Hymn to Mercury
Lines:777Movement:Romanticism
TRANSLATED FROM THE GREEK OF HOMER. Sing, Muse, the son of Maia and of Jove,The Herald-child, king of ArcadiaAnd all its pastoral hills, whom in sweet loveHaving been interwoven, modest MayBore Heaven's dread Supreme. An antique groveShadowed the cavern where the lovers layIn 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 awayApollo's herds;--the fourth day of the moonOn 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 wanderingHe found a tortoise, and cried out--'A treasure!'(For Mercury first made the tortoise sing)The beast before the portal at his leisureThe flowery herbage was depasturing,Moving his feet in a deliberate measureOver the turf. Jove's profitable sonEying 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, youExcellent 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 doAll 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 saidThat 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 fedAnd 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 wealDarts through the tumult of a human breastWhich thronging cares annoy--not swifter wheelThe flashes of its torture and unrestOut of the dizzy eyes--than Maia's sonAll that he did devise hath featly done. ...And through the tortoise's hard stony skinAt proper distances small holes he made,And fastened the cut stems of reeds within,And with a piece of leather overlaidThe open space and fixed the cubits in,Fitting the bridge to both, and stretched o'er allSymphonious 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 wentUp from beneath his hand a tumult sweetOf mighty sounds, and from his lips he sentA strain of unpremeditated witJoyous and wild and wanton--such you mayHear among revellers on a holiday. He sung how Jove and May of the bright sandalDallied 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 allIn 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 depositedThe hollow lyre, and from the cavern sweetRushed with great leaps up to the mountain's head,Revolving in his mind some subtle featOf thievish craft, such as a swindler mightDevise in the lone season of dun night. Lo! the great Sun under the ocean's bed hasDriven steeds and chariot--the child meanwhile strodeO'er the Pierian mountains clothed in shadows,Where the immortal oxen of the GodAre 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 raftOf 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 betrayHis 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 passDown 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 wineMethinks 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 fellAround his steps, grew gray, and morning fastWakened the world to work, and from her cellSea-strewn, the Pallantean Moon sublimeInto her watch-tower just began to climb. Now to Alpheus he had driven allThe broad-foreheaded oxen of the Sun;They came unwearied to the lofty stallAnd to the water-troughs which ever runThrough the fresh fields--and when with rushgrass tall,Lotus and all sweet herbage, every oneHad pastured been, the great God made them moveTowards the stall in a collected drove. A mighty pile of wood the God then heaped,And having soon conceived the mysteryOf fire, from two smooth laurel branches strippedThe bark, and rubbed them in his palms;--on highSuddenly forth the burning vapour leapedAnd the divine child saw delightedly.--Mercury first found out for human wealTinder-box, matches, fire-irons, flint and steel. And fine dry logs and roots innumerousHe gathered in a delve upon the ground--And kindled them--and instantaneousThe strength of the fierce flame was breathed around:And whilst the might of glorious Vulcan thusWrapped 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 threwThe panting beasts, and rolled them o'er and o'er,And bored their lives out. Without more adoHe cut up fat and flesh, and down beforeThe fire, on spits of wood he placed the two,Toasting their flesh and ribs, and all the gorePursed in the bowels; and while this was doneHe stretched their hides over a craggy stone. We mortals let an ox grow old, and thenCut it up after long consideration,--But joyous-minded Hermes from the glenDrew the fat spoils to the more open stationOf a flat smooth space, and portioned them; and whenHe had by lot assigned to each a rationOf the twelve Gods, his mind became awareOf all the joys which in religion are. For the sweet savour of the roasted meatTempted him though immortal. NathelessHe checked his haughty will and did not eat,Though what it cost him words can scarce express,And every wish to put such morsels sweetDown his most sacred throat, he did repress;But soon within the lofty portalled stallHe placed the fat and flesh and bones and all. And every trace of the fresh butcheryAnd 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 abroadHe sought his natal mountain-peaks divine.On his long wandering, neither Man nor GodHad 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 caveHe went with soft light feet--as if his treadFell not on earth; no sound their falling gave;Then to his cradle he crept quick, and spreadThe swaddling-clothes about him; and the knaveLay playing with the covering of the bedWith his left hand about his knees--the rightHeld 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 abodeAll the long night, clothed in your impudence?What have you done since you departed hence? 