celebrate those born from the Earth (Gaia)
and the Sky (Uranus), sparkled with stars.
Celebrate those to whom dark Night (Nyx)
and salty Sea (Pontus) gave birth.
Tell us how the first gods
came into being, the Earth and
the rivers and the never-ending Sea,
its raging surge, and
the shining stars and
wide Sky above. Tell us how [110]
the Olympian gods, who now
give blessings to us,
shared the abundance and
allocated honors. Tell us
when it was they first came to possess
Mount Olympus, with its manifold valleys.
O Muses, who hold palaces on Olympus,
say to me these things (the more to sing).
Speak to me, from the beginning:
who came first? [115]