Hymn to Mercury

TRANSLATED FROM THE GREEK OF HOMER.

Sing, Muse, the son of Maia and of Jove,

The Herald-child, king of Arcadia

And all its pastoral hills, whom in sweet love

Having been interwoven, modest May

Bore Heaven's dread Supreme. An antique grove

Shadowed the cavern where the lovers lay

In the deep night, unseen by Gods or Men,

And white-armed Juno slumbered sweetly then.

Now, when the joy of Jove had its fulfilling,

And Heaven's tenth moon chronicled her relief,

She gave to light a babe all babes excelling,

A schemer subtle beyond all belief;

A shepherd of thin dreams, a cow-stealing,

A night-watching, and door-waylaying thief,

Who 'mongst the Gods was soon about to thieve,

And other glorious actions to achieve.

The babe was born at the first peep of day;

He began playing on the lyre at noon,

And the same evening did he steal away

Apollo's herds;--the fourth day of the moon

On which him bore the venerable May,

From her immortal limbs he leaped full soon,

Nor long could in the sacred cradle keep,

But out to seek Apollo's herds would creep.

Out of the lofty cavern wandering

He found a tortoise, and cried out--'A treasure!'

(For Mercury first made the tortoise sing)

The beast before the portal at his leisure

The flowery herbage was depasturing,

Moving his feet in a deliberate measure

Over the turf. Jove's profitable son

Eying him laughed, and laughing thus begun:--

'A useful godsend are you to me now,

King of the dance, companion of the feast,

Lovely in all your nature! Welcome, you

Excellent plaything! Where, sweet mountain-beast,

Got you that speckled shell? Thus much I know,

You must come home with me and be my guest;

You will give joy to me, and I will do

All that is in my power to honour you.

'Better to be at home than out of door,

So come with me; and though it has been said

That you alive defend from magic power,

I know you will sing sweetly when you're dead.'

Thus having spoken, the quaint infant bore,

Lifting it from the grass on which it fed

And grasping it in his delighted hold,

His treasured prize into the cavern old.

Then scooping with a chisel of gray steel,

He bored the life and soul out of the beast.--

Not swifter a swift thought of woe or weal

Darts through the tumult of a human breast

Which thronging cares annoy--not swifter wheel

The flashes of its torture and unrest

Out of the dizzy eyes--than Maia's son

All that he did devise hath featly done.

...

And through the tortoise's hard stony skin

At proper distances small holes he made,

And fastened the cut stems of reeds within,

And with a piece of leather overlaid

The open space and fixed the cubits in,

Fitting the bridge to both, and stretched o'er all

Symphonious cords of sheep-gut rhythmical.

When he had wrought the lovely instrument,

He tried the chords, and made division meet,

Preluding with the plectrum, and there went

Up from beneath his hand a tumult sweet

Of mighty sounds, and from his lips he sent

A strain of unpremeditated wit

Joyous and wild and wanton--such you may

Hear among revellers on a holiday.

He sung how Jove and May of the bright sandal

Dallied in love not quite legitimate;

And his own birth, still scoffing at the scandal,

And naming his own name, did celebrate;

His mother's cave and servant maids he planned all

In plastic verse, her household stuff and state,

Perennial pot, trippet, and brazen pan,--

But singing, he conceived another plan.

...

Seized with a sudden fancy for fresh meat,

He in his sacred crib deposited

The hollow lyre, and from the cavern sweet

Rushed with great leaps up to the mountain's head,

Revolving in his mind some subtle feat

Of thievish craft, such as a swindler might

Devise in the lone season of dun night.

Lo! the great Sun under the ocean's bed has

Driven steeds and chariot--the child meanwhile strode

O'er the Pierian mountains clothed in shadows,

Where the immortal oxen of the God

Are pastured in the flowering unmown meadows,

And safely stalled in a remote abode.--

The archer Argicide, elate and proud,

Drove fifty from the herd, lowing aloud.

He drove them wandering o'er the sandy way,

But, being ever mindful of his craft,

Backward and forward drove he them astray,

So that the tracks which seemed before, were aft;

His sandals then he threw to the ocean spray,

And for each foot he wrought a kind of raft

Of tamarisk, and tamarisk-like sprigs,

And bound them in a lump with withy twigs.

And on his feet he tied these sandals light,

The trail of whose wide leaves might not betray

His track; and then, a self-sufficing wight,

Like a man hastening on some distant way,

He from Pieria's mountain bent his flight;

But an old man perceived the infant pass

Down green Onchestus heaped like beds with grass.

The old man stood dressing his sunny vine:

'Halloo! old fellow with the crooked shoulder!

You grub those stumps? before they will bear wine

Methinks even you must grow a little older:

Attend, I pray, to this advice of mine,

As you would 'scape what might appal a bolder--

Seeing, see not--and hearing, hear not--and--

If you have understanding--understand.'

So saying, Hermes roused the oxen vast;

O'er shadowy mountain and resounding dell,

And flower-paven plains, great Hermes passed;

Till the black night divine, which favouring fell

Around his steps, grew gray, and morning fast

Wakened the world to work, and from her cell

Sea-strewn, the Pallantean Moon sublime

Into her watch-tower just began to climb.

Now to Alpheus he had driven all

The broad-foreheaded oxen of the Sun;

They came unwearied to the lofty stall

And to the water-troughs which ever run

Through the fresh fields--and when with rushgrass tall,

Lotus and all sweet herbage, every one

Had pastured been, the great God made them move

Towards the stall in a collected drove.

A mighty pile of wood the God then heaped,

And having soon conceived the mystery

Of fire, from two smooth laurel branches stripped

The bark, and rubbed them in his palms;--on high

Suddenly forth the burning vapour leaped

And the divine child saw delightedly.--

Mercury first found out for human weal

Tinder-box, matches, fire-irons, flint and steel.

And fine dry logs and roots innumerous

He gathered in a delve upon the ground--

And kindled them--and instantaneous

The strength of the fierce flame was breathed around:

And whilst the might of glorious Vulcan thus

Wrapped the great pile with glare and roaring sound,

Hermes dragged forth two heifers, lowing loud,

Close to the fire--such might was in the God.

And on the earth upon their backs he threw

The panting beasts, and rolled them o'er and o'er,

And bored their lives out. Without more ado

He cut up fat and flesh, and down before

The fire, on spits of wood he placed the two,

Toasting their flesh and ribs, and all the gore

Pursed in the bowels; and while this was done

He stretched their hides over a craggy stone.

We mortals let an ox grow old, and then

Cut it up after long consideration,--

But joyous-minded Hermes from the glen

Drew the fat spoils to the more open station

Of a flat smooth space, and portioned them; and when

He had by lot assigned to each a ration

Of the twelve Gods, his mind became aware

Of all the joys which in religion are.

For the sweet savour of the roasted meat

Tempted him though immortal. Natheless

He checked his haughty will and did not eat,

Though what it cost him words can scarce express,

And every wish to put such morsels sweet

Down his most sacred throat, he did repress;

But soon within the lofty portalled stall

He placed the fat and flesh and bones and all.

And every trace of the fresh butchery

And cooking, the God soon made disappear,

As if it all had vanished through the sky;

He burned the hoofs and horns and head and hair,--

The insatiate fire devoured them hungrily;--

And when he saw that everything was clear,

He quenched the coal, and trampled the black dust,

And in the stream his bloody sandals tossed.

All night he worked in the serene moonshine--

But when the light of day was spread abroad

He sought his natal mountain-peaks divine.

On his long wandering, neither Man nor God

Had met him, since he killed Apollo's kine,

Nor house-dog had barked at him on his road;

Now he obliquely through the keyhole passed,

Like a thin mist, or an autumnal blast.

Right through the temple of the spacious cave

He went with soft light feet--as if his tread

Fell not on earth; no sound their falling gave;

Then to his cradle he crept quick, and spread

The swaddling-clothes about him; and the knave

Lay playing with the covering of the bed

With his left hand about his knees--the right

Held his beloved tortoise-lyre tight.

There he lay innocent as a new-born child,

As gossips say; but though he was a God,

The Goddess, his fair mother, unbeguiled,

Knew all that he had done being abroad:

'Whence come you, and from what adventure wild,

You cunning rogue, and where have you abode

All the long night, clothed in your impudence?

What have you done since you departed hence?

'Apollo soon will pass within this gate

And bind your tender body in a chain

Inextricably tight, and fast as fate,

Unless you can delude the God again,

Even when within his arms--ah, runagate!

A pretty torment both for Gods and Men

Your father made when he made you!'--'Dear mother,'

Replied sly Hermes, 'wherefore scold and bother?

'As if I were like other babes as old,

And understood nothing of what is what;

And cared at all to hear my mother scold.

I in my subtle brain a scheme have got,

Which whilst the sacred stars round Heaven are rolled

Will profit you and me--nor shall our lot

Be as you counsel, without gifts or food,

To spend our lives in this obscure abode.

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'But we will leave this shadow-peopled cave

And live among the Gods, and pass each day

In high communion, sharing what they have

Of profuse wealth and unexhausted prey;

And from the portion which my father gave

To Phoebus, I will snatch my share away,

Which if my father will not--natheless I,

Who am the king of robbers, can but try.

'And, if Latona's son should find me out,

I'll countermine him by a deeper plan;

I'll pierce the Pythian temple-walls, though stout,

And sack the fane of everything I can--

Caldrons and tripods of great worth no doubt,

Each golden cup and polished brazen pan,

All the wrought tapestries and garments gay.'--

So they together talked;--meanwhile the Day

Aethereal born arose out of the flood

Of flowing Ocean, bearing light to men.

Apollo passed toward the sacred wood,

Which from the inmost depths of its green glen

Echoes the voice of Neptune,--and there stood

On the same spot in green Onchestus then

That same old animal, the vine-dresser,

Who was employed hedging his vineyard there.

Latona's glorious Son began:--'I pray

Tell, ancient hedger of Onchestus green,

Whether a drove of kine has passed this way,

All heifers with crooked horns? for they have been

Stolen from the herd in high Pieria,

Where a black bull was fed apart, between

Two woody mountains in a neighbouring glen,

And four fierce dogs watched there, unanimous as men.

'And what is strange, the author of this theft

Has stolen the fatted heifers every one,

But the four dogs and the black bull are left:--

Stolen they were last night at set of sun,

Of their soft beds and their sweet food bereft.--

Now tell me, man born ere the world begun,

Have you seen any one pass with the cows?'--

To whom the man of overhanging brows:

'My friend, it would require no common skill

Justly to speak of everything I see:

On various purposes of good or ill

Many pass by my vineyard,--and to me

'Tis difficult to know the invisible

Thoughts, which in all those many minds may be:--

Thus much alone I certainly can say,

I tilled these vines till the decline of day,

'And then I thought I saw, but dare not speak

With certainty of such a wondrous thing,

A child, who could not have been born a week,

Those fair-horned cattle closely following,

And in his hand he held a polished stick:

And, as on purpose, he walked wavering

From one side to the other of the road,

And with his face opposed the steps he trod.'

Apollo hearing this, passed quickly on--

No winged omen could have shown more clear

That the deceiver was his father's son.

So the God wraps a purple atmosphere

Around his shoulders, and like fire is gone

To famous Pylos, seeking his kine there,

And found their track and his, yet hardly cold,

And cried--'What wonder do mine eyes behold!

