This is the most psychologically complex of the Homeric Hymns. Composed in the seventh or sixth century BCE in Homeric hexameters, the Hymn to Aphrodite tells how Zeus, weary of Aphrodite's boasting that she could make any god fall in love with a mortal, turned her own power against her. He cast sweet desire into her heart for Anchises, a Trojan prince herding cattle on Mount Ida — a man like the immortals in his beauty. Aphrodite bathed at Paphos, adorned herself in gold, and came to Ida disguised as a mortal girl. She lied to Anchises about her identity. They lay together. When she revealed herself afterward, Anchises was terrified — knowing that mortals who sleep with goddesses are diminished. Aphrodite comforted him, told him she would bear a son called Aeneas, and then wove into her speech two devastating stories about what happens when gods try to keep mortals: Ganymede, whom Zeus took to heaven successfully, and Tithonus, whom Dawn made immortal but forgot to make ageless — so that he withered into an eternal, whispering husk behind closed doors.

The poem is 293 lines long. It survives in multiple manuscripts, the earliest from the fifteenth century, and preserves the only extended narrative of Aphrodite's vulnerability in Greek literature. The theological argument is precise: the goddess who subjects everyone to desire is herself subjected. The story she tells Anchises is not comfort — it is grief. She will bear shame among the immortals forever. The child will be raised by mountain nymphs whose lives are bound to trees. And Anchises must never tell the truth, on pain of the thunderbolt.

No free English translation of this poem made directly from the Greek currently exists in a clean, readable format. The standard translations are either Victorian-era (Evelyn-White, 1914), paywalled (Faulkner, 2008; Crudden, 2001), or embedded in scholarly apparatus. This is a Good Works Translation: gospel register, poetic line breaks, source text included.

Tell me, Muse, the works of golden Aphrodite —
the Cyprian, who stirs sweet desire among the gods
and subdues the tribes of mortal men,
the birds that fly across the sky,
and every beast —
all that the dry land nourishes,
and all the sea contains.
To everything, the works of well-crowned Cytherea matter.

Three minds she cannot persuade or deceive.

First: the daughter of Zeus who bears the aegis,
bright-eyed Athena.
The works of golden Aphrodite give her no pleasure.
Wars please her, and the work of Ares —
battles and combat,
and the tending of glorious crafts.
She first taught earthly craftsmen
to make war-chariots and chariots inlaid with bronze.
She teaches the soft-skinned maidens in their halls
their glorious handiwork,
setting it in each one’s mind.

Nor does smile-loving Aphrodite
ever subdue in love
Artemis of the golden spindle, the wild cry.
She loves the bow and killing beasts in the mountains,
the lyre and the dance and piercing cries,
shadowy groves, and the city of just men.

Nor do the works of Aphrodite please
the revered maiden Hestia,
whom crooked-counseling Kronos bore first —
and last again, by the will of Zeus who bears the aegis.
A queen whom Poseidon and Apollo courted.
But she was wholly unwilling and firmly refused.
She swore a great oath, fulfilled forever,
touching the head of father Zeus who bears the aegis:
she would be a virgin all her days, divine among goddesses.
Father Zeus gave her a fair honor in place of marriage,
and she sits in the center of the house, receiving the rich portion.
In all temples of the gods she holds the place of honor,
and among all mortals she is counted foremost of the gods.

These three minds she cannot persuade or deceive.
But of all others, nothing has escaped Aphrodite —
not among the blessed gods, not among mortal men.

She even led astray the mind of Zeus who delights in thunder,
who is the greatest and holds the greatest honor.
Even his deep mind she deceived at will
and easily joined him with mortal women,
making him forget Hera — his own sister, his own wife,
who in beauty is the finest among the immortal goddesses.
Most glorious did crooked-counseling Kronos beget her,
and Rheia her mother.
Zeus, who knows imperishable counsels,
made her his revered wife, wise in all things.

But in Aphrodite herself Zeus cast sweet desire:
to lie with a mortal man.
So that even she might not be kept from a mortal bed,
and so that smile-loving Aphrodite
could never again boast among all the gods,
laughing sweetly,
that she had joined the gods with mortal women
and made immortals father mortal sons,
and joined the goddesses with mortal men.

He cast sweet desire in her heart for Anchises,
who at that time on the high peaks of Ida, rich in springs,
was herding cattle —
a man like the immortals in his beauty.

When smile-loving Aphrodite saw him,
she desired him.
Terrible longing seized her mind.

She went to Cyprus and entered her fragrant temple
at Paphos, where her precinct is and her fragrant altar.
There she entered and closed the shining doors.
There the Graces bathed her
and anointed her with oil —
immortal oil, the kind that clings to the everlasting gods —
ambrosial, sweet, perfumed for her.

When she had clothed her whole body in beautiful garments
and adorned herself with gold,
smile-loving Aphrodite set out for Troy,
leaving fragrant Cyprus behind,
making her way swiftly through the clouds on high.

She came to Ida, rich in springs, mother of beasts,
and went straight through the mountain toward the folds.
Behind her, fawning,
came grey wolves and bright-eyed lions,
bears, and swift leopards ravenous for deer.
She saw them and her heart was glad.
She cast desire into their breasts,
and all of them, two by two,
lay down together in the shadowy glens.

She herself came to the well-built shelters.
She found him left alone at the folds,
apart from the others —
Anchises the hero, who held beauty from the gods.

All the others had followed the cattle
through the grassy pastures.
He was left alone at the folds, apart from the rest,
pacing back and forth, playing the lyre clear and loud.

The daughter of Zeus, Aphrodite,
stood before him,
in size and form like an unwed maiden,
so that he would not be frightened at the sight of her.

Anchises looked and wondered,
marveling at her form and height
and shining garments.

She wore a robe brighter than the blaze of fire —
beautiful, golden, intricately patterned.
Like the moon it shone upon her soft breasts,
a wonder to see.
She wore twisted spirals and bright-petaled brooches.
Necklaces of surpassing beauty hung about her soft throat.

Desire seized Anchises. He spoke to her:

“Hail, queen — whoever of the blessed ones you are
who come to this dwelling.
Artemis, or Leto, or golden Aphrodite,
or noble Themis, or bright-eyed Athena —
or perhaps one of the Graces has come here,
who keep company with all the gods
and are called immortal —
or one of the Nymphs who haunt the lovely groves,
or the Nymphs who dwell on this beautiful mountain
and by the springs of rivers and the grassy meadows.

I will build you an altar on a lookout point,
in a place where all can see,
and offer you fine sacrifices in every season.
With a gracious heart,
grant me to be a man of mark among the Trojans.
Make my offspring flourish after me.
Let me live long and well and see the light of the sun,
blessed among the people,
and reach the threshold of old age.”

Then the daughter of Zeus, Aphrodite, answered him:

“Anchises, most glorious of earth-born men —
I am no goddess. Why do you liken me to the immortals?
I am mortal. A mortal woman bore me.
My father is Otreus — a famous name, if you have heard of it —
who rules all of well-walled Phrygia.
I know your language and my own well.
A Trojan nurse raised me in her hall.
She tended me from childhood,
taking me from my own dear mother.
That is how I know your tongue.

But just now the golden-wanded Slayer of Argos
snatched me from the dance of Artemis —
Artemis of the golden spindle, the wild cry.
Many nymphs and maidens worth many cattle
were playing there.
An immense crowd encircled us.
From there the golden-wanded Slayer of Argos snatched me.
He carried me over many works of mortal men,
and over much wild and unsettled land
where raw-eating beasts roam through the shadowy glens.
I seemed not to touch the life-giving earth with my feet.

He told me I would be called the wedded wife of Anchises,
and bear you splendid children.

When the mighty Slayer of Argos had shown and told me this,
he departed again among the tribes of the immortals.
But I have come to you — and strong is the necessity upon me.

I beg you, by Zeus and by your noble parents —
for base parents could not have begotten such as you —
take me, unwed and unknowing of love,
and show me to your father and your thoughtful mother
and your brothers, born from the same stock.
I will be no unseemly bride to them, but a fitting one.

Send a swift messenger to the Phrygians of the dappled horses,
to tell my father and my anxious mother.
They will send you gold enough and woven cloth.
Accept the many splendid gifts.
When you have done this, celebrate the lovely wedding,
honored among men and immortal gods.”

So speaking, the goddess cast sweet desire into his heart.
Desire seized Anchises. He spoke and called her name:

“If you are mortal, and a mortal woman bore you,
and Otreus is your famous father, as you say,
and you have come here by the will of the immortal guide,
Hermes —
then you shall be called my wife forever.
No god and no mortal man
shall hold me back from lying with you
right now, this moment —
not even if far-shooting Apollo himself
should let fly his groaning arrows from the silver bow.
After climbing into your bed, woman who looks like the goddesses,
I would gladly descend into the house of Hades.”

He spoke and took her hand.
Smile-loving Aphrodite turned away,
casting down her beautiful eyes,
and went to the well-spread bed,
where it had been made for the lord
with soft blankets.
And on top lay the skins of bears
and deep-voiced lions
that he himself had killed in the high mountains.

When they had mounted the well-made bed,
first he removed the bright adornment from her body —
the brooches, the twisted spirals, the petals, the necklaces.
He loosened her belt and stripped off her shining garments
and laid them on a silver-studded chair —
Anchises.
Then, by the will and fate of the gods,
a mortal lay beside an immortal goddess,
not knowing clearly what he did.

At the hour when the herdsmen turn their cattle
and their sturdy sheep back to the fold
from the flowering pastures —
at that hour she poured sweet sleep over Anchises,
gentle and deep,
and clothed her own body in beautiful garments.

When the divine goddess had dressed in all her finery,
she stood by the shelter.
Her head reached the well-made roof-beam.
From her cheeks shone immortal beauty —
the beauty of well-crowned Cytherea.
She woke him from sleep and spoke, calling his name:

“Rise, son of Dardanos.
Why do you sleep so deathless a sleep?
Look at me — do I seem the same
as when you first saw me with your eyes?”

So she spoke. At once he heard and obeyed.
When he saw the throat and the beautiful eyes of Aphrodite,
he was terrified.
He turned his gaze aside.
He covered his face again beneath the cloak
and spoke to her with winged words, begging:

“The moment I first saw you with my eyes, goddess,
I knew you were divine. But you did not speak the truth.
I beg you, by Zeus who bears the aegis —
do not let me live among men
as a feeble thing, without strength.
Have pity.
For no man lives in full vigor
who has lain beside the immortal goddesses.”

Then the daughter of Zeus, Aphrodite, answered him:

“Anchises, most glorious of mortal men —
take courage. Do not fear too greatly in your heart.
You have nothing to dread from me,
nor from any of the blessed ones.
You are dear to the gods.

You shall have a dear son who will rule among the Trojans,
and children born to his children, on and on forever.
His name shall be Aeneas,
because a terrible anguish held me
when I fell into the bed of a mortal man.
Of all mortal men,
those of your line are always nearest to the gods
in beauty and in stature.

For wise Zeus seized golden Ganymede
for his beauty, to dwell among the immortals
and pour wine for the gods in the house of Zeus —
a wonder to see, honored by all the immortals,
drawing red nectar from the golden bowl.

But unforgettable grief held the mind of Tros,
his father, and he did not know
where the divine storm-wind had snatched his dear son.
He mourned for him without ceasing, day after day,
until Zeus took pity and gave him,
as ransom for his son,
swift-footed horses — the kind that carry the immortals.
These he gave as a gift for him to keep.
And at the command of Zeus,
the guide, the Slayer of Argos, told him everything —
how his son would be immortal and ageless, like the gods.
When Tros heard the message of Zeus,
he mourned no more.
He rejoiced within his heart,
and gladly rode behind his storm-footed horses.

So too did golden-throned Dawn seize Tithonus,
of your same bloodline — a man like the immortals.
She went to ask dark-clouded Zeus, son of Kronos,
that he be immortal and live forever.
Zeus nodded and fulfilled her wish.

Foolish one.
The lady Dawn did not think
to ask for youth,
or to strip away ruinous old age.

As long as lovely youth still held him,
Tithonus lived in delight with golden-throned Dawn,
the early-born,
at the streams of Ocean, at the ends of the earth.
But when the first grey hairs began to fall
from his beautiful head and noble chin,
the lady Dawn held herself apart from his bed.
She kept him still and tended him in her halls,
feeding him grain and ambrosia,
giving him beautiful clothes.
But when hateful old age pressed utterly upon him
and he could not move his limbs or lift them,
this seemed to her the wisest counsel:
she laid him in a chamber
and closed the shining doors.
His voice flows on, unceasing —
but the strength that once was in his supple limbs is gone.

I would not choose for you such a fate among the immortals —
to be deathless and to live forever.
If you could live as you are now, in form and body,
and be called my husband —
then grief would not enfold my close-woven mind.
But as it is, pitiless old age will soon enfold you —
merciless, the thing that comes to all men,
ruinous, wearing, hated even by the gods.

As for me, I shall bear great shame
among the immortal gods
forever, because of you.
They used to dread my whispered arts —
the schemes by which I once joined
every immortal with a mortal woman.
My will subdued them all.
But now my mouth will never dare
to speak of this among the immortals.
I was terribly deceived —
unspeakably, unnamably —
driven from my own mind.
I placed a child beneath my belt
by lying with a mortal.

As for the child —
when first he sees the light of the sun,
the deep-bosomed Nymphs of the mountains will nurse him,
those who dwell on this great and holy mountain.
They follow neither mortals nor immortals.
They live long and eat immortal food,
and among the immortals they whirl in the lovely dance.
The Sileni and the keen-sighted Slayer of Argos
make love with them
in the depths of their desirable caves.

When these Nymphs are born,
firs or high-crowned oaks spring up with them
on the nurturing earth —
beautiful, flourishing, on the high mountains.
They stand towering, and are called
the sacred precincts of the immortals.
No mortal cuts them with iron.
But when the fate of death draws near,
first the beautiful trees wither on the earth.
The bark rots away around them.
The branches fall.
And the soul of the Nymph leaves the light of the sun
at the same hour.

These will keep my son and raise him.
When lovely youth first takes him,
the goddesses will bring him here
and show you the child.
And I — so that I may tell you all I intend —
I will come again in the fifth year, bringing your son.

When you first see the boy with your eyes,
you will rejoice at the sight — for he will be godlike.
You will bring him at once to windy Ilion.

If any mortal asks you
who the mother was that placed your dear son beneath her belt,
remember to speak as I command:
say he is the offspring of a bud-faced Nymph,
one of those who dwell on this mountain clothed in forest.

But if you speak the truth
and boast with a foolish heart
that you lay in love with well-crowned Cytherea —
Zeus in his anger will strike you
with the smoking thunderbolt.

All has been told to you. Take it to heart.
Restrain yourself. Do not name me.
Respect the anger of the gods.”

So speaking, she sprang toward the windy sky.

Hail, goddess, queen of well-built Cyprus.
Beginning from you, I will pass to another hymn.

Colophon

Homeric Hymn to Aphrodite (ὔμνος εἰς Ἀφροδίτην)

Traditionally attributed to the Homeridae. Composed c. 7th–6th century BCE, likely in the eastern Greek world. 293 lines of dactylic hexameter. The longest of the Homeric Hymns after the Hymn to Demeter, and the only extended narrative in Greek literature of Aphrodite’s vulnerability.

Translated from Ancient Greek by the New Tianmu Anglican Church. Gospel register. Source text: Perseus Digital Library, canonical-greekLit repository (CC BY-SA 3.0), ed. Gregory R. Crane. Reference consulted: H.G. Evelyn-White (Loeb, 1914).

Scribed by Rushd, Non-Uralic Translator, Life 2. March 2026.

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Source Text: ὔμνος εἰς Ἀφροδίτην

Ancient Greek source text from the Perseus Digital Library, canonical-greekLit repository (CC BY-SA 3.0), ed. Gregory R. Crane, Tufts University. Presented here for reference, study, and verification alongside the English translation above.

μοῦσά μοι ἔννεπε ἔργα πολυχρύσου Ἀφροδίτης,
Κύπριδος, ἥτε θεοῖσιν ἐπὶ γλυκὺν ἵμερον ὦρσε
καί τʼ ἐδαμάσσατο φῦλα καταθνητῶν ἀνθρώπων
οἰωνούς τε διιπετέας καὶ θηρία πάντα,
ἠμὲν ὅσʼ ἤπειρος πολλὰ τρέφει ἠδʼ ὅσα πόντος·
πᾶσιν δʼ ἔργα μέμηλεν ἐυστεφάνου Κυθερείης.
τρισσὰς δʼ οὐ δύναται πεπιθεῖν φρένας οὐδʼ ἀπατῆσαι·
κούρην τʼ αἰγιόχοιο Διός, γλαυκῶπιν Ἀθήνην·
οὐ γὰρ οἱ εὔαδεν ἔργα πολυχρύσου Ἀφροδίτης,
ἀλλʼ ἄρα οἱ πόλεμοί τε ἅδον καὶ ἔργον Ἄρηος
ὑσμῖναί τε μάχαι τε καὶ ἀγλαὰ ἔργʼ ἀλεγύνειν.
πρώτη τέκτονας ἄνδρας ἐπιχθονίους ἐδίδαξε
ποιῆσαι σατίνας τε καὶ ἅρματα ποικίλα χαλκῷ.
ἣ δέ τε παρθενικὰς ἁπαλόχροας ἐν μεγάροισιν
ἀγλαὰ ἔργʼ ἐδίδαξεν ἐπὶ φρεσὶ θεῖσα ἑκάστῃ.
οὐδέ ποτʼ Ἀρτέμιδα χρυσηλάκατον, κελαδεινὴν
δάμναται ἐν φιλότητι φιλομμειδὴς Ἀφροδίτη.
καὶ γὰρ τῇ ἅδε τόξα καὶ οὔρεσι θῆρας ἐναίρειν,
φόρμιγγές τε χοροί τε διαπρύσιοί τʼ ὀλολυγαὶ
ἄλσεά τε σκιόεντα δικαίων τε πτόλις ἀνδρῶν.
οὐδὲ μὲν αἰδοίῃ κούρῃ ἅδε ἔργʼ Ἀφροδίτης,
Ἱστίῃ, ἣν πρώτην τέκετο Κρόνος ἀγκυλομήτης,
αὖτις δʼ ὁπλοτάτην, βουλῇ Διὸς αἰγιόχοιο,
πότνιαν, ἣν ἐμνῶντο Ποσειδάων καὶ Ἀπόλλων·
ἣ δὲ μαλʼ οὐκ ἔθελεν, ἀλλὰ στερεῶς ἀπέειπεν·
ὤμοσε δὲ μέγαν ὅρκον, ὃ δὴ τετελεσμένος ἐστίν,
ἁψαμένη κεφαλῆς πατρὸς Διὸς αἰγιόχοιο,
παρθένος ἔσσεσθαι πάντʼ ἤματα, δῖα θεάων.
τῇ δὲ πατὴρ Ζεὺς δῶκε καλὸν γέρας ἀντὶ γάμοιο
καὶ τε μέσῳ οἴκῳ κατʼ ἄρʼ ἕζετο πῖαρ ἑλοῦσα.
πᾶσιν δʼ ἐν νηοῖσι θεῶν τιμάοχός ἐστι
καὶ παρὰ πᾶσι βροτοῖσι θεῶν πρέσβειρα τέτυκται.
τάων οὐ δύναται πεπιθεῖν φρένας οὐδʼ ἀπατῆσαι·
τῶν δʼ ἄλλων οὔ πέρ τι πεφυγμένον ἔστʼ Ἀφροδίτην
οὔτε θεῶν μακάρων οὔτε θνητῶν ἀνθρώπων.
καί τε παρὲκ Ζηνὸς νόον ἤγαγε τερπικεραύνου,
ὅστε μέγιστός τʼ ἐστὶ μεγίστης τʼ ἔμμορε τιμῆς.
καί τε τοῦ, εὖτʼ ἐθέλοι, πυκινὰς φρένας ἐξαπαφοῦσα
ῥηιδίως συνέμιξε καταθνητῇσι γυναιξίν,
Ἥρης ἐκλελαθοῦσα, κασιγνήτης ἀλόχου τε,
ἣ μέγα εἶδος ἀρίστη ἐν ἀθανάτῃσι θεῇσι.
κυδίστην δʼ ἄρα μιν τέκετο Κρόνος ἀγκυλομήτης
μήτηρ τε Ῥείη· Ζεὺς δʼ ἄφθιτα μήδεα εἰδὼς
αἰδοίην ἄλοχον ποιήσατο κέδνʼ εἰδυῖαν.
τῇ δὲ καὶ αὐτῇ Ζεὺς γλυκὺν ἵμερον ἔμβαλε θυμῷ
ἀνδρὶ καταθνητῷ μιχθήμεναι, ὄφρα τάχιστα
μηδʼ αὐτὴ βροτέης εὐνῆς ἀποεργμένη εἴη,
καί ποτʼ ἐπευξαμένη εἴπῃ μετὰ πᾶσι θεοῖσιν
ἡδὺ γελοιήσασα, φιλομμειδὴς Ἀφροδίτη,
ὤς ῥα θεοὺς συνέμιξε καταθνητῇσι γυναιξί,
καί τε καταθνητοὺς υἱεῖς τέκον ἀθανάτοισιν,
ὥς τε θεὰς ἀνέμιξε καταθνητοῖς ἀνθρώποις.
Ἀγχίσεω δʼ ἄρα οἱ γλυκὺν ἵμερον ἔμβαλε θυμῷ,
ὃς τότʼ ἐν ἀκροπόλοις ὄρεσιν πολυπιδάκου Ἴδης
βουκολέεσκεν βοῦς δέμας ἀθανάτοισιν ἐοικώς.
τὸν δὴ ἔπειτα ἰδοῦσα φιλομμειδὴς Ἀφροδίτη
ἠράσατʼ, ἔκπαγλος δὲ κατὰ φρένας ἵμερος εἷλεν.
ἐς Κύπρον δʼ ἐλθοῦσα θυώδεα νηὸν ἔδυνεν,
ἐς Πάφον· ἔνθα δέ οἱ τέμενος βωμός τε θυώδης.
ἐνθʼ ἥ γʼ εἰσελθοῦσα θύρας ἐπέθηκε φαεινάς·
ἔνθα δέ μιν Χάριτες λοῦσαν καὶ χρῖσαν ἐλαίῳ
ἀμβρότῳ, οἷα θεοὺς ἐπενήνοθεν αἰὲν ἐόντας,
ἀμβροσίῳ ἑδανῷ, τό ῥά οἱ τεθυωμένον ἦεν.
ἑσσαμένη δʼ εὖ πάντα περὶ χροῒ εἵματα καλὰ
χρυσῷ κοσμηθεῖσα φιλομμειδὴς Ἀφροδίτη
σεύατʼ ἐπὶ Τροίης προλιποῦσʼ εὐώδεα Κύπρον,
ὕψι μετὰ νέφεσιν ῥίμφα πρήσσουσα κέλευθον.
Ἴδην δʼ ἵκανεν πολυπίδακα, μητέρα θηρῶν,
βῆ δʼ ἰθὺς σταθμοῖο διʼ οὔρεος· οἳ δὲ μετʼ αὐτὴν
σαίνοντες πολιοί τε λύκοι χαροποί τε λέοντες,
ἄρκτοι παρδάλιές τε θοαὶ προκάδων ἀκόρητοι
ἤισαν· ἣ δʼ ὁρόωσα μετὰ φρεσὶ τέρπετο θυμὸν
καὶ τοῖς ἐν στήθεσσι βάλʼ ἵμερον· οἳ δʼ ἅμα πάντες
σύνδυο κοιμήσαντο κατὰ σκιόεντας ἐναύλους·
αὐτὴ δʼ ἐς κλισίας εὐποιήτους ἀφίκανε·
τὸν δʼ εὗρε σταθμοῖσι λελειμμένον οἶον ἀπʼ ἄλλων
Ἀγχίσην ἥρωα, θεῶν ἄπο κάλλος ἔχοντα.
οἳ δʼ ἅμα βουσὶν ἕποντο νομοὺς κατὰ ποιήεντας
πάντες· ὃ δὲ σταθμοῖσι λελειμμένος οἶος ἀπʼ ἄλλων
πωλεῖτʼ ἔνθα καὶ ἔνθα διαπρύσιον κιθαρίζων.
στῆ δʼ αὐτοῦ προπάροιθε Διὸς θυγάτηρ Ἀφροδίτη
παρθένῳ ἀδμήτῃ μέγεθος καὶ εἶδος ὁμοίη,
μή μιν ταρβήσειεν ἐν ὀφθαλμοῖσι νοήσας.
Ἀγχίσης δʼ ὁρόων ἐφράζετο θαύμαινέν τε
εἶδός τε μέγεθός τε καὶ εἵματα σιγαλόεντα.
πέπλόν μὲν γὰρ ἕεστο φαεινότερον πυρὸς αὐγῆς,
καλόν, χρύσειον, παμποίκιλον· ὡς δὲ σελήνη
στήθεσιν ἀμφʼ ἁπαλοῖσιν ἐλάμπετο, θαῦμα ἰδέσθαι·
εἶχε δʼ ἐπιγναμπτὰς ἕλικας κάλυκάς τε φαεινάς·
ὅρμοι δʼ ἀμφʼ ἁπαλῇ δειρῇ περικαλλέες ἦσαν.
Ἀγχίσην δʼ ἔρος εἷλεν, ἔπος δέ μιν ἀντίον ηὔδα·
χαῖρε, ἄνασσʼ, ἥ τις μακάρων τάδε δώμαθʼ ἱκάνεις,
Ἄρτεμις ἢ Λητὼ ἠὲ χρυσέη Ἀφροδίτη
ἢ Θέμις ἠυγενὴς ἠὲ γλαυκῶπις Ἀθήνη,
ἤ πού τις Χαρίτων δεῦρʼ ἤλυθες, αἵτε θεοῖσι
πᾶσιν ἑταιρίζουσι καὶ ἀθάνατοι καλέονται,
ἤ τις Νυμφάων, αἵτʼ ἄλσεα καλὰ νέμονται
ἢ Νυμφῶν, αἳ καλὸν ὄρος τόδε ναιετάουσι
καὶ πηγὰς ποταμῶν, καὶ πίσεα ποιήεντα.
σοὶ δʼ ἐγὼ ἐν σκοπιῇ, περιφαινομένῳ ἐνὶ χώρῳ,
βωμὸν ποιήσω, ῥέξω δέ τοι ἱερὰ καλὰ
ὥρῃσιν πάσῃσι. σὺ δʼ εὔφρονα θυμὸν ἔχουσα
δός με μετὰ Τρώεσσιν ἀριπρεπέʼ ἔμμεναι ἄνδρα,
ποίει δʼ ἐξοπίσω θαλερὸν γόνον, αὐτὰρ ἔμʼ αὐτὸν
δηρὸν ἐὺ ζώειν καὶ ὁρᾶν φάος ἠελίοιο,
ὄλβιον ἐν λαοῖς, καὶ γήραος οὐδὸν ἱκέσθαι.
τὸν δʼ ἠμείβετʼ ἔπειτα Διὸς θυγάτηρ Ἀφροδίτη·
Ἀγχίση, κύδιστε χαμαιγενέων ἀνθρώπων,
οὔ τίς τοι θεός εἰμι· τί μʼ ἀθανάτῃσιν ἐίσκεις;
ἀλλὰ καταθνητή τε, γυνὴ δέ με γείνατο μήτηρ.
Ὀτρεὺς δʼ ἐστὶ πατὴρ ὀνομακλυτός, εἴ που ἀκούεις,
ὃς πάσης Φρυγίης εὐτειχήτοιο ἀνάσσει.
γλῶσσαν δʼ ὑμετέρην τε καὶ ἡμετέρην σάφα οἶδα.
Τρῳὰς γὰρ μεγάρῳ με τροφὸς τρέφεν· ἣ δὲ διαπρὸ
σμικρὴν παῖδʼ ἀτίταλλε, φίλης παρὰ μητρὸς ἑλοῦσα.
ὣς δή τοι γλῶσσάν γε καὶ ὑμετέρην εὖ οἶδα.
νῦν δέ μʼ ἀνήρπαξε χρυσόρραπις Ἀργειφόντης
ἐκ χοροῦ Ἀρτέμιδος χρυσηλακάτου, κελαδεινῆς.
πολλαὶ δὲ νύμφαι καὶ παρθένοι ἀλφεσίβοιαι
παίζομεν, ἀμφὶ δʼ ὅμιλος ἀπείριτος ἐστεφάνωτο.
ἔνθεν μʼ ἥρπαξε χρυσόρραπις Ἀργειφόντης·
πολλὰ δʼ ἔπʼ ἤγαγεν ἔργα καταθνητῶν ἀνθρώπων,
πολλὴν δʼ ἄκληρόν τε καὶ ἄκτιτον, ἣν διὰ θῆρες
ὠμοφάγοι φοιτῶσι κατὰ σκιόεντας ἐναύλους·
οὐδὲ ποσὶ ψαύσειν ἐδόκουν φυσιζόου αἴης·
Ἀγχίσεω δέ με φάσκε παραὶ λέχεσιν καλέεσθαι
κουριδίην ἄλοχον, σοὶ δʼ ἀγλαὰ τέκνα τεκεῖσθαι.
αὐτὰρ ἐπεὶ δὴ δεῖξε καὶ ἔφρασεν, ἦ τοι ὅ γʼ αὖτις
ἀθανάτων μετὰ φῦλʼ ἀπέβη κρατὺς Ἀργειφόντης·
αὐτὰρ ἐγώ σʼ ἱκόμην, κρατερὴ δέ μοι ἔπλετʼ ἀνάγκη.
ἀλλά σε πρὸς Ζηνὸς γουνάζομαι ἠδὲ τοκήων
ἐσθλῶν· οὐ μὲν γάρ κε κακοὶ τοιόνδε τέκοιεν·
ἀδμήτην μʼ ἀγαγὼν καὶ ἀπειρήτην φιλότητος
πατρί τε σῷ δεῖξον καὶ μητέρι κέδνʼ εἰδυίῃ
σοῖς τε κασιγνήτοις, οἵ τοι ὁμόθεν γεγάασιν.
οὔ σφιν ἀεικελίη νυὸς ἔσσομαι, ἀλλʼ εἰκυῖα.
πέμψαι δʼ ἄγγελον ὦκα μετὰ Φρύγας αἰολοπώλους
εἰπεῖν πατρί τʼ ἐμῷ καὶ μητέρι κηδομένῃ περ·
οἳ δέ κε τοι χρυσόν τε ἅλις ἐσθῆτά θʼ ὑφαντὴν
πέμψουσιν· σὺ δὲ πολλὰ καὶ ἀγλαὰ δέχθαι ἄποινα.
ταῦτα δὲ ποιήσας δαίνυ γάμον ἱμερόεντα,
τίμιον ἀνθρώποισι καὶ ἀθανάτοισι θεοῖσιν.
ὣς εἰποῦσα θεὰ γλυκὺν ἵμερον ἔμβαλε θυμῷ.
Ἀγχίσην δʼ ἔρος εἷλεν ἔπος τʼ ἔφατʼ ἔκ τʼ ὀνόμαζεν·
εἰ μὲν θνητή τʼ ἐσσι, γυνὴ δέ σε γείνατο μήτηρ,
Ὀτρεὺς δʼ ἐστὶ πατὴρ ὀνομακλυτός, ὡς ἀγορεύεις,
ἀθανάτου δὲ ἕκητι διακτόρου ἐνθάδʼ ἱκάνεις
Ἑρμέω, ἐμὴ δʼ ἄλοχος κεκλήσεαι ἤματα πάντα·
οὔ τις ἔπειτα θεῶν οὔτε θνητῶν ἀνθρώπων
ἐνθάδε με σχήσει, πρὶν σῇ φιλότητι μιγῆναι
αὐτίκα νῦν· οὐδʼ εἴ κεν ἑκηβόλος αὐτὸς Ἀπόλλων
τόξου ἀπʼ ἀργυρέου προΐῃ βέλεα στονόεντα.
βουλοίμην κεν ἔπειτα, γύναι ἐικυῖα θεῇσι,
σῆς εὐνῆς ἐπιβὰς δῦναι δόμον Ἄιδος εἴσω.
ὣς εἰπὼν λάβε χεῖρα· φιλομμειδὴς δʼ Ἀφροδίτη
ἕρπε μεταστρεφθεῖσα κατʼ ὄμματα καλὰ βαλοῦσα
ἐς λέχος εὔστρωτον, ὅθι περ πάρος ἔσκεν ἄνακτι
χλαίνῃσιν μαλακῇς ἐστρωμένον· αὐτὰρ ὕπερθεν
ἄρκτων δέρματʼ ἔκειτο βαρυφθόγγων τε λεόντων,
τοὺς αὐτὸς κατέπεφνεν ἐν οὔρεσιν ὑψηλοῖσιν.
οἳ δʼ ἐπεὶ οὖν λεχέων εὐποιήτων ἐπέβησαν,
κόσμον μέν οἱ πρῶτον ἀπὸ χροὸς εἷλε φαεινόν,
πόρπας τε γναμπτάς θʼ ἕλικας κάλυκάς τε καὶ ὅρμους.
λῦσε δέ οἱ ζώνην ἰδὲ εἵματα σιγαλόεντα
ἔκδυε καὶ κατέθηκεν ἐπὶ θρόνου ἀργυροήλου
Ἀγχίσης· ὃ δʼ ἔπειτα θεῶν ἰότητι καὶ αἴσῃ
ἀθανάτῃ παρέλεκτο θεᾷ βροτός, οὐ σάφα εἰδώς.
ἦμος δʼ ἂψ εἰς αὖλιν ἀποκλίνουσι νομῆες
βοῦς τε καὶ ἴφια μῆλα νομῶν ἐξ ἀνθεμοέντων·
τῆμος ἄρʼ Ἀγχίσῃ μὲν ἐπὶ γλυκὺν ὕπνον ἔχευε
νήδυμον, αὐτὴ δὲ χροῒ ἕννυτο εἵματα καλά.
ἑσσαμένη δʼ εὖ πάντα περὶ χροῒ δῖα θεάων
ἔστη πὰρ κλισίῃ, κεὐποιήτοιο μελάθρου
κῦρε κάρη· κάλλος δὲ παρειάων ἀπέλαμπεν
ἄμβροτον, οἷόν τʼ ἐστὶν ἐυστεφάνου Κυθερείης,
ἐξ ὕπνου τʼ ἀνέγειρεν ἔπος τʼ ἔφατʼ ἔκ τʼ ὀνόμαζεν·
ὄρσεο, Δαρδανίδη· τί νυ νήγρετον ὕπνον ἰαύεις;
καὶ φράσαι, εἴ τοι ὁμοίη ἐγὼν ἰνδάλλομαι εἶναι,
οἵην δή με τὸ πρῶτον ἐν ὀφθαλμοῖσι νόησας;
ὣς φάθʼ· ὃ δʼ ἐξ ὕπνοιο μάλʼ ἐμμαπέως ὑπάκουσεν.
ὡς δὲ ἴδεν δειρήν τε καὶ ὄμματα κάλʼ Ἀφροδίτης,
τάρβησέν τε καὶ ὄσσε παρακλιδὸν ἔτραπεν ἄλλῃ·
ἂψ δʼ αὖτις χλαίνῃ τε καλύψατο καλὰ πρόσωπα
καί μιν λισσόμενος ἔπεα πτερόεντα προσηύδα·
αὐτίκα σʼ ὡς τὰ πρῶτα, θεά, ἴδον ὀφθαλμοῖσιν,
ἔγνων ὡς θεὸς ἦσθα· σὺ δʼ οὐ νημερτὲς ἔειπες.
ἀλλά σε πρὸς Ζηνὸς γουνάζομαι αἰγιόχοιο,
μή με ζῶντʼ ἀμενηνὸν ἐν ἀνθρώποισιν ἐάσῃς
ναίειν, ἀλλʼ ἐλέαιρʼ· ἐπεὶ οὐ βιοθάλμιος ἀνὴρ
γίγνεται, ὅς τε θεαῖς εὐνάζεται ἀθανάτῃσι.
τὸν δʼ ἠμείβετʼ ἔπειτα Διὸς θυγάτηρ Ἀφροδίτη·
Ἀγχίση, κύδιστε καταθνητῶν ἀνθρώπων,
θάρσει, μηδέ τι σῇσι μετὰ φρεσὶ δείδιθι λίην·
οὐ γάρ τοί τι δέος παθέειν κακὸν ἐξ ἐμέθεν γε,
οὐδʼ ἄλλων μακάρων· ἐπεὶ ἦ φίλος ἐσσὶ θεοῖσι.
σοὶ δʼ ἔσται φίλος υἱός, ὃς ἐν Τρώεσσιν ἀνάξει
καὶ παῖδες παίδεσσι διαμπερὲς ἐκγεγάοντες·
τῷ δὲ καὶ Αἰνείας ὄνομʼ ἔσσεται, οὕνεκα μʼ αἰνὸν
ἔσχεν ἄχος, ἕνεκα βροτοῦ ἀνέρος ἔμπεσον εὐνῇ·
ἀγχίθεοι δὲ μάλιστα καταθνητῶν ἀνθρώπων
αἰεὶ ἀφʼ ὑμετέρης γενεῆς εἶδός τε φυήν τε.
ἦ τοι μὲν ξανθὸν Γανυμήδεα μητιέτα Ζεὺς
ἥρπασε ὃν διὰ κάλλος, ἵνʼ ἀθανάτοισι μετείη
καί τε Διὸς κατὰ δῶμα θεοῖς ἐπιοινοχοεύοι,
θαῦμα ἰδεῖν, πάντεσσι τετιμένος ἀθανάτοισι,
χρυσέου ἐκ κρητῆρος ἀφύσσων νέκταρ ἐρυθρόν.
Τρῶα δὲ πένθος ἄλαστον ἔχε φρένας, οὐδέ τι ᾔδει,
ὅππη οἱ φίλον υἱὸν ἀνήρπασε θέσπις ἄελλα·
τὸν δὴ ἔπειτα γόασκε διαμπερὲς ἤματα πάντα
καί μιν Ζεὺς ἐλέησε, δίδου δέ οἱ υἷος ἄποινα,
ἵππους ἀρσίποδας, τοί τʼ ἀθανάτους φορέουσι.
τούς οἱ δῶρον ἔδωκεν ἔχειν· εἶπεν δὲ ἕκαστα
Ζηνὸς ἐφημοσύνῃσι διάκτορος Ἀργειφόντης,
ὡς ἔοι ἀθάνατος καὶ ἀγήρως ἶσα θεοῖσιν.
αὐτὰρ ἐπειδὴ Ζηνὸς ὅ γʼ ἔκλυεν ἀγγελιάων,
οὐκέτʼ ἔπειτα γόασκε, γεγήθει δὲ φρένας ἔνδον,
γηθόσυνος δʼ ἵπποισιν ἀελλοπόδεσσιν ὀχεῖτο.
ὣς δʼ αὖ Τιθωνὸν χρυσόθρονος ἥρπασεν Ἠώς,
ὑμετέρης γενεῆς, ἐπιείκελον ἀθανάτοισι.
Βῆ δʼ ἴμεν αἰτήσουσα κελαινεφέα Κρονίωνα,
ἀθάνατόν τʼ εἶναι καὶ ζώειν ἤματα πάντα·
τῇ δὲ Ζεὺς ἐπένευσε καὶ ἐκρήηνεν ἐέλδωρ.
νηπίη, οὐδʼ ἐνόησε μετὰ φρεσὶ πότνια Ἠὼς
ἥβην αἰτῆσαι ξῦσαί τʼ ἄπο γῆρας ὀλοιόν.
τὸν δʼ ἦ τοι εἵως μὲν ἔχεν πολυήρατος ἥβη,
Ἠοῖ τερπόμενος χρυσοθρόνῳ, ἠριγενείῃ
ναῖε παρʼ Ὠκεανοῖο ῥοῇς ἐπὶ πείρασι γαίης·
αὐτὰρ ἐπεὶ πρῶται πολιαὶ κατέχυντο ἔθειραι
καλῆς ἐκ κεφαλῆς εὐηγενέος τε γενείου,
τοῦ δʼ ἦ τοι εὐνῆς μὲν ἀπείχετο πότνια Ἠώς,
αὐτὸν δʼ αὖτʼ ἀτίταλλεν ἐνὶ μεγάροισιν ἔχουσα,
σίτῳ τʼ ἀμβροσίῃ τε καὶ εἵματα καλὰ διδοῦσα.
ἀλλʼ ὅτε δὴ πάμπαν στυγερὸν κατὰ γῆρας ἔπειγεν,
οὐδέ τι κινῆσαι μελέων δύνατʼ οὐδʼ ἀναεῖραι,
ἥδε δέ οἱ κατὰ θυμὸν ἀρίστη φαίνετο βουλή·
ἐν θαλάμῳ κατέθηκε, θύρας δʼ ἐπέθηκε φαεινάς.
τοῦ δʼ ἦ τοι φωνὴ ῥέει ἄσπετος, οὐδέ τι κῖκυς
ἔσθʼ, οἵη πάρος ἔσκεν ἐνὶ γναμπτοῖσι μέλεσσιν.
οὐκ ἂν ἐγώ γε σὲ τοῖον ἐν ἀθανάτοισιν ἑλοίμην
ἀθάνατόν τʼ εἶναι καὶ ζώειν ἤματα πάντα.
ἀλλʼ εἰ μὲν τοιοῦτος ἐὼν εἶδός τε δέμας τε
ζώοις ἡμέτερός τε πόσις κεκλημένος εἴης,
οὐκ ἂν ἔπειτά μʼ ἄχος πυκινὰς φρένας ἀμφικαλύπτοι.
νῦν δέ σε μὲν τάχα γῆρας ὁμοίιον ἀμφικαλύψει
νηλειές, τό τʼ ἔπειτα παρίσταται ἀνθρώποισιν,
οὐλόμενον, καματηρόν, ὅτε στυγέουσι θεοί περ.
αὐτὰρ ἐμοὶ μέγʼ ὄνειδος ἐν ἀθανάτοισι θεοῖσιν
ἔσσεται ἤματα πάντα διαμπερὲς εἵνεκα σεῖο,
οἳ πρὶν ἐμοὺς ὀάρους καὶ μήτιας, αἷς ποτε πάντας
ἀθανάτους συνέμιξα καταθνητῇσι γυναιξί,
τάρβεσκον· πάντας γὰρ ἐμὸν δάμνασκε νόημα.
νῦν δὲ δὴ οὐκέτι μοι στόμα χείσεται ἐξονομῆναι
τοῦτο μετʼ ἀθανάτοισιν, ἐπεὶ μάλα πολλὸν ἀάσθην,
σχέτλιον, οὐκ ὀνοταστόν, ἀπεπλάγχθην δὲ νόοιο,
παῖδα δʼ ὑπὸ ζώνῃ ἐθέμην βροτῷ εὐνηθεῖσα.
τὸν μέν, ἐπὴν δὴ πρῶτον ἴδῃ φάος ἠελίοιο,
Νύμφαι μιν θρέψουσιν ὀρεσκῷοι βαθύκολποι,
αἳ τόδε ναιετάουσιν ὄρος μέγα τε ζάθεόν τε·
αἵ ῥʼ οὔτε θνητοῖς οὔτʼ ἀθανάτοισιν ἕπονται.
δηρὸν μὲν ζώουσι καὶ ἄμβροτον εἶδαρ ἔδουσι
καί τε μετʼ ἀθανάτοισι καλὸν χορὸν ἐρρώσαντο.
τῇσι δὲ Σειληνοὶ καὶ ἐύσκοπος Ἀργειφόντης
μίσγοντʼ ἐν φιλότητι μυχῷ σπείων ἐροέντων.
τῇσι δʼ ἅμʼ ἢ ἐλάται ἠὲ δρύες ὑψικάρηνοι
γεινομένῃσιν ἔφυσαν ἐπὶ χθονὶ βωτιανείρῃ,
καλαί, τηλεθάουσαι, ἐν οὔρεσιν ὑψηλοῖσιν.
ἑστᾶσʼ ἠλίβατοι, τεμένη δέ ἑ κικλήσκουσιν
ἀθανάτων· τὰς δʼ οὔ τι βροτοὶ κείρουσι σιδήρῳ·
ἀλλʼ ὅτε κεν δὴ μοῖρα παρεστήκῃ θανάτοιο,
ἀζάνεται μὲν πρῶτον ἐπὶ χθονὶ δένδρεα καλά,
φλοιὸς δʼ ἀμφιπεριφθινύθει, πίπτουσι δʼ ἄπʼ ὄζοι,
τῶν δέ θʼ ὁμοῦ ψυχὴ λείπει φάος ἠελίοιο.
αἳ μὲν ἐμὸν θρέψουσι παρὰ σφίσιν υἱὸν ἔχουσαι.
τὸν μὲν ἐπὴν δὴ πρῶτον ἕλῃ πολυήρατος ἥβη,
ἄξουσίν σοι δεῦρο θεαὶ δείξουσί τε παῖδα.
σοὶ δʼ ἐγώ, ὄφρα κε ταῦτα μετὰ φρεσὶ πάντα διέλθω,
ἐς πέμπτον ἔτος αὖτις ἐλεύσομαι υἱὸν ἄγουσα.
τὸν μὲν ἐπὴν δὴ πρῶτον ἴδῃς θάλος ὀφθαλμοῖσι,
γηθήσεις ὁρόων· μάλα γὰρ θεοείκελος ἔσται·
ἄξεις δʼ αὐτίκα νιν ποτὶ Ἴλιον ἠνεμόεσσαν.
ἢν δέ τις εἴρηταί σε καταθνητῶν ἀνθρώπων,
ἥ τις σοι φίλον υἱὸν ὑπὸ ζώνῃ θέτο μήτηρ,
τῷ δὲ σὺ μυθεῖσθαι μεμνημένος, ὥς σε κελεύω·
φάσθαι τοι Νύμφης καλυκώπιδος ἔκγονον εἶναι,
αἳ τόδε ναιετάουσιν ὄρος καταειμένον ὕλῃ.
εἰ δέ κεν ἐξείπῃς καὶ ἐπεύξεαι ἄφρονι θυμῷ
ἐν φιλότητι μιγῆναι ἐυστεφάνῳ Κυθερείῃ,
Ζεύς σε χολωσάμενος βαλέει ψολόεντι κεραυνῷ.
εἴρηταί τοι πάντα· σὺ δὲ φρεσὶ σῇσι νοήσας,
ἴσχεο μηδʼ ὀνόμαινε, θεῶν δʼ ἐποπίζεο μῆνιν.
ὣς εἰποῦσʼ ἤιξε πρὸς οὐρανὸν ἠνεμόεντα.
χαῖρε, θεά, Κύπροιο ἐυκτιμένης μεδέουσα·
σεῦ δʼ ἐγὼ ἀρξάμενος μεταβήσομαι ἄλλον ἐς ὕμνον.

Source Colophon

Ancient Greek text from the Perseus Digital Library, canonical-greekLit repository. Identifier: tlg0013.tlg005.perseus-grc2. Licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 United States (CC BY-SA 3.0 US). Editor-in-Chief: Gregory R. Crane, Tufts University.

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