Apollo leads the dance with his lyre
And glorious Leto’s son, in robes with the scent of a god,
Will go to Putho’s rocks, strumming his tortoise lyre
With a plectrum all of gold.
His instrument, under its stroke,
Vibrates aloft, possessed by that delectable thrum.
And thence he will go from the ground to Olympos, swift as a thought,
To his Father’s house, to mingle with all the assembled gods.
And the moment he comes, they must have the harp and must have the dance.
And all the Muses, beautiful voices in clear antiphony,
Sing the ambrosia that makes them immortal.
Then sing mankind,
What it must suffer, under the hands of the gods above it,
Living witless and helpless, unable, try as it might,
To find either cure for death or defense against old age.
And then the Graces, with exquisite braids, and the cheerful Hours,
And Harmony, and Youth, and Zeus’ Aphrodíte,
Strike up the dance, linking each with the wrist of the nearest.
Moving among them, hardly plain, hardly diminutive,
Tall, rather, her figure a marvel to gaze upon,
Is Artemis, Lady of Darts, sister to Lord Apollo.
Among them, too, are Ares and the vigilant Slayer of Argos,
Sporting together.
Apollo plays the tune for them all,
Radiant, footing it high and fine, and a flashing is round him,
A twinkling, out from his feet and his tunic of delicate weft.
Leto, with braids of gold, and Zeus, who is all-contriving,
Are mightily glad at heart as they look upon their son,
Their belovèd son, sporting there among the immortals.
Homeric Hymn to ApolloAnonymous, translated by William Mullen, lines 182-206back to Introduction to Classicism