'Here are the footsteps of the horned herd

Turned back towards their fields of asphodel;--

But THESE are not the tracks of beast or bird,

Gray wolf, or bear, or lion of the dell,

Or maned Centaur--sand was never stirred

By man or woman thus! Inexplicable!

Who with unwearied feet could e'er impress

The sand with such enormous vestiges?

'That was most strange--but this is stranger still!'

Thus having said, Phoebus impetuously

Sought high Cyllene's forest-cinctured hill,

And the deep cavern where dark shadows lie,

And where the ambrosial nymph with happy will

Bore the Saturnian's love-child, Mercury--

And a delightful odour from the dew

Of the hill pastures, at his coming, flew.

And Phoebus stooped under the craggy roof

Arched over the dark cavern:--Maia's child

Perceived that he came angry, far aloof,

About the cows of which he had been beguiled;

And over him the fine and fragrant woof

Of his ambrosial swaddling-clothes he piled--

As among fire-brands lies a burning spark

Covered, beneath the ashes cold and dark.

There, like an infant who had sucked his fill

And now was newly washed and put to bed,

Awake, but courting sleep with weary will,

And gathered in a lump, hands, feet, and head,

He lay, and his beloved tortoise still

He grasped and held under his shoulder-blade.

Phoebus the lovely mountain-goddess knew,

Not less her subtle, swindling baby, who

Lay swathed in his sly wiles. Round every crook

Of the ample cavern, for his kine, Apollo

Looked sharp; and when he saw them not, he took

The glittering key, and opened three great hollow

Recesses in the rock--where many a nook

Was filled with the sweet food immortals swallow,

And mighty heaps of silver and of gold

Were piled within--a wonder to behold!

And white and silver robes, all overwrought

With cunning workmanship of tracery sweet--

Except among the Gods there can be nought

In the wide world to be compared with it.

Latona's offspring, after having sought

His herds in every corner, thus did greet

Great Hermes:--'Little cradled rogue, declare

Of my illustrious heifers, where they are!

'Speak quickly! or a quarrel between us

Must rise, and the event will be, that I

Shall hurl you into dismal Tartarus,

In fiery gloom to dwell eternally;

Nor shall your father nor your mother loose

The bars of that black dungeon--utterly

You shall be cast out from the light of day,

To rule the ghosts of men, unblessed as they.

To whom thus Hermes slily answered:--'Son

Of great Latona, what a speech is this!

Why come you here to ask me what is done

With the wild oxen which it seems you miss?

I have not seen them, nor from any one

Have heard a word of the whole business;

If you should promise an immense reward,

I could not tell more than you now have heard.

'An ox-stealer should be both tall and strong,

And I am but a little new-born thing,

Who, yet at least, can think of nothing wrong:--

My business is to suck, and sleep, and fling

The cradle-clothes about me all day long,--

Or half asleep, hear my sweet mother sing,

And to be washed in water clean and warm,

And hushed and kissed and kept secure from harm.

'O, let not e'er this quarrel be averred!

The astounded Gods would laugh at you, if e'er

You should allege a story so absurd

As that a new-born infant forth could fare

Out of his home after a savage herd.

I was born yesterday--my small feet are

Too tender for the roads so hard and rough:--

And if you think that this is not enough,

I swear a great oath, by my father's head,

That I stole not your cows, and that I know

Of no one else, who might, or could, or did.--

Whatever things cows are, I do not know,

For I have only heard the name.'--This said

He winked as fast as could be, and his brow

Was wrinkled, and a whistle loud gave he,

Like one who hears some strange absurdity.

Apollo gently smiled and said:--'Ay, ay,--

You cunning little rascal, you will bore

Many a rich man's house, and your array

Of thieves will lay their siege before his door,

Silent as night, in night; and many a day

In the wild glens rough shepherds will deplore

That you or yours, having an appetite,

Met with their cattle, comrade of the night!

'And this among the Gods shall be your gift,

To be considered as the lord of those

Who swindle, house-break, sheep-steal, and shop-lift;--

But now if you would not your last sleep doze;

Crawl out!'--Thus saying, Phoebus did uplift

The subtle infant in his swaddling clothes,

And in his arms, according to his wont,

A scheme devised the illustrious Argiphont.

...

...

And sneezed and shuddered--Phoebus on the grass

Him threw, and whilst all that he had designed

He did perform--eager although to pass,

Apollo darted from his mighty mind

Towards the subtle babe the following scoff:--

'Do not imagine this will get you off,

'You little swaddled child of Jove and May!

And seized him:--'By this omen I shall trace

My noble herds, and you shall lead the way.'--

Cyllenian Hermes from the grassy place,

Like one in earnest haste to get away,

Rose, and with hands lifted towards his face

Round both his ears up from his shoulders drew

His swaddling clothes, and--'What mean you to do

'With me, you unkind God?'--said Mercury:

'Is it about these cows you tease me so?

I wish the race of cows were perished!--I

Stole not your cows--I do not even know

What things cows are. Alas! I well may sigh

That since I came into this world of woe,

I should have ever heard the name of one--

But I appeal to the Saturnian's throne.'

Thus Phoebus and the vagrant Mercury

Talked without coming to an explanation,

With adverse purpose. As for Phoebus, he

Sought not revenge, but only information,

And Hermes tried with lies and roguery

To cheat Apollo.--But when no evasion

Served--for the cunning one his match had found--

He paced on first over the sandy ground.

...

He of the Silver Bow the child of Jove

Followed behind, till to their heavenly Sire

Came both his children, beautiful as Love,

And from his equal balance did require

A judgement in the cause wherein they strove.

O'er odorous Olympus and its snows

A murmuring tumult as they came arose,--

And from the folded depths of the great Hill,

While Hermes and Apollo reverent stood

Before Jove's throne, the indestructible

Immortals rushed in mighty multitude;

And whilst their seats in order due they fill,

The lofty Thunderer in a careless mood

To Phoebus said:--'Whence drive you this sweet prey,

This herald-baby, born but yesterday?--

'A most important subject, trifler, this

To lay before the Gods!'--'Nay, Father, nay,

When you have understood the business,

Say not that I alone am fond of prey.

I found this little boy in a recess

Under Cyllene's mountains far away--

A manifest and most apparent thief,

A scandalmonger beyond all belief.

'I never saw his like either in Heaven

Or upon earth for knavery or craft:--

Out of the field my cattle yester-even,

By the low shore on which the loud sea laughed,

He right down to the river-ford had driven;

And mere astonishment would make you daft

To see the double kind of footsteps strange

He has impressed wherever he did range.

'The cattle's track on the black dust, full well

Is evident, as if they went towards

The place from which they came--that asphodel

Meadow, in which I feed my many herds,--

HIS steps were most incomprehensible--

I know not how I can describe in words

Those tracks--he could have gone along the sands

Neither upon his feet nor on his hands;--

'He must have had some other stranger mode

Of moving on: those vestiges immense,

Far as I traced them on the sandy road,

Seemed like the trail of oak-toppings:--but thence

No mark nor track denoting where they trod

The hard ground gave:--but, working at his fence,

A mortal hedger saw him as he passed

To Pylos, with the cows, in fiery haste.

'I found that in the dark he quietly

Had sacrificed some cows, and before light

Had thrown the ashes all dispersedly

About the road--then, still as gloomy night,

Had crept into his cradle, either eye

Rubbing, and cogitating some new sleight.

No eagle could have seen him as he lay

Hid in his cavern from the peering day.

'I taxed him with the fact, when he averred

Most solemnly that he did neither see

Nor even had in any manner heard

Of my lost cows, whatever things cows be;

Nor could he tell, though offered a reward,

Not even who could tell of them to me.'

So speaking, Phoebus sate; and Hermes then

Addressed the Supreme Lord of Gods and Men:--

'Great Father, you know clearly beforehand

That all which I shall say to you is sooth;

I am a most veracious person, and

Totally unacquainted with untruth.

At sunrise Phoebus came, but with no band

Of Gods to bear him witness, in great wrath,

To my abode, seeking his heifers there,

And saying that I must show him where they are,

'Or he would hurl me down the dark abyss.

I know that every Apollonian limb

Is clothed with speed and might and manliness,

As a green bank with flowers--but unlike him

I was born yesterday, and you may guess

He well knew this when he indulged the whim

Of bullying a poor little new-born thing

That slept, and never thought of cow-driving.

'Am I like a strong fellow who steals kine?

Believe me, dearest Father--such you are--

This driving of the herds is none of mine;

Across my threshold did I wander ne'er,

So may I thrive! I reverence the divine

Sun and the Gods, and I love you, and care

Even for this hard accuser--who must know

I am as innocent as they or you.

'I swear by these most gloriously-wrought portals

(It is, you will allow, an oath of might)

Through which the multitude of the Immortals

Pass and repass forever, day and night,

Devising schemes for the affairs of mortals--

I am guiltless; and I will requite,

Although mine enemy be great and strong,

His cruel threat--do thou defend the young!'

So speaking, the Cyllenian Argiphont

Winked, as if now his adversary was fitted:--

And Jupiter, according to his wont,

Laughed heartily to hear the subtle-witted

Infant give such a plausible account,

And every word a lie. But he remitted

Judgement at present--and his exhortation

Was, to compose the affair by arbitration.

And they by mighty Jupiter were bidden

To go forth with a single purpose both,

Neither the other chiding nor yet chidden:

And Mercury with innocence and truth

To lead the way, and show where he had hidden

The mighty heifers.--Hermes, nothing loth,

Obeyed the Aegis-bearer's will--for he

Is able to persuade all easily.

These lovely children of Heaven's highest Lord

Hastened to Pylos and the pastures wide

And lofty stalls by the Alphean ford,

Where wealth in the mute night is multiplied

With silent growth. Whilst Hermes drove the herd

Out of the stony cavern, Phoebus spied

The hides of those the little babe had slain,

Stretched on the precipice above the plain.

'How was it possible,' then Phoebus said,

'That you, a little child, born yesterday,

A thing on mother's milk and kisses fed,

Could two prodigious heifers ever flay?

Even I myself may well hereafter dread

Your prowess, offspring of Cyllenian May,

When you grow strong and tall.'--He spoke, and bound

Stiff withy bands the infant's wrists around.

He might as well have bound the oxen wild;

The withy bands, though starkly interknit,

Fell at the feet of the immortal child,

Loosened by some device of his quick wit.

Phoebus perceived himself again beguiled,

And stared--while Hermes sought some hole or pit,

Looking askance and winking fast as thought,

Where he might hide himself and not be caught.

Sudden he changed his plan, and with strange skill

Subdued the strong Latonian, by the might

Of winning music, to his mightier will;

His left hand held the lyre, and in his right

The plectrum struck the chords--unconquerable

Up from beneath his hand in circling flight

The gathering music rose--and sweet as Love

The penetrating notes did live and move

Within the heart of great Apollo--he

Listened with all his soul, and laughed for pleasure.

Close to his side stood harping fearlessly

The unabashed boy; and to the measure

Of the sweet lyre, there followed loud and free

His joyous voice; for he unlocked the treasure

Of his deep song, illustrating the birth

Of the bright Gods, and the dark desert Earth:

And how to the Immortals every one

A portion was assigned of all that is;

But chief Mnemosyne did Maia's son

Clothe in the light of his loud melodies;--

And, as each God was born or had begun,

He in their order due and fit degrees

Sung of his birth and being--and did move

Apollo to unutterable love.

These words were winged with his swift delight:

'You heifer-stealing schemer, well do you

Deserve that fifty oxen should requite

Such minstrelsies as I have heard even now.

Comrade of feasts, little contriving wight,

One of your secrets I would gladly know,

Whether the glorious power you now show forth

Was folded up within you at your birth,

'Or whether mortal taught or God inspired

The power of unpremeditated song?

Many divinest sounds have I admired,

The Olympian Gods and mortal men among;

But such a strain of wondrous, strange, untired,

And soul-awakening music, sweet and strong,

Yet did I never hear except from thee,

Offspring of May, impostor Mercury!

'What Muse, what skill, what unimagined use,

What exercise of subtlest art, has given

Thy songs such power?--for those who hear may choose

From three, the choicest of the gifts of Heaven,

Delight, and love, and sleep,--sweet sleep, whose dews

Are sweeter than the balmy tears of even:--

And I, who speak this praise, am that Apollo

Whom the Olympian Muses ever follow:

'And their delight is dance, and the blithe noise

Of song and overflowing poesy;

And sweet, even as desire, the liquid voice

Of pipes, that fills the clear air thrillingly;

But never did my inmost soul rejoice

In this dear work of youthful revelry

As now. I wonder at thee, son of Jove;

Thy harpings and thy song are soft as love.

'Now since thou hast, although so very small,

Science of arts so glorious, thus I swear,--

And let this cornel javelin, keen and tall,

Witness between us what I promise here,--

That I will lead thee to the Olympian Hall,

Honoured and mighty, with thy mother dear,

And many glorious gifts in joy will give thee,

And even at the end will ne'er deceive thee.'

To whom thus Mercury with prudent speech:--

'Wisely hast thou inquired of my skill:

I envy thee no thing I know to teach

Even this day:--for both in word and will

I would be gentle with thee; thou canst reach

All things in thy wise spirit, and thy sill

Is highest in Heaven among the sons of Jove,

Who loves thee in the fulness of his love.

'The Counsellor Supreme has given to thee

Divinest gifts, out of the amplitude

Of his profuse exhaustless treasury;

By thee, 'tis said, the depths are understood

Of his far voice; by thee the mystery

Of all oracular fates,--and the dread mood

Of the diviner is breathed up; even I--

A child--perceive thy might and majesty.

'Thou canst seek out and compass all that wit

Can find or teach;--yet since thou wilt, come take

The lyre--be mine the glory giving it--

Strike the sweet chords, and sing aloud, and wake

Thy joyous pleasure out of many a fit

Of tranced sound--and with fleet fingers make

Thy liquid-voiced comrade talk with thee,--

It can talk measured music eloquently.

'Then bear it boldly to the revel loud,

Love-wakening dance, or feast of solemn state,

A joy by night or day--for those endowed

With art and wisdom who interrogate

It teaches, babbling in delightful mood

All things which make the spirit most elate,

Soothing the mind with sweet familiar play,

Chasing the heavy shadows of dismay.

'To those who are unskilled in its sweet tongue,

Though they should question most impetuously

Its hidden soul, it gossips something wrong--

Some senseless and impertinent reply.

But thou who art as wise as thou art strong

Canst compass all that thou desirest. I

Present thee with this music-flowing shell,

Knowing thou canst interrogate it well.

'And let us two henceforth together feed,

On this green mountain-slope and pastoral plain,

The herds in litigation--they will breed

Quickly enough to recompense our pain,

If to the bulls and cows we take good heed;--

And thou, though somewhat over fond of gain,

Grudge me not half the profit.'--Having spoke,

The shell he proffered, and Apollo took;

And gave him in return the glittering lash,

Installing him as herdsman;--from the look

Of Mercury then laughed a joyous flash.

And then Apollo with the plectrum strook

The chords, and from beneath his hands a crash

Of mighty sounds rushed up, whose music shook

The soul with sweetness, and like an adept

His sweeter voice a just accordance kept.

The herd went wandering o'er the divine mead,

Whilst these most beautiful Sons of Jupiter

Won their swift way up to the snowy head

Of white Olympus, with the joyous lyre

Soothing their journey; and their father dread

Gathered them both into familiar

Affection sweet,--and then, and now, and ever,

Hermes must love Him of the Golden Quiver,

To whom he gave the lyre that sweetly sounded,

Which skilfully he held and played thereon.

He piped the while, and far and wide rebounded

The echo of his pipings; every one

Of the Olympians sat with joy astounded;

While he conceived another piece of fun,

One of his old tricks--which the God of Day

Perceiving, said:--'I fear thee, Son of May;--

'I fear thee and thy sly chameleon spirit,

Lest thou should steal my lyre and crooked bow;

This glory and power thou dost from Jove inherit,

To teach all craft upon the earth below;

Thieves love and worship thee--it is thy merit

To make all mortal business ebb and flow

By roguery:--now, Hermes, if you dare

By sacred Styx a mighty oath to swear

'That you will never rob me, you will do

A thing extremely pleasing to my heart.'

Then Mercury swore by the Stygian dew,

That he would never steal his bow or dart,

Or lay his hands on what to him was due,

Or ever would employ his powerful art

Against his Pythian fane. Then Phoebus swore

There was no God or Man whom he loved more.

'And I will give thee as a good-will token,

The beautiful wand of wealth and happiness;

A perfect three-leaved rod of gold unbroken,

Whose magic will thy footsteps ever bless;

And whatsoever by Jove's voice is spoken

Of earthly or divine from its recess,

It, like a loving soul, to thee will speak,

And more than this, do thou forbear to seek.

'For, dearest child, the divinations high

Which thou requirest, 'tis unlawful ever

That thou, or any other deity

Should understand--and vain were the endeavour;

For they are hidden in Jove's mind, and I,

In trust of them, have sworn that I would never

Betray the counsels of Jove's inmost will

To any God--the oath was terrible.

'Then, golden-wanded brother, ask me not

To speak the fates by Jupiter designed;

But be it mine to tell their various lot

To the unnumbered tribes of human-kind.

Let good to these, and ill to those be wrought

As I dispense--but he who comes consigned

By voice and wings of perfect augury

To my great shrine, shall find avail in me.

'Him will I not deceive, but will assist;

But he who comes relying on such birds

As chatter vainly, who would strain and twist

The purpose of the Gods with idle words,

And deems their knowledge light, he shall have missed

His road--whilst I among my other hoards

His gifts deposit. Yet, O son of May,

I have another wondrous thing to say.

'There are three Fates, three virgin Sisters, who

Rejoicing in their wind-outspeeding wings,

Their heads with flour snowed over white and new,

Sit in a vale round which Parnassus flings

Its circling skirts--from these I have learned true

Vaticinations of remotest things.

My father cared not. Whilst they search out dooms,

They sit apart and feed on honeycombs.

'They, having eaten the fresh honey, grow

Drunk with divine enthusiasm, and utter

With earnest willingness the truth they know;

But if deprived of that sweet food, they mutter

All plausible delusions;--these to you

I give;--if you inquire, they will not stutter;

Delight your own soul with them:--any man

You would instruct may profit if he can.

'Take these and the fierce oxen, Maia's child--

O'er many a horse and toil-enduring mule,

O'er jagged-jawed lions, and the wild

White-tusked boars, o'er all, by field or pool,

Of cattle which the mighty Mother mild

Nourishes in her bosom, thou shalt rule--

Thou dost alone the veil from death uplift--

Thou givest not--yet this is a great gift.'

Thus King Apollo loved the child of May

In truth, and Jove covered their love with joy.

Hermes with Gods and Men even from that day

Mingled, and wrought the latter much annoy,

And little profit, going far astray

Through the dun night. Farewell, delightful Boy,

Of Jove and Maia sprung,--never by me,

Nor thou, nor other songs, shall unremembered be.