'Apollo soon will pass within this gateAnd bind your tender body in a chainInextricably 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 MenYour 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 rolledWill profit you and me--nor shall our lotBe as you counsel, without gifts or food,To spend our lives in this obscure abode. 29'But we will leave this shadow-peopled caveAnd live among the Gods, and pass each dayIn high communion, sharing what they haveOf profuse wealth and unexhausted prey;And from the portion which my father gaveTo 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 floodOf flowing Ocean, bearing light to men.Apollo passed toward the sacred wood,Which from the inmost depths of its green glenEchoes the voice of Neptune,--and there stoodOn the same spot in green Onchestus thenThat same old animal, the vine-dresser,Who was employed hedging his vineyard there. Latona's glorious Son began:--'I prayTell, ancient hedger of Onchestus green,Whether a drove of kine has passed this way,All heifers with crooked horns? for they have beenStolen from the herd in high Pieria,Where a black bull was fed apart, betweenTwo woody mountains in a neighbouring glen,And four fierce dogs watched there, unanimous as men. 'And what is strange, the author of this theftHas 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 skillJustly to speak of everything I see:On various purposes of good or illMany pass by my vineyard,--and to me'Tis difficult to know the invisibleThoughts, 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 speakWith 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 waveringFrom 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 clearThat the deceiver was his father's son.So the God wraps a purple atmosphereAround his shoulders, and like fire is goneTo 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 herdTurned 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 stirredBy man or woman thus! Inexplicable!Who with unwearied feet could e'er impressThe sand with such enormous vestiges? 'That was most strange--but this is stranger still!'Thus having said, Phoebus impetuouslySought high Cyllene's forest-cinctured hill,And the deep cavern where dark shadows lie,And where the ambrosial nymph with happy willBore the Saturnian's love-child, Mercury--And a delightful odour from the dewOf the hill pastures, at his coming, flew. And Phoebus stooped under the craggy roofArched over the dark cavern:--Maia's childPerceived that he came angry, far aloof,About the cows of which he had been beguiled;And over him the fine and fragrant woofOf his ambrosial swaddling-clothes he piled--As among fire-brands lies a burning sparkCovered, beneath the ashes cold and dark. There, like an infant who had sucked his fillAnd 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 stillHe 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 crookOf the ample cavern, for his kine, ApolloLooked sharp; and when he saw them not, he tookThe glittering key, and opened three great hollowRecesses in the rock--where many a nookWas filled with the sweet food immortals swallow,And mighty heaps of silver and of goldWere piled within--a wonder to behold! And white and silver robes, all overwroughtWith cunning workmanship of tracery sweet--Except among the Gods there can be noughtIn the wide world to be compared with it.Latona's offspring, after having soughtHis herds in every corner, thus did greetGreat Hermes:--'Little cradled rogue, declareOf my illustrious heifers, where they are! 'Speak quickly! or a quarrel between usMust rise, and the event will be, that IShall hurl you into dismal Tartarus,In fiery gloom to dwell eternally;Nor shall your father nor your mother looseThe bars of that black dungeon--utterlyYou shall be cast out from the light of day,To rule the ghosts of men, unblessed as they. To whom thus Hermes slily answered:--'SonOf great Latona, what a speech is this!Why come you here to ask me what is doneWith the wild oxen which it seems you miss?I have not seen them, nor from any oneHave 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 flingThe 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'erYou should allege a story so absurdAs that a new-born infant forth could fareOut of his home after a savage herd.I was born yesterday--my small feet areToo 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 knowOf 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 saidHe winked as fast as could be, and his browWas 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 boreMany a rich man's house, and your arrayOf thieves will lay their siege before his door,Silent as night, in night; and many a dayIn the wild glens rough shepherds will deploreThat 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 thoseWho swindle, house-break, sheep-steal, and shop-lift;--But now if you would not your last sleep doze;Crawl out!'--Thus saying, Phoebus did upliftThe 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 grassHim threw, and whilst all that he had designedHe did perform--eager although to pass,Apollo darted from his mighty mindTowards 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 traceMy 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 faceRound both his ears up from his shoulders drewHis 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!--IStole not your cows--I do not even knowWhat things cows are. Alas! I well may sighThat 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 MercuryTalked without coming to an explanation,With adverse purpose. As for Phoebus, heSought not revenge, but only information,And Hermes tried with lies and rogueryTo cheat Apollo.--But when no evasionServed--for the cunning one his match had found--He paced on first over the sandy ground. ...He of the Silver Bow the child of JoveFollowed behind, till to their heavenly SireCame both his children, beautiful as Love,And from his equal balance did requireA judgement in the cause wherein they strove.O'er odorous Olympus and its snowsA murmuring tumult as they came arose,-- And from the folded depths of the great Hill,While Hermes and Apollo reverent stoodBefore Jove's throne, the indestructibleImmortals rushed in mighty multitude;And whilst their seats in order due they fill,The lofty Thunderer in a careless moodTo Phoebus said:--'Whence drive you this sweet prey,This herald-baby, born but yesterday?-- 'A most important subject, trifler, thisTo 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 recessUnder Cyllene's mountains far away--A manifest and most apparent thief,A scandalmonger beyond all belief. 'I never saw his like either in HeavenOr 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 daftTo see the double kind of footsteps strangeHe has impressed wherever he did range. 'The cattle's track on the black dust, full wellIs evident, as if they went towardsThe place from which they came--that asphodelMeadow, in which I feed my many herds,--HIS steps were most incomprehensible--I know not how I can describe in wordsThose tracks--he could have gone along the sandsNeither upon his feet nor on his hands;-- 'He must have had some other stranger modeOf moving on: those vestiges immense,Far as I traced them on the sandy road,Seemed like the trail of oak-toppings:--but thenceNo mark nor track denoting where they trodThe hard ground gave:--but, working at his fence,A mortal hedger saw him as he passedTo Pylos, with the cows, in fiery haste. 'I found that in the dark he quietlyHad sacrificed some cows, and before lightHad thrown the ashes all dispersedlyAbout the road--then, still as gloomy night,Had crept into his cradle, either eyeRubbing, and cogitating some new sleight.No eagle could have seen him as he layHid in his cavern from the peering day. 'I taxed him with the fact, when he averredMost solemnly that he did neither seeNor even had in any manner heardOf 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 thenAddressed the Supreme Lord of Gods and Men:-- 'Great Father, you know clearly beforehandThat all which I shall say to you is sooth;I am a most veracious person, andTotally unacquainted with untruth.At sunrise Phoebus came, but with no bandOf 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 limbIs clothed with speed and might and manliness,As a green bank with flowers--but unlike himI was born yesterday, and you may guessHe well knew this when he indulged the whimOf bullying a poor little new-born thingThat 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 divineSun and the Gods, and I love you, and careEven for this hard accuser--who must knowI 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 ImmortalsPass 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 ArgiphontWinked, as if now his adversary was fitted:--And Jupiter, according to his wont,Laughed heartily to hear the subtle-wittedInfant give such a plausible account,And every word a lie. But he remittedJudgement at present--and his exhortationWas, to compose the affair by arbitration. And they by mighty Jupiter were biddenTo go forth with a single purpose both,Neither the other chiding nor yet chidden:And Mercury with innocence and truthTo lead the way, and show where he had hiddenThe mighty heifers.--Hermes, nothing loth,Obeyed the Aegis-bearer's will--for heIs able to persuade all easily. These lovely children of Heaven's highest LordHastened to Pylos and the pastures wideAnd lofty stalls by the Alphean ford,Where wealth in the mute night is multipliedWith silent growth. Whilst Hermes drove the herdOut of the stony cavern, Phoebus spiedThe 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 dreadYour prowess, offspring of Cyllenian May,When you grow strong and tall.'--He spoke, and boundStiff 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 skillSubdued the strong Latonian, by the mightOf winning music, to his mightier will;His left hand held the lyre, and in his rightThe plectrum struck the chords--unconquerableUp from beneath his hand in circling flightThe gathering music rose--and sweet as LoveThe penetrating notes did live and move Within the heart of great Apollo--heListened with all his soul, and laughed for pleasure.Close to his side stood harping fearlesslyThe unabashed boy; and to the measureOf the sweet lyre, there followed loud and freeHis joyous voice; for he unlocked the treasureOf his deep song, illustrating the birthOf the bright Gods, and the dark desert Earth: And how to the Immortals every oneA portion was assigned of all that is;But chief Mnemosyne did Maia's sonClothe in the light of his loud melodies;--And, as each God was born or had begun,He in their order due and fit degreesSung of his birth and being--and did moveApollo to unutterable love. These words were winged with his swift delight:'You heifer-stealing schemer, well do youDeserve that fifty oxen should requiteSuch 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 forthWas folded up within you at your birth, 'Or whether mortal taught or God inspiredThe 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 givenThy songs such power?--for those who hear may chooseFrom three, the choicest of the gifts of Heaven,Delight, and love, and sleep,--sweet sleep, whose dewsAre sweeter than the balmy tears of even:--And I, who speak this praise, am that ApolloWhom the Olympian Muses ever follow: 'And their delight is dance, and the blithe noiseOf song and overflowing poesy;And sweet, even as desire, the liquid voiceOf pipes, that fills the clear air thrillingly;But never did my inmost soul rejoiceIn this dear work of youthful revelryAs 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 teachEven this day:--for both in word and willI would be gentle with thee; thou canst reachAll things in thy wise spirit, and thy sillIs highest in Heaven among the sons of Jove,Who loves thee in the fulness of his love. 'The Counsellor Supreme has given to theeDivinest gifts, out of the amplitudeOf his profuse exhaustless treasury;By thee, 'tis said, the depths are understoodOf his far voice; by thee the mysteryOf all oracular fates,--and the dread moodOf the diviner is breathed up; even I--A child--perceive thy might and majesty. 'Thou canst seek out and compass all that witCan find or teach;--yet since thou wilt, come takeThe lyre--be mine the glory giving it--Strike the sweet chords, and sing aloud, and wakeThy joyous pleasure out of many a fitOf tranced sound--and with fleet fingers makeThy 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 endowedWith art and wisdom who interrogateIt teaches, babbling in delightful moodAll 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 impetuouslyIts hidden soul, it gossips something wrong--Some senseless and impertinent reply.But thou who art as wise as thou art strongCanst compass all that thou desirest. IPresent 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 breedQuickly 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 lookOf Mercury then laughed a joyous flash.And then Apollo with the plectrum strookThe chords, and from beneath his hands a crashOf mighty sounds rushed up, whose music shookThe soul with sweetness, and like an adeptHis sweeter voice a just accordance kept. The herd went wandering o'er the divine mead,Whilst these most beautiful Sons of JupiterWon their swift way up to the snowy headOf white Olympus, with the joyous lyreSoothing their journey; and their father dreadGathered them both into familiarAffection 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 reboundedThe echo of his pipings; every oneOf the Olympians sat with joy astounded;While he conceived another piece of fun,One of his old tricks--which the God of DayPerceiving, 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 meritTo make all mortal business ebb and flowBy roguery:--now, Hermes, if you dareBy sacred Styx a mighty oath to swear 'That you will never rob me, you will doA 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 artAgainst his Pythian fane. Then Phoebus sworeThere 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 spokenOf 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 highWhich thou requirest, 'tis unlawful everThat thou, or any other deityShould 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 neverBetray the counsels of Jove's inmost willTo any God--the oath was terrible. 'Then, golden-wanded brother, ask me notTo speak the fates by Jupiter designed;But be it mine to tell their various lotTo the unnumbered tribes of human-kind.Let good to these, and ill to those be wroughtAs I dispense--but he who comes consignedBy voice and wings of perfect auguryTo my great shrine, shall find avail in me. 'Him will I not deceive, but will assist;But he who comes relying on such birdsAs chatter vainly, who would strain and twistThe purpose of the Gods with idle words,And deems their knowledge light, he shall have missedHis road--whilst I among my other hoardsHis gifts deposit. Yet, O son of May,I have another wondrous thing to say. 'There are three Fates, three virgin Sisters, whoRejoicing in their wind-outspeeding wings,Their heads with flour snowed over white and new,Sit in a vale round which Parnassus flingsIts circling skirts--from these I have learned trueVaticinations 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, growDrunk with divine enthusiasm, and utterWith earnest willingness the truth they know;But if deprived of that sweet food, they mutterAll plausible delusions;--these to youI give;--if you inquire, they will not stutter;Delight your own soul with them:--any manYou 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 wildWhite-tusked boars, o'er all, by field or pool,Of cattle which the mighty Mother mildNourishes 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 MayIn truth, and Jove covered their love with joy.Hermes with Gods and Men even from that dayMingled, and wrought the latter much annoy,And little profit, going far astrayThrough the dun night. Farewell, delightful Boy,Of Jove and Maia sprung,--never by me,Nor thou, nor other songs, shall unremembered be.