This is the foundational text of the Eleusinian Mysteries — the most sacred rites of ancient Greece. Composed in the seventh or sixth century BCE in Homeric hexameters, the Hymn to Demeter tells how Hades, with Zeus's consent, seized Persephone from a meadow while she gathered flowers. Her mother Demeter, goddess of grain and harvest, searched the earth with blazing torches, refused food, disguised herself as an old woman, and came at last to Eleusis. There, in the house of King Keleos, she nursed the infant Demophon, anointed him with ambrosia, and would have made him immortal — but his mother Metaneira, seeing the child held in fire, screamed and broke the rite. Demeter revealed herself in divine radiance and demanded her temple. Enthroned at Eleusis, she withheld the grain. The earth bore nothing. Humanity starved. The gods lost their sacrifices. At last Zeus sent Hermes to retrieve Persephone from the underworld — but Hades, smiling, gave her a pomegranate seed to eat. Because she had tasted the food of the dead, Persephone must return to the darkness for one third of every year. When she descends, winter comes. When she rises, the earth blooms.

The poem is 495 lines long. It survives in a single manuscript discovered in a stable in Moscow in 1777, badly damaged in places. The text presented here is translated directly from the Ancient Greek. 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 (Foley, 1994; Rayor, 2014), or embedded in scholarly apparatus. This is a Good Works Translation: gospel register, poetic line breaks, source text included.

I begin to sing of Demeter, the beautiful-haired,
the holy goddess —
of her, and of her slender-ankled daughter
whom Hades seized.

Zeus the thunderer, the far-seeing, gave her away
apart from Demeter of the golden blade,
Demeter of the shining fruit.

She was playing with the deep-bosomed daughters of Ocean,
gathering flowers in a soft meadow —
roses and crocuses and beautiful violets,
irises and hyacinths —
and the narcissus, which Earth grew as a snare
for the blossom-faced girl,
by the will of Zeus, to please the Host of Many.

A thing of wonder, gleaming —
a holy awe for all who saw it,
for gods who do not die and for men who do.

From its root a hundred heads had grown.
Its fragrance was the sweetest thing —
the whole wide sky above,
the whole earth laughed,
and the salt surge of the sea.

She reached out both hands in wonder
to take the lovely plaything.
The wide-pathed earth gaped open
on the plain of Nysa,
and the lord who receives so many,
the many-named son of Kronos,
rushed upon her with immortal horses.

He seized her, unwilling, on his golden chariot
and carried her away lamenting.
She cried out shrill —
calling to her father, the son of Kronos, highest and best.

But none of the gods, none of the mortal men
heard her voice —
not even the olive trees bright with fruit —
except the daughter of Persaios, tender-hearted,
who heard from her cave:
Hekate of the shining veil.

And the lord Helios, radiant son of Hyperion,
heard the girl calling to her father, Kronos's son.
But he sat apart from the gods
in his much-prayed-to temple,
receiving beautiful sacrifices from mortal men.

By the will of Zeus, her father's own brother
carried her away unwilling —
the Host of Many, the Lord of the Many-Signed,
the many-named son of Kronos,
with his immortal horses.

As long as the goddess could still see the earth
and the starry sky,
the great fish-filled surge of the sea,
and the rays of the sun —
as long as she still hoped to see
her careful mother
and the tribes of the gods who live forever —
so long did hope soothe her great mind,
though she grieved.

The mountaintops and the depths of the sea
echoed with her immortal voice.
And her lady mother heard.

Sharp anguish seized her heart.
With her own hands she tore the veil
from her immortal hair.
She cast a dark mantle
over both her shoulders.
She rushed like a bird
over dry land and sea,
searching.

No one was willing to tell her the truth —
neither god nor mortal man.
No bird came to her as a true messenger.

For nine days then the lady Deo
roamed the earth,
holding blazing torches in her hands.
Not once did she taste ambrosia
or the sweet drink of nectar.
She did not bathe her skin.

But when the tenth dawn came shining,
Hekate met her, bearing a light in her hands,
and spoke to her with news:

"Lady Demeter, bringer of seasons, giver of bright gifts —
which of the gods of heaven,
or which of mortal men,
has seized Persephone and wounded your dear heart?
For I heard a voice — but with my eyes I did not see
who it was.
I tell you quickly all that is true."

So Hekate spoke. And the daughter of beautiful-haired Rheia
did not answer her with words,
but rushed together with her,
holding blazing torches in her hands.

They came to Helios, watcher of gods and men.
They stood before his horses, and the divine goddess asked:

"Helios — honour me, a goddess, if ever by word or deed
I have gladdened your heart.
The girl I bore, sweet shoot, glorious in beauty —
I heard her anguished voice through the barren air
as if she were being taken by force,
but I did not see with my eyes.

You look down upon the whole earth
and over the sea
with your rays from the bright sky.
Tell me truly about my dear child —
if you have seen
who, apart from me, has taken her unwilling by force,
whether a god or a mortal man."

So she spoke. And Hyperion's son answered her:

"Daughter of beautiful-haired Rheia, Demeter, Queen —
you shall know. For I honour you greatly, and I pity you,
grieving for your slender-ankled child.
No other of the immortals is to blame
except cloud-gathering Zeus,
who gave her to Hades
to be called his blossoming wife —
his own brother.

And Hades seized her, crying aloud,
and carried her away with his horses
beneath the murky darkness.

But goddess, stop your great weeping.
There is no need to hold
this boundless anger without cause.
Hades the Lord of the Many-Signed
is not an unworthy husband among the gods —
your own brother, born from the same seed.
For his honour, he received his share
when the threefold division was first made:
to dwell among those whose lord he was appointed to be."

Having spoken, he called to his horses.
Under his cry they carried the swift chariot
like long-winged birds.

And a grief more bitter and savage reached her heart.
Enraged then at the dark-clouded son of Kronos,
she withdrew from the assembly of the gods
and tall Olympos.
She went to the cities of men and the rich fields,
disguising her form a long time.
No man who looked at her,
no deep-girdled woman,
could recognise her —
until she came to the house of wise Keleos,
who was then lord of fragrant Eleusis.

She sat near the road, her dear heart grieving,
at the Maiden's Well, where the townspeople drew water,
in the shade — and above her an olive bush grew.

She looked like an old woman born long ago,
one cut off from childbearing
and the gifts of garland-loving Aphrodite —
the kind who nurse the children
of law-giving kings,
or keep house in the echoing halls.

The daughters of Keleos, son of Eleusis,
saw her as they came for water,
easy to draw, to carry in bronze pitchers
to their father's dear house.
Four of them, like goddesses,
in the flower of their girlhood:
Kallidike and Kleisidike,
lovely Demo and Kallithoe,
who was the eldest of them all.

They did not know her.
Gods are hard for mortals to see.

They stood near her and spoke winged words:

"Who are you, old woman, of those born long ago?
Why have you come away from the city
and do not draw near the houses?
In the shadowy halls, women your age
and younger too
would welcome you with word and deed."

So they spoke. And the queen of goddesses answered:

"Dear children — whoever you are of womankind —
greetings. I will tell you my story.
It is not unseemly to speak the truth
to those who ask.

My name is Doso — my lady mother gave it.
I have come now from Crete,
over the broad back of the sea,
against my will — by force, by compulsion,
men who were pirates carried me off.

They put in at Thorikos with their swift ship,
where the women and the men themselves
came ashore together.
They were preparing a meal
by the stern-cables of the ship.
But my heart had no desire for a pleasant supper.
I stole away through the dark land
and fled from those overbearing masters,
so that they would not sell me,
an unbought thing, and profit from my worth.

So I came here, wandering.
I do not know what land this is
or who dwells here.
But may all who hold Olympian houses
grant you husbands and the bearing of children
as your parents wish.
Have pity on me, girls.

Tell me plainly — whose house might I go to,
a man's and a woman's,
to work for them willingly
at such tasks as befit an aging woman?
I could hold a newborn child in my arms
and nurse him well,
and keep the house,
and make the master's bed
in the inner room of the well-built chamber,
and teach the women their work."

So the goddess spoke. And the unmarried maiden answered,
Kallidike, most beautiful of Keleos's daughters:

"Mother, we humans must endure
the gifts of the gods even in grief,
for they are far stronger than we.
I will tell you plainly and name for you
the men who hold great power and honour here,
who lead the people and guard the ramparts of the city
with their counsel and straight judgments:
Triptolemos of the close counsel,
Diokles, Polyxeinos,
blameless Eumolpos and Dolichos,
and our own noble father.
All their wives manage their houses.
Not one of them, at first sight of your form,
would dishonour you and turn you from the door.
They will receive you — for you look like a god.

If you wish, wait here while we go
to our father's house
and tell all this to our deep-girdled mother Metaneira.
Perhaps she will bid you come to ours
and not search the houses of others.
A late-born son is being raised
in the well-built hall —
much prayed for, much welcome.
If you would raise him until he reaches youth,
any woman who saw you would envy you —
so great would be the gifts she'd give."

So she spoke. And the goddess nodded.
They filled their shining pitchers with water
and carried them proudly.

Quickly they reached their father's great house
and told their mother what they had seen and heard.
She commanded them to go at once
and invite the woman for boundless wages.

Like deer or heifers in the season of spring
who leap through the meadow
when they have eaten their fill,
so they ran, holding up the folds
of their lovely gowns
down the hollow wagon road.
Their hair streamed on their shoulders
like the crocus blossom.

They found the glorious goddess near the road
where they had left her,
and led her to their father's dear house.

She walked behind, her dear heart grieving,
veiled to the head.
Her dark robe rippled about
the goddess's slender feet.

Quickly they reached the house of god-nurtured Keleos.
They passed through the portico where their lady mother
sat by the pillar of the close-fitted roof,
holding a child, a new shoot, on her lap.

The girls ran to her.
But the goddess stepped upon the threshold —
her head touched the roof-beam —
and she filled the doorway with a divine light.

Awe and reverence and pale fear seized Metaneira.
She yielded her chair and bade the goddess sit.
But Demeter, bringer of seasons, giver of bright gifts,
would not sit upon the shining chair.
She stood in silence, her beautiful eyes cast down,
until thoughtful Iambe set for her
a jointed stool and threw upon it a silvery fleece.

There she sat, and held the veil before her face.
A long time she sat upon the stool
in silence, grieving,
and greeted no one by word or gesture.
Without laughing, without tasting food or drink,
she sat, wasting with longing for her deep-girdled daughter —

until Iambe the knowing one,
with many jests and jokes,
moved the holy lady to smile,
and laugh, and hold a gracious heart.
And Iambe pleased her moods in later times as well.

Metaneira filled a cup with honey-sweet wine
and offered it to her.
She refused. She said it was not right
to drink red wine.
She told them instead to mix
barley and water with tender pennyroyal
and give it to her to drink.

Metaneira made the kykeon and gave it to the goddess
as she commanded.
The greatly honoured Deo received it
for the sake of the rite.

Then well-girdled Metaneira began to speak:

"Greetings, woman.
I think you come not from base parents
but from noble ones.
Dignity and grace shine in your eyes,
as if you were of law-giving kings.
But the gifts of the gods, even in grief,
we mortals must endure —
the yoke lies upon our necks.

Now that you have come here,
what is mine shall be yours.
Raise this child for me —
this late-born, unhoped-for gift
the immortals gave me.
He is much prayed for.
If you raise him until he reaches youth,
any woman who saw you would envy you —
so great would be the gifts I'd give."

Well-crowned Demeter answered her:

"And you, woman — great greetings.
May the gods grant you good things.
I will gladly take the child
as you command.
I will raise him. No foolishness of his nurse,
I trust, shall harm him —
no spell, no cutting herb.
For I know a charm far mightier than the woodcutter,
and I know a sure defense
against grievous spellcraft."

Having spoken, she received the child
in her fragrant lap
with her immortal hands.
And his mother's heart was glad.

So in the halls she nursed
the splendid son of wise Keleos —
Demophon, whom well-girdled Metaneira bore.
And he grew like a god.
He ate no food. He drank no mother's milk.

By day, beautiful-crowned Demeter
anointed him with ambrosia
as if he were born of a god,
breathing sweetly on him,
holding him against her breast.
By night she hid him in the might of fire
like a brand —
in secret from his parents.

To them it was a great wonder
how he flourished. He was like the gods to look upon.

And she would have made him ageless and immortal,
if it were not for the folly of well-girdled Metaneira,
who watched in the night
from her fragrant chamber
and saw —
and shrieked, and struck both thighs,
terrified for her child,
and greatly blinded in her heart.

In her grief she spoke winged words:

"My child Demophon — the stranger buries you
in great fire,
and gives me grief and bitter sorrow!"

So she spoke, lamenting.
And the divine goddess heard her.

Enraged, beautiful-crowned Demeter
took the dear child —
whom Metaneira had borne unhoped-for in her halls —
and with her immortal hands
set him from her, down upon the ground,
drawing him out of the fire,
her heart terribly angry.

And she spoke to well-girdled Metaneira:

"Ignorant humans, foolish,
unable to foresee your share
of coming good or evil —
you too, by your own folly,
have done yourself irreparable harm.

I swear by the implacable water of Styx,
the oath of the gods:
I would have made your dear child
deathless and ageless for all his days,
and given him honour that cannot perish.
But now it is not possible
for him to escape death and the fates.
Yet imperishable honour shall be his forever,
because he climbed upon my knees
and slept in my arms.

In the turning of the years,
the sons of the Eleusinians shall wage
war and terrible battle
against each other
for all their days.

I am Demeter, the honoured one,
who is the greatest joy and help
to gods and mortal men.

But come — let all the people
build me a great temple and an altar beneath it,
below the city and the sheer wall,
above Kallichoron, on the jutting hill.
The rites I shall teach you myself,
so that hereafter,
performing them with reverence,
you may appease my mind."

So the goddess spoke, and changed
her stature and her form,
thrusting off old age.
Beauty breathed around her
and about her.
A lovely fragrance spread
from her scented robes.
Light shone far
from the immortal skin of the goddess.
Golden hair streamed down her shoulders.
The close-built house was filled with brilliance
as with lightning.

She walked through the hall and was gone.
Metaneira's knees gave way at once.
She was voiceless a long time.
She did not even think
to pick up her late-born child from the floor.

His sisters heard his pitiful cry
and leapt from their soft-spread beds.
One took the child in her arms
and held him to her breast.
One kindled a fire.
One rushed on tender feet
to raise their mother from the fragrant chamber.

They gathered around the child
and bathed him as he struggled,
embracing him with love.
But his heart was not comforted —
lesser nurses now held him,
lesser hands.

All night long, trembling with fear,
they tried to appease the glorious goddess.

At the showing of dawn
they told the truth to wide-ruling Keleos —
what the goddess commanded:
Demeter of the beautiful crown.

He called the far-scattered people to assembly
and commanded them to build a rich temple
to beautiful-haired Demeter
and an altar on the jutting hill.

They obeyed at once. They heard his word
and built as he commanded.
And the temple grew by the will of the god.

When they had finished and rested from their labour,
each went home.
But golden Demeter sat there,
apart from all the blessed gods,
wasting with longing for her deep-girdled daughter.

She made the most dreadful, most savage year
upon the much-nourishing earth for mortal men.
The ground released no seed,
for well-crowned Demeter hid it.
The oxen dragged many curved ploughs
in vain across the fields.
Much white barley fell on the earth for nothing.

And she would have destroyed
the whole race of mortal men
with cruel famine,
and robbed those who hold Olympian houses
of their glorious honour and their sacrifices —
if Zeus had not noticed, and considered in his heart.

First he sent golden-winged Iris
to summon beautiful-haired Demeter,
lovely in form.
So he spoke. And she obeyed
dark-clouded Zeus, son of Kronos,
and ran the distance swiftly on her feet.

She reached the citadel of fragrant Eleusis.
She found Demeter in her temple, dark-robed,
and spoke to her with winged words:

"Demeter — father Zeus who knows imperishable things
calls you to come among the tribes
of the gods who live forever.
Come — let not my word from Zeus go unfulfilled."

So she spoke in prayer.
But Demeter's heart was not persuaded.

Then the father sent all the blessed gods
who live forever, one after another.
Coming in turn, they called to her
and offered many beautiful gifts
and whatever honours she might choose
among the immortals.

But no one could persuade her mind or thought —
she was furious in her heart,
and stubbornly refused their words.

She said she would never set foot
on fragrant Olympos,
and never release the fruit of the earth,
until she saw with her own eyes
her own fair-faced daughter.

When far-thundering, far-seeing Zeus heard this,
he sent to Erebos the golden-staffed Slayer of Argos,
to persuade Hades with soft words
and bring holy Persephone
out from the misty darkness
into the light, among the gods —
so that her mother, seeing her with her eyes,
might let go of her anger.

Hermes did not disobey.
He plunged swiftly down
beneath the hiding-places of the earth,
leaving the seat of Olympos.

He found the lord within his house,
reclining on a bed beside his revered wife,
who was deeply unwilling —
longing for her mother.

And she, far off,
was devising a terrible plan
against the deeds of the blessed gods.

The mighty Slayer of Argos stood near and said:

"Hades of the dark hair, lord of the perished —
father Zeus has commanded me
to bring noble Persephone
out of Erebos to them,
so that her mother, seeing her with her eyes,
may cease from her anger and her terrible wrath
against the immortals.
For she is planning a great thing:
to destroy the feeble tribes of earth-born men,
hiding the seed beneath the earth
and wasting the honours of the immortals.
She holds a terrible anger.
She will not mingle with the gods,
but sits apart in her fragrant temple,
holding the rocky citadel of Eleusis."

So he spoke. And Aidoneus, lord of those below,
smiled with his brows
and did not disobey the commands of king Zeus.

He spoke quickly to wise Persephone:

"Go, Persephone, to your dark-robed mother.
Keep a gentle spirit and heart in your breast.
Do not be despondent beyond all others.
I shall not be an unworthy husband for you
among the immortals —
I am the brother of your father Zeus.

While you are here, you shall rule
over all that lives and creeps.
You shall hold the greatest honours among the immortals.
Those who wrong you shall be punished
for all their days —
those who do not appease your power with sacrifices,
performing holy rites, bringing fitting gifts."

So he spoke. And wise Persephone rejoiced.
She sprang up quickly in her gladness.

But he — he gave her a pomegranate seed to eat,
honey-sweet, in secret,
glancing about him,
so that she would not stay forever
with her revered mother, Demeter of the dark robe.

Then Aidoneus, Lord of the Many-Signed,
harnessed his immortal horses
before the golden chariot.
She mounted. Beside her the mighty Slayer of Argos
took the reins and whip in his dear hands
and drove through the halls.
The two horses flew, not unwilling.

Swiftly they crossed the long road.
Neither sea nor river water
nor grassy glens nor mountain peaks
could check the rush of the immortal horses.
They cut the deep air, passing over.

He brought them and stopped
where well-crowned Demeter waited
before the fragrant temple.
She saw them —
and rushed like a maenad
down a mountain thick with forest.

And Persephone on the other side,
when she saw her mother's beautiful eyes —
she left the chariot and the horses
and leapt to run, and fell upon her neck,
clinging.

But even as Demeter held her dear child
in her arms,
her heart at once suspected a trick.
She trembled terribly.
She stopped her embrace
and immediately asked:

"Child — surely you did not taste any food
while you were below?
Speak out. Do not hide it. Let us both know.

For if you did not eat,
you would dwell with me
and with your father, dark-clouded Zeus,
honoured among all the immortals.

But if you tasted food,
you must go back again beneath the hiding-places of the earth
and dwell there for a third part of each year.
The other two you shall spend with me
and the other immortals.

When the earth blooms with fragrant spring flowers
of every kind,
then from the misty darkness below
you shall rise again — a great wonder
to gods and mortal men.

Tell me — by what trick
did mighty Hades deceive you?"

Beautiful Persephone answered her:

"Then I will tell you everything truly, Mother.
When Hermes the swift messenger
came from father Zeus and the other gods of heaven,
bidding me come from Erebos
so that seeing me with your eyes
you would cease your anger and terrible wrath
against the immortals —
I sprang up at once in my gladness.

But he secretly put in my mouth
a pomegranate seed, a honey-sweet food,
and forced me, unwilling, to eat it.

As for how he snatched me away
by the close design of Zeus, son of Kronos —
how he carried me off, my father's brother,
beneath the hiding-places of the earth —
I will tell it all, as you ask.

We were all playing in the lovely meadow —
Leukippe and Phaino and Elektra and Ianthe,
Melite and Iache and Rhodeia and Kallirhoe,
Melobosis and Tyche and bud-faced Okyrhoe,
Chryseis and Ianeira and Akaste and Admete,
Rhodope and Pluto and lovely Kalypso,
Styx and Ourania and fair Galaxaura,
battle-stirring Pallas and arrow-pouring Artemis —
we were playing, gathering lovely flowers,
gentle crocus and iris and hyacinth,
rosebuds and lilies, a wonder to see,
and the narcissus, which the broad earth grew
like a crocus.

I was reaching for it in my joy.
The earth opened beneath me.
The mighty lord Hades leapt out.
He carried me beneath the earth in his golden chariot,
though I cried and cried.
This is the truth I tell you, though it grieves me."

So then all that day, with one heart between them,
they greatly warmed each other's heart and spirit,
embracing.
Their hearts rested from sorrow.
They received joy from each other and gave it.

Hekate of the shining veil came near them
and embraced the holy daughter of Demeter
many times.
From that hour she was her attendant and companion.

To them far-thundering, far-seeing Zeus
sent as a messenger
beautiful-haired Rheia,
to bring dark-robed Demeter
among the tribes of the gods.
He promised to give her whatever honours
she might choose among the immortals.
He nodded that her daughter,
in the turning of the year,
should spend one third beneath the misty darkness
and two thirds with her mother
and the other immortals.

So he spoke. And the goddess did not disobey
the messages of Zeus.
She rushed swiftly from the peaks of Olympos
and came to the Rarian plain,
the life-giving navel of ploughland —
which in earlier times was life-giving,
but now was not:
it stood idle, completely leafless.
The white barley was hidden
by the design of fair-ankled Demeter.

But soon it would grow tall
with long ears of grain
as the spring waxed,
and the rich furrows on the ground
would be heavy with grain,
and the sheaves would be bound.

There she first set foot from the barren sky.
They saw each other gladly.
Their hearts rejoiced.

Rheia of the shining veil spoke to her:

"Come, child. Far-thundering, far-seeing Zeus calls you
to come among the tribes of the gods.
He has promised to give whatever honours
you wish among the immortals.
He has nodded that your daughter,
in the turning of the year,
shall spend one third beneath the misty darkness
and two thirds with you
and the other immortals.

So he has said it shall be done,
and nodded with his head.
Come, my child, and obey.
Do not rage endlessly
against dark-clouded Zeus.
Quickly now — make the life-giving grain grow
for humankind."

So she spoke. And well-crowned Demeter did not disobey.
At once she sent up grain
from the rich-clodded fields.
The whole wide earth was heavy
with leaves and flowers.

She went then to the law-giving kings
and showed Triptolemos and horse-driving Diokles,
mighty Eumolpos and Keleos, leader of the people,
the performance of her rites
and taught her mysteries to all of them —
to Triptolemos and Polyxeinos and Diokles besides —
holy things that may not be transgressed,
nor inquired into, nor spoken of.
For great awe of the gods restrains the voice.

Blessed is the one among men upon the earth
who has seen these things.
But the one who is uninitiated in the rites,
who has no share in them —
that one never has an equal portion
when dead, beneath the misty darkness.

When the divine goddess had taught them all,
they went to Olympos, to the gathering of the other gods.
There they dwell beside Zeus who delights in thunder,
holy and revered.
Greatly blessed is the one among men on earth
whom they freely love.

At once they send to that one's great hearth
Wealth, who gives abundance to mortal men.

Come now — you who hold fragrant Eleusis
and sea-washed Paros and rocky Antron —
Lady, giver of bright gifts, bringer of seasons,
Queen Deo —
you and your beautiful daughter Persephone:
for this song, graciously grant a life that warms the heart.

And I will remember you in another song.

Colophon

Homeric Hymn to Demeter (Ὕμνος εἰς Δημήτραν)

Traditionally attributed to the Homeridae. Composed c. 7th–6th century BCE, likely at Eleusis. 495 lines of dactylic hexameter. The longest of the Homeric Hymns and the foundational text of the Eleusinian Mysteries.

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 Rashid, Non-Uralic Translator, Life 1. March 2026.

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Source Text: Ὕμνος εἰς Δημήτραν

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.

Δήμητρʼ ἠύκομον, σεμνὴν θεόν, ἄρχομʼ ἀείδειν,
αὐτὴν ἠδὲ θύγατρα τανύσφυρον, ἣν Ἀιδωνεὺς
ἥρπαξεν, δῶκεν δὲ βαρύκτυπος εὐρύοπα Ζεύς,
νόσφιν Δήμητρος χρυσαόρου, ἀγλαοκάρπου,
παίζουσαν κούρῃσι σὺν Ὠκεανοῦ βαθυκόλποις
ἄνθεά τʼ αἰνυμένην, ῥόδα καὶ κρόκον ἠδʼ ἴα καλὰ
λειμῶνʼ ἂμ μαλακὸν καὶ ἀγαλλίδας ἠδʼ ὑάκινθον
νάρκισσόν θʼ, ὃν φῦσε δόλον καλυκώπιδι κούρῃ
Γαῖα Διὸς βουλῇσι χαριζομένη Πολυδέκτῃ,
θαυμαστὸν γανόωντα· σέβας τό γε πᾶσιν ἰδέσθαι
ἀθανάτοις τε θεοῖς ἠδὲ θνητοῖς ἀνθρώποις·
τοῦ καὶ ἀπὸ ῥίζης ἑκατὸν κάρα ἐξεπεφύκει·
κὦζʼ ἥδιστʼ ὀδμή, πᾶς τʼ οὐρανὸς εὐρὺς ὕπερθεν
γαῖά τε πᾶσʼ ἐγελάσσε καὶ ἁλμυρὸν οἶδμα θαλάσσης.
ἣ δʼ ἄρα θαμβήσασʼ ὠρέξατο χερσὶν ἅμʼ ἄμφω
καλὸν ἄθυρμα λαβεῖν· χάνε δὲ χθὼν εὐρυάγυια
Νύσιον ἂμ πεδίον, τῇ ὄρουσεν ἄναξ Πολυδέγμων
ἵπποις ἀθανάτοισι, Κρόνου πολυώνυμος υἱός.
ἁρπάξας δʼ ἀέκουσαν ἐπὶ χρυσέοισιν ὄχοισιν
ἦγʼ ὀλοφυρομένην· ἰάχησε δʼ ἄρʼ ὄρθια φωνῇ,
κεκλομένη πατέρα Κρονίδην ὕπατον καὶ ἄριστον.
οὐδέ τις ἀθανάτων οὐδὲ θνητῶν ἀνθρώπων
ἤκουσεν φωνῆς, οὐδʼ ἀγλαόκαρποι ἐλαῖαι†
εἰ μὴ Περσαίου θυγάτηρ ἀταλὰ φρονέουσα
ἄιεν ἐξ ἄντρου, Ἑκάτη λιπαροκρήδεμνος,
Ἠέλιός τε ἄναξ, Ὑπερίονος ἀγλαὸς υἱός,
κούρης κεκλομένης πατέρα Κρονίδην· ὃ δὲ νόσφιν
ἧστο θεῶν ἀπάνευθε πολυλλίστῳ ἐνὶ νηῷ,
δέγμενος ἱερὰ καλὰ παρὰ θνητῶν ἀνθρώπων.
τὴν δʼ ἀεκαζομένην ἦγεν Διὸς ἐννεσίῃσι
πατροκασίγνητος, Πολυσημάντωρ Πολυδέγμων,
ἵπποις ἀθανάτοισι, Κρόνου πολυώνυμος υἱός.
ὄφρα μὲν οὖν γαῖάν τε καὶ οὐρανὸν ἀστερόεντα
λεῦσσε θεὰ καὶ πόντον ἀγάρροον ἰχθυόεντα
αὐγάς τʼ ἠελίου, ἔτι δʼ ἤλπετο μητέρα κεδνὴν
ὄψεσθαι καὶ φῦλα θεῶν αἰειγενετάων,
τόφρα οἱ ἐλπὶς ἔθελγε μέγαν νόον ἀχνυμένης περ·
ἤχησαν δʼ ὀρέων κορυφαὶ καὶ βένθεα πόντου
φωνῇ ὑπʼ ἀθανάτῃ· τῆς δʼ ἔκλυε πότνια μήτηρ.
ὀξὺ δέ μιν κραδίην ἄχος ἔλλαβεν, ἀμφὶ δὲ χαίταις
ἀμβροσίαις κρήδεμνα δαΐζετο χερσὶ φίλῃσι,
κυάνεον δὲ κάλυμμα κατʼ ἀμφοτέρων βάλετʼ ὤμων,
σεύατο δʼ ὥστʼ οἰωνός, ἐπὶ τραφερήν τε καὶ ὑγρὴν
μαιομένη· τῇ δʼ οὔτις ἐτήτυμα μυθήσασθαι
ἤθελεν οὔτε θεῶν οὔτε θνητῶν ἀνθρώπων,
οὔτʼ οἰωνῶν τις τῇ ἐτήτυμος ἄγγελος ἦλθεν.
ἐννῆμαρ μὲν ἔπειτα κατὰ χθόνα πότνια Δηὼ
στρωφᾶτʼ αἰθομένας δαΐδας μετὰ χερσὶν ἔχουσα,
οὐδέ ποτʼ ἀμβροσίης καὶ νέκταρος ἡδυπότοιο
πάσσατʼ ἀκηχεμένη, οὐδὲ χρόα βάλλετο λουτροῖς.
ἀλλʼ ὅτε δὴ δεκάτη οἱ ἐπήλυθε φαινολὶς ἠώς,
ἤντετό οἱ Ἑκάτη, σέλας ἐν χείρεσσιν ἔχουσα
καί ῥά οἱ ἀγγελέουσα ἔπος φάτο φώνησέν τε·
πότνια Δημήτηρ, ὡρηφόρε, ἀγλαόδωρε,
τίς θεῶν οὐρανίων ἠὲ θνητῶν ἀνθρώπων
ἥρπασε Περσεφόνην καὶ σὸν φίλον ἤκαχε θυμόν;
φωνῆς γὰρ ἤκουσʼ, ἀτὰρ οὐκ ἴδον ὀφθαλμοῖσιν,
ὅστις ἔην· σοὶ δʼ ὦκα λέγω νημερτέα πάντα.
ὣς ἄρʼ ἔφη Ἑκάτη· τὴν δʼ οὐκ ἠμείβετο μύθῳ
Ῥείης ἠυκόμου θυγάτηρ, ἀλλʼ ὦκα σὺν αὐτῇ
ἤιξʼ αἰθομένας δαΐδας μετὰ χερσὶν ἔχουσα.
Ἠέλιον δʼ ἵκοντο, θεῶν σκοπὸν ἠδὲ καὶ ἀνδρῶν,
στὰν δʼ ἵππων προπάροιθε καὶ εἴρετο δῖα θεάων·
ἠέλιʼ, αἴδεσσαί με θεὰν σύ περ, εἴ ποτε δή σευ
ἢ ἔπει ἢ ἔργῳ κραδίην καὶ θυμὸν ἴηνα·
κούρην τὴν ἔτεκον, γλυκερὸν θάλος, εἴδεϊ κυδρήν,
τῆς ἀδινὴν ὄπʼ ἄκουσα διʼ αἰθέρος ἀτρυγέτοιο
ὥστε βιαζομένης, ἀτὰρ οὐκ ἴδον ὀφθαλμοῖσιν.
ἀλλά, σὺ γὰρ δὴ πᾶσαν ἐπὶ χθόνα καὶ κατὰ πόντον
αἰθέρος ἐκ δίης καταδέρκεαι ἀκτίνεσσι,
νημερτέως μοι ἔνισπε φίλον τέκος, εἴ που ὄπωπας,
ὅστις νόσφιν ἐμεῖο λαβὼν ἀέκουσαν ἀνάγκῃ
οἴχεται ἠὲ θεῶν ἢ καὶ θνητῶν ἀνθρώπων.
ὣς φάτο· τὴν δʼ Ὑπεριονίδης ἠμείβετο μύθῳ·
Ῥείης ἠυκόμου θύγατερ, Δήμητερ ἄνασσα,
εἰδήσεις· δὴ γὰρ μέγα σʼ ἅζομαι ἠδʼ ἐλεαίρω
ἀχνυμένην περὶ παιδὶ τανυσφύρῳ· οὐδέ τις ἄλλος
αἴτιος ἀθανάτων, εἰ μὴ νεφεληγερέτα Ζεύς,
ὅς μιν ἔδωκʼ Ἀίδῃ θαλερὴν κεκλῆσθαι ἄκοιτιν
αὐτοκασιγνήτῳ· ὃ δʼ ὑπὸ ζόφον ἠερόεντα
ἁρπάξας ἵπποισιν ἄγεν μεγάλα ἰάχουσαν.
ἀλλά, θεά, κατάπαυε μέγαν γόον· οὐδέ τί σε χρὴ
μὰψ αὔτως ἄπλητον ἔχειν χόλον· οὔ τοι ἀεικὴς
γαμβρὸς ἐν ἀθανάτοις Πολυσημάντωρ Ἀιδωνεύς,
αὐτοκασίγνητος καὶ ὁμόσπορος· ἀμφὶ δὲ τιμὴν
ἔλλαχεν ὡς τὰ πρῶτα διάτριχα δασμὸς ἐτύχθη,
τοῖς μεταναιετάειν, τῶν ἔλλαχε κοίρανος εἶναι.
ὣς εἰπὼν ἵπποισιν ἐκέκλετο· τοὶ δʼ ὑπʼ ὀμοκλῆς
ῥίμφα φέρον θοὸν ἅρμα τανύπτεροι ὥστʼ οἰωνοί.
Τὴν δʼ ἄχος αἰνότερον καὶ κύντερον ἵκετο θυμόν·
χωσαμένη δὴ ἔπειτα κελαινεφέι Κρονίωνι
νοσφισθεῖσα θεῶν ἀγορὴν καὶ μακρὸν Ὄλυμπον
ᾤχετʼ ἐπʼ ἀνθρώπων πόλιας καὶ πίονα ἔργα
εἶδος ἀμαλδύνουσα πολὺν χρόνον· οὐδέ τις ἀνδρῶν
εἰσορόων γίγνωσκε βαθυζώνων τε γυναικῶν,
πρίν γʼ ὅτε δὴ Κελεοῖο δαΐφρονος ἵκετο δῶμα,
ὃς τότʼ Ἐλευσῖνος θυοέσσης κοίρανος ἦεν.
ἕζετο δʼ ἐγγὺς ὁδοῖο φίλον τετιημένη ἦτορ,
Παρθενίῳ φρέατι, ὅθεν ὑδρεύοντο πολῖται,
ἐν σκιῇ, αὐτὰρ ὕπερθε πεφύκει θάμνος ἐλαίης,
γρηὶ παλαιγενέι ἐναλίγκιος, ἥτε τόκοιο
εἴργηται δώρων τε φιλοστεφάνου Ἀφροδίτης,
οἷαί τε τροφοί εἰσι θεμιστοπόλων βασιλήων
παίδων καὶ ταμίαι κατὰ δώματα ἠχήεντα.
τὴν δὲ ἴδον Κελεοῖο Ἐλευσινίδαο θύγατρες
ἐρχόμεναι μεθʼ ὕδωρ εὐήρυτον, ὄφρα φέροιεν
κάλπισι χαλκείῃσι φίλα πρὸς δώματα πατρός,
τέσσαρες, ὥστε θεαί, κουρήιον ἄνθος ἔχουσαι,
Καλλιδίκη καὶ Κλεισιδίκη Δημώ τʼ ἐρόεσσα
Καλλιθόη θʼ, ἣ τῶν προγενεστάτη ἦεν ἁπασῶν·
οὐδʼ ἔγνον· χαλεποὶ δὲ θεοὶ θνητοῖσιν ὁρᾶσθαι.
ἀγχοῦ δʼ ἱστάμεναι ἔπεα πτερόεντα προσηύδων·
τίς πόθεν ἐσσί, γρῆυ, παλαιγενέων ἀνθρώπων;
τίπτε δὲ νόσφι πόληος ἀπέστιχες, οὐδὲ δόμοισι
πίλνασαι; ἔνθα γυναῖκες ἀνὰ μέγαρα σκιόεντα
τηλίκαι, ὡς σύ περ ὧδε καὶ ὁπλότεραι γεγάασιν,
αἵ κέ σε φίλωνται ἠμὲν ἔπει ἠδὲ καὶ ἔργῳ.
ὣς ἔφαν· ἣ δʼ ἐπέεσσιν ἀμείβετο πότνα θεάων·
τέκνα φίλʼ, αἵ τινές ἐστε γυναικῶν θηλυτεράων,
χαίρετʼ· ἐγὼ δʼ ὑμῖν μυθήσομαι· οὔ τοι ἀεικὲς
ὑμῖν εἰρομένῃσιν ἀληθέα μυθήσασθαι.
Δωσὼ ἐμοί γʼ ὄνομʼ ἐστί· τὸ γὰρ θέτο πότνια μήτηρ.
νῦν αὖτε Κρήτηθεν ἐπʼ εὐρέα νῶτα θαλάσσης
ἤλυθον οὐκ ἐθέλουσα, βίῃ δʼ ἀέκουσαν ἀνάγκῃ
ἄνδρες ληιστῆρες ἀπήγαγον. οἳ μὲν ἔπειτα
νηὶ θοῇ Θόρικόνδε κατέσχεθον, ἔνθα γυναῖκες
ἠπείρου ἐπέβησαν ἀολλέες ἠδὲ καὶ αὐτοί,
δεῖπνόν τʼ ἐπηρτύνοντο παρὰ πρυμνήσια νηός·
ἀλλʼ ἐμοὶ οὐ δόρποιο μελίφρονος ἤρατο θυμός·
λάθρη δʼ ὁρμηθεῖσα διʼ ἠπείροιο μελαίνης
φεῦγον ὑπερφιάλους σημάντορας, ὄφρα κε μή με
ἀπριάτην περάσαντες ἐμῆς ἀποναίατο τιμῆς.
οὕτω δεῦρʼ ἱκόμην ἀλαλημένη, οὐδέ τι οἶδα,
ἥ τις δὴ γαῖʼ ἐστι καὶ οἵ τινες ἐγγεγάασιν.
ἀλλʼ ὑμῖν μὲν πάντες Ὀλύμπια δώματʼ ἔχοντες
δοῖεν κουριδίους ἄνδρας, καὶ τέκνα τεκέσθαι,
ὡς ἐθέλουσι τοκῆες· ἐμὲ δʼ αὖτʼ οἰκτείρατε, κοῦραι.
τοῦτο δέ μοι σαφέως ὑποθήκατε, ὄφρα πύθωμαι,
προφρονέως, φίλα τέκνα, τέων πρὸς δώμαθʼ ἵκωμαι
ἀνέρος ἠδὲ γυναικός, ἵνα σφίσιν ἐργάζωμαι
πρόφρων, οἷα γυναικὸς ἀφήλικος ἔργα τέτυκται·
καὶ κεν παῖδα νεογνὸν ἐν ἀγκοίνῃσιν ἔχουσα
καλὰ τιθηνοίμην καὶ δώματα τηρήσαιμι
καί κε λέχος στορέσαιμι μυχῷ θαλάμων εὐπήκτων
δεσπόσυνον καί κʼ ἔργα διδασκήσαιμι γυναῖκας.
φῆ ῥα θεά· τὴν δʼ αὐτίκʼ ἀμείβετο παρθένος ἀδμής,
Καλλιδίκη, Κελεοῖο θυγατρῶν εἶδος ἀρίστη·
μαῖα, θεῶν μὲν δῶρα καὶ ἀχνύμενοί περ ἀνάγκῃ
τέτλαμεν ἄνθρωποι· δὴ γὰρ πολὺ φέρτεροί εἰσι.
ταῦτα δέ τοι σαφέως ὑποθήσομαι ἠδʼ ὀνομήνω
ἀνέρας οἷσιν ἔπεστι μέγα κράτος ἐνθάδε τιμῆς
δήμου τε προὔχουσιν ἰδὲ κρήδεμνα πόληος
εἰρύαται βουλῇσι καὶ ἰθείῃσι δίκῃσιν·
ἠμὲν Τριπτολέμου πυκιμήδεος ἠδὲ Διόκλου
ἠδὲ Πολυξείνου καὶ ἀμύμονος Εὐμόλποιο
καὶ Δολίχου καὶ πατρὸς ἀγήνορος ἡμετέροιο,
τῶν πάντων ἄλοχοι κατὰ δώματα πορσαίνουσι·
τάων οὐκ ἄν τίς σε κατὰ πρώτιστον ὀπωπὴν
εἶδος ἀτιμήσασα δόμων ἀπονοσφίσσειεν,
ἀλλά σε δέξονται· δὴ γὰρ θεοείκελός ἐσσι.
εἰ δʼ ἐθέλεις, ἐπίμεινον, ἵνα πρὸς δώματα πατρὸς
ἔλθωμεν καὶ μητρὶ βαθυζώνῳ Μετανείρῃ
εἴπωμεν τάδε πάντα διαμπερές, αἴ κέ σʼ ἀνώγῃ
ἡμέτερόνδʼ ἰέναι μηδʼ ἄλλων δώματʼ ἐρευνᾶν.
τηλύγετος δέ οἱ υἱὸς ἐνὶ μεγάρῳ εὐπήκτῳ
ὀψίγονος τρέφεται, πολυεύχετος ἀσπάσιός τε.
εἰ τόν γʼ ἐκθρέψαιο καὶ ἥβης μέτρον ἵκοιτο,
ῥεῖά κέ τίς σε ἰδοῦσα γυναικῶν θηλυτεράων
ζηλώσαι· τόσα κέν τοι ἀπὸ θρεπτήρια δοίη.
ὣς ἔφαθʼ· ἣ δʼ ἐπένευσε καρήατι· ταὶ δὲ φαεινὰ
πλησάμεναι ὕδατος φέρον ἄγγεα κυδιάουσαι.
ῥίμφα δὲ πατρὸς ἵκοντο μέγαν δόμον, ὦκα δὲ μητρὶ
ἔννεπον, ὡς εἶδόν τε καὶ ἔκλυον. ἣ δὲ μάλʼ ὦκα
ἐλθούσας ἐκέλευε καλεῖν ἐπʼ ἀπείρονι μισθῷ.
αἳ δʼ ὥστʼ ἢ ἔλαφοι ἢ πόρτιες εἴαρος ὥρῃ
ἅλλοντʼ ἂν λειμῶνα κορεσσάμεναι φρένα φορβῇ,
ὣς αἳ ἐπισχόμεναι ἑανῶν πτύχας ἱμεροέντων
ἤιξαν κοίλην κατʼ ἀμαξιτόν· ἀμφὶ δὲ χαῖται
ὤμοις ἀίσσοντο κροκηίῳ ἄνθει ὁμοῖαι.
τέτμον δʼ ἐγγὺς ὁδοῦ κυδρὴν θεόν, ἔνθα πάρος περ
κάλλιπον· αὐτὰρ ἔπειτα φίλου πρὸς δώματα πατρὸς
ἡγεῦνθʼ· ἣ δʼ ἄρʼ ὄπισθε φίλον τετιημένη ἦτορ
στεῖχε κατὰ κρῆθεν κεκαλυμμένη· ἀμφὶ δὲ πέπλος
κυάνεος ῥαδινοῖσι θεᾶς ἐλελίζετο ποσσίν.
αἶψα δὲ δώμαθʼ ἵκοντο διοτρεφέος Κελεοῖο,
βὰν δὲ διʼ αἰθούσης, ἔνθα σφίσι πότνια μήτηρ
ἧστο παρὰ σταθμὸν τέγεος πύκα ποιητοῖο
παῖδʼ ὑπὸ κόλπῳ ἔχουσα, νέον θάλος· αἳ δὲ πὰρ αὐτὴν
ἔδραμον· ἣ δʼ ἄρʼ ἐπʼ οὐδὸν ἔβη ποσὶ καὶ ῥα μελάθρου
κῦρε κάρη, πλῆσεν δὲ θύρας σέλαος θείοιο.
τὴν δʼ αἰδώς τε σέβας τε ἰδὲ χλωρὸν δέος εἷλεν·
εἶξε δέ οἱ κλισμοῖο καὶ ἑδριάασθαι ἄνωγεν.
ἀλλʼ οὐ Δημήτηρ ὡρηφόρος, ἀγλαόδωρος,
ἤθελεν ἑδριάασθαι ἐπὶ κλισμοῖο φαεινοῦ,
ἀλλʼ ἀκέουσʼ ἀνέμιμνε κατʼ ὄμματα καλὰ βαλοῦσα,
πρίν γʼ ὅτε δή οἱ ἔθηκεν Ἰάμβη κέδνʼ εἰδυῖα
πηκτὸν ἕδος, καθύπερθε δʼ ἐπʼ ἀργύφεον βάλε κῶας.
ἔνθα καθεζομένη προκατέσχετο χερσὶ καλύπτρην·
δηρὸν δʼ ἄφθογγος τετιημένη ἧστʼ ἐπὶ δίφρου,
οὐδέ τινʼ οὔτʼ ἔπεϊ προσπτύσσετο οὔτε τι ἔργῳ,
ἀλλʼ ἀγέλαστος, ἄπαστος ἐδητύος ἠδὲ ποτῆτος
ἧστο πόθῳ μινύθουσα βαθυζώνοιο θυγατρός,
πρίν γʼ ὅτε δὴ χλεύῃς μιν Ἰάμβη κέδνʼ εἰδυῖα
πολλὰ παρασκώπτουσʼ ἐτρέψατο πότνιαν ἁγνήν,
μειδῆσαι γελάσαι τε καὶ ἵλαον σχεῖν θυμόν·
ἣ δή οἱ καὶ ἔπειτα μεθύστερον εὔαδεν ὀργαῖς.
τῇ δὲ δέπας Μετάνειρα δίδου μελιηδέος οἴνου
πλήσασʼ· ἣ δʼ ἀνένευσʼ· οὐ γὰρ θεμιτόν οἱ ἔφασκε
πίνειν οἶνον ἐρυθρόν· ἄνωγε δʼ ἄρʼ ἄλφι καὶ ὕδωρ
δοῦναι μίξασαν πιέμεν γλήχωνι τερείνῃ.
ἣ δὲ κυκεῶ τεύξασα θεᾷ πόρεν, ὡς ἐκέλευε·
δεξαμένη δʼ ὁσίης ἕνεκεν πολυπότνια Δηώ
τῇσι δὲ μύθων ἦρχεν ἐύζωνος Μετάνειρα·
χαῖρε, γύναι, ἐπεὶ οὔ σε κακῶν ἄπʼ ἔολπα τοκήων
ἔμμεναι, ἀλλʼ ἀγαθῶν· ἐπί τοι πρέπει ὄμμασιν αἰδὼς
καὶ χάρις, ὡς εἴ πέρ τε θεμιστοπόλων βασιλήων.
ἀλλὰ θεῶν μὲν δῶρα καὶ ἀχνύμενοί περ ἀνάγκῃ
τέτλαμεν ἄνθρωποι· ἐπὶ γὰρ ζυγὸς αὐχένι κεῖται.
νῦν δʼ, ἐπεὶ ἵκεο δεῦρο, παρέσσεται ὅσσα τʼ ἐμοί περ.
παῖδα δέ μοι τρέφε τόνδε, τὸν ὀψίγονον καὶ ἄελπτον
ὤπασαν ἀθάνατοι, πολυάρητος δέ μοί ἐστιν.
εἰ τόν γε θρέψαιο καὶ ἥβης μέτρον ἵκοιτο,
ῥεῖά κέ τίς σε ἰδοῦσα γυναικῶν θηλυτεράων
ζηλώσαι· τόσα κέν τοι ἀπὸ θρεπτήρια δοίην.
τὴν δʼ αὖτε προσέειπεν ἐυστέφανος Δημήτηρ·
καὶ σύ, γύναι, μάλα χαῖρε, θεοὶ δέ τοι ἐσθλὰ πόροιεν·
παῖδα δέ τοι πρόφρων ὑποδέξομαι, ὥς με κελεύεις,
θρέψω κοὔ μιν, ἔολπα, κακοφραδίῃσι τιθήνης
οὔτʼ ἄρʼ ἐπηλυσίη δηλήσεται οὔθʼ ὑποτάμνον·
οἶδα γὰρ ἀντίτομον μέγα φέρτερον ὑλοτόμοιο,
οἶδα δʼ ἐπηλυσίης πολυπήμονος ἐσθλὸν ἐρυσμόν.
ὣς ἄρα φωνήσασα θυώδεϊ δέξατο κόλπῳ
χείρεσσʼ ἀθανάτῃσι· γεγήθει δὲ φρένα μήτηρ.
ὣς ἣ μὲν Κελεοῖο δαΐφρονος ἀγλαὸν υἱὸν
Δημοφόωνθʼ, ὃν ἔτικτεν ἐύζωνος Μετάνειρα,
ἔτρεφεν ἐν μεγάροις· ὃ δʼ ἀέξετο δαίμονι ἶσος,
οὔτʼ οὖν σῖτον ἔδων, οὐ θησάμενος γάλα μητρὸς
ἠματίη μὲν γὰρ καλλιστέφανος Δημήτηρ
χρίεσκʼ ἀμβροσίῃ ὡσεὶ θεοῦ ἐκγεγαῶτα
ἡδὺ καταπνείουσα καὶ ἐν κόλποισιν ἔχουσα·
νύκτας δὲ κρύπτεσκε πυρὸς μένει ἠύτε δαλὸν
λάθρα φίλων γονέων· τοῖς δὲ μέγα θαῦμʼ ἐτέτυκτο,
ὡς προθαλὴς τελέθεσκε· θεοῖσι γὰρ ἄντα ἐῴκει.
καί κέν μιν ποίησεν ἀγήρων τʼ ἀθάνατόν τε,
εἰ μὴ ἄρʼ ἀφραδίῃσιν ἐύζωνος Μετάνειρα
νύκτʼ ἐπιτηρήσασα θυώδεος ἐκ θαλάμοιο
σκέψατο· κώκυσεν δὲ καὶ ἄμφω πλήξατο μηρὼ
δείσασʼ ᾧ περὶ παιδὶ καὶ ἀάσθη μέγα θυμῷ
καί ῥʼ ὀλοφυρομένη ἔπεα πτερόεντα προσηύδα·
τέκνον Δημοφόων, ξείνη σε πυρὶ ἔνι πολλῷ
κρύπτει, ἐμοὶ δὲ γόον καὶ κήδεα λυγρὰ τίθησιν.
ὣς φάτʼ ὀδυρομένη· τῆς δʼ ἄιε δῖα θεάων.
τῇ δὲ χολωσαμένη καλλιστέφανος Δημήτηρ
παῖδα φίλον, τὸν ἄελπτον ἐνὶ μεγάροισιν ἔτικτε,
χείρεσσʼ ἀθανάτῃσιν ἀπὸ ἕθεν ἧκε πέδονδε,
ἐξανελοῦσα πυρός, θυμῷ κοτέσασα μάλʼ αἰνῶς,
καί ῥʼ ἄμυδις προσέειπεν ἐύζωνον Μετάνειραν·
νήιδες ἄνθρωποι καὶ ἀφράδμονες οὔτʼ ἀγαθοῖο
αἶσαν ἐπερχομένου προγνώμεναι οὔτε κακοῖο·
καὶ σὺ γὰρ ἀφραδίῃσι τεῇς νήκεστον ἀάσθης.
ἴστω γὰρ θεῶν ὅρκος, ἀμείλικτον Στυγὸς ὕδωρ,
ἀθάνατόν κέν τοι καὶ ἀγήραον ἤματα πάντα
παῖδα φίλον ποίησα καὶ ἄφθιτον ὤπασα τιμήν·
νῦν δʼ οὐκ ἔσθʼ ὥς κεν θάνατον καὶ κῆρας ἀλύξαι·
τιμὴ δʼ ἄφθιτος αἰὲν ἐπέσσεται, οὕνεκα γούνων
ἡμετέρων ἐπέβη καὶ ἐν ἀγκοίνῃσιν ἴαυσεν.
ὥρῃσιν δʼ ἄρα τῷ γε περιπλομένων ἐνιαυτῶν
παῖδες Ἐλευσινίων πόλεμον καὶ φύλοπιν αἰνὴν
αἰὲν ἐν ἀλλήλοισιν συνάξουσʼ ἤματα πάντα.
εἰμὶ δὲ Δημήτηρ τιμάοχος, ἥτε μέγιστον
ἀθανάτοις θνητοῖς τʼ ὄνεαρ καὶ χάρμα τέτυκται.
ἀλλʼ ἄγε μοι νηόν τε μέγαν καὶ βωμὸν ὑπʼ αὐτῷ
τευχόντων πᾶς δῆμος ὑπαὶ πόλιν αἰπύ τε τεῖχος
Καλλιχόρου καθύπερθεν ἐπὶ προὔχοντι κολωνῷ.
ὄργια δʼ αὐτὴ ἐγὼν ὑποθήσομαι, ὡς ἂν ἔπειτα
εὐαγέως ἔρδοντες ἐμὸν νόον ἱλάσκοισθε.
ὣς εἰποῦσα θεὰ μέγεθος καὶ εἶδος ἄμειψε
γῆρας ἀπωσαμένη· περί τʼ ἀμφί τε κάλλος ἄητο·
ὀδμὴ δʼ ἱμερόεσσα θυηέντων ἀπὸ πέπλων
σκίδνατο, τῆλε δὲ φέγγος ἀπὸ χροὸς ἀθανάτοιο
λάμπε θεᾶς, ξανθαὶ δὲ κόμαι κατενήνοθεν ὤμους,
αὐγῆς δʼ ἐπλήσθη πυκινὸς δόμος ἀστεροπῆς ὥς·
βῆ δὲ διὲκ μεγάρων· τῆς δʼ αὐτίκα γούνατʼ ἔλυντο,
δηρὸν δʼ ἄφθογγος γένετο χρόνον, οὐδέ τι παιδὸς
μνήσατο τηλυγέτοιο ἀπὸ δαπέδου ἀνελέσθαι.
τοῦ δὲ κασίγνηται φωνὴν ἐσάκουσαν ἐλεινήν,
κὰδ δʼ ἄρʼ ἀπʼ εὐστρώτων λεχέων θόρον· ἣ μὲν ἔπειτα
παῖδʼ ἀνὰ χερσὶν ἑλοῦσα ἑῷ ἐγκάτθετο κόλπῳ·
ἣ δʼ ἄρα πῦρ ἀνέκαιʼ· ἣ δʼ ἔσσυτο πόσσʼ ἁπαλοῖσι
μητέρʼ ἀναστήσουσα θυώδεος ἐκ θαλάμοιο.
ἀγρόμεναι δέ μιν ἀμφὶς ἐλούεον ἀσπαίροντα
ἀμφαγαπαζόμεναι· τοῦ δʼ οὐ μειλίσσετο θυμός·
χειρότεραι γὰρ δή μιν ἔχον τροφοὶ ἠδὲ τιθῆναι.
αἳ μὲν παννύχιαι κυδρὴν θεὸν ἱλάσκοντο
δείματι παλλόμεναι, ἅμα δʼ ἠοῖ φαινομένηφιν
εὐρυβίῃ Κελεῷ νημερτέα μυθήσαντο,
ὡς ἐπέτελλε θεά, καλλιστέφανος Δημήτηρ.
αὐτὰρ ὅ γʼ εἰς ἀγορὴν καλέσας πολυπείρονα λαὸν
ἤνωγʼ ἠυκόμῳ Δημήτερι πίονα νηὸν
ποιῆσαι καὶ βωμὸν ἐπὶ προὔχοντι κολωνῷ.
οἳ δὲ μάλʼ αἶψʼ ἐπίθοντο καὶ ἔκλυον αὐδήσαντος,
τεῦχον δʼ, ὡς ἐπέτελλʼ. ὃ δʼ ἀέξετο δαίμονι ἶσος.
αὐτὰρ ἐπεὶ τέλεσαν καὶ ἐρώησαν καμάτοιο,
βάν ῥʼ ἴμεν οἴκαδʼ ἕκαστος· ἀτὰρ ξανθὴ Δημήτηρ
ἔνθα καθεζομένη μακάρων ἀπὸ νόσφιν ἁπάντων
μίμνε πόθῳ μινύθουσα βαθυζώνοιο θυγατρός.
αἰνότατον δʼ ἐνιαυτὸν ἐπὶ χθόνα πουλυβότειραν
ποίησʼ ἀνθρώποις καὶ κύντατον· οὐδέ τι γαῖα
σπέρμʼ ἀνίει, κρύπτεν γὰρ ἐυστέφανος Δημήτηρ·
πολλὰ δὲ καμπύλʼ ἄροτρα μάτην βόες εἷλκον ἀρούραις·
πολλὸν δὲ κρῖ λευκὸν ἐτώσιον ἔμπεσε γαίῃ·
καί νύ κε πάμπαν ὄλεσσε γένος μερόπων ἀνθρώπων
λιμοῦ ὑπʼ ἀργαλέης, γεράων τʼ ἐρικυδέα τιμὴν
καὶ θυσιῶν ἤμερσεν Ὀλύμπια δώματʼ ἔχοντας,
εἰ μὴ Ζεὺς ἐνόησεν ἑῷ τʼ ἐφράσσατο θυμῷ.
Ἶριν δὲ πρῶτον χρυσόπτερον ὦρσε καλέσσαι
Δήμητρʼ ἠύκομον, πολυήρατον εἶδος ἔχουσαν.
ὣς ἔφαθʼ· ἣ δὲ Ζηνὶ κελαινεφέι Κρονίωνι
πείθετο καὶ τὸ μεσηγὺ διέδραμεν ὦκα πόδεσσιν.
ἵκετο δὲ πτολίεθρον Ἐλευσῖνος θυοέσσης,
εὗρεν δʼ ἐν νηῷ Δημήτερα κυανόπεπλον
καί μιν φωνήσασʼ ἔπεα πτερόεντα προσηύδα·
Δήμητερ, καλέει σε πατὴρ Ζεὺς ἄφθιτα εἰδὼς
ἐλθέμεναι μετὰ φῦλα θεῶν αἰειγενετάων.
ἄλλʼ ἴθι, μηδʼ ἀτέλεστον ἐμὸν ἔπος ἐκ Διὸς ἔστω.
ὣς φάτο λισσομένη· τῇ δʼ οὐκ ἐπεπείθετο θυμός.
αὖτις ἔπειτα πατὴρ μάκαρας θεοὺς αἰὲν ἐόντας
πάντας ἐπιπροΐαλλεν· ἀμοιβηδὶς δὲ κιόντες
κίκλησκον καὶ πολλὰ δίδον περικαλλέα δῶρα
τιμάς θʼ, †ἅς κʼ ἐθέλοιτο† μετʼ ἀθανάτοισιν ἑλέσθαι.
ἀλλʼ οὔτις πεῖσαι δύνατο φρένας οὐδὲ νόημα
θυμῷ χωομένης· στερεῶς δʼ ἠναίνετο μύθους.
οὐ μὲν γάρ ποτʼ ἔφασκε θυώδεος Οὐλύμποιο
πρίν γʼ ἐπιβήσεσθαι, οὐ πρὶν γῆς καρπὸν ἀνήσειν,
πρὶν ἴδοι ὀφθαλμοῖσιν ἑὴν εὐώπιδα κούρην.
αὐτὰρ ἐπεὶ τό γʼ ἄκουσε βαρύκτυπος εὐρύοπα Ζεύς,
εἰς Ἔρεβος πέμψε χρυσόρραπιν Ἀργειφόντην,
ὄφρʼ Ἀίδην μαλακοῖσι παραιφάμενος ἐπέεσσιν
ἁγνὴν Περσεφόνειαν ὑπὸ ζόφου ἠερόεντος
ἐς φάος ἐξαγάγοι μετὰ δαίμονας, ὄφρα ἑ μήτηρ
ὀφθαλμοῖσιν ἰδοῦσα μεταλήξειε χόλοιο.
Ἑρμῆς δʼ οὐκ ἀπίθησεν, ἄφαρ δʼ ὑπὸ κεύθεα γαίης
ἐσσυμένως κατόρουσε λιπὼν ἕδος Οὐλύμποιο.
τέτμε δὲ τόν γε ἄνακτα δόμων ἔντοσθεν ἐόντα,
ἥμενον ἐν λεχέεσσι σὺν αἰδοίῃ παρακοίτι,
πόλλʼ ἀεκαζομένῃ μητρὸς πόθῳ· ἣ δʼ ἀποτηλοῦ
ἔργοις θεῶν μακάρων δεινὴν μητίσετο βουλήν.
ἀγχοῦ δʼ ἱστάμενος προσέφη κρατὺς Ἀργειφόντης·
Ἅιδη κυανοχαῖτα, καταφθιμένοισιν ἀνάσσων,
Ζεύς με πατὴρ ἤνωγεν ἀγαυὴν Περσεφόνειαν
ἐξαγαγεῖν Ἐρέβευσφι μετὰ σφέας, ὄφρα ἑ μήτηρ
ὀφθαλμοῖσιν ἰδοῦσα χόλου καὶ μήνιος αἰνῆς
ἀθανάτοις λήξειεν· ἐπεὶ μέγα μήδεται ἔργον,
φθῖσαι φῦλʼ ἀμενηνὰ χαμαιγενέων ἀνθρώπων,
σπέρμʼ ὑπὸ γῆς κρύπτουσα, καταφθινύθουσα δὲ τιμὰς
ἀθανάτων· ἣ δʼ αἰνὸν ἔχει χόλον, οὐδὲ θεοῖσι
μίσγεται, ἀλλʼ ἀπάνευθε θυώδεος ἔνδοθι νηοῦ
ἧσται Ἐλευσῖνος κραναὸν πτολίεθρον ἔχουσα.
ὣς φάτο· μείδησεν δὲ ἄναξ ἐνέρων Ἀιδωνεὺς
ὀφρύσιν, οὐδʼ ἀπίθησε Διὸς βασιλῆος ἐφετμῇς·
ἐσσυμένως δʼ ἐκέλευσε δαΐφρονι Περσεφονείῃ·
ἔρχεο, Περσεφόνη, παρὰ μητέρα κυανόπεπλον
ἤπιον ἐν στήθεσσι μένος καὶ θυμὸν ἔχουσα,
μηδέ τι δυσθύμαινε λίην περιώσιον ἄλλων·
οὔ τοι ἐν ἀθανάτοισιν ἀεικὴς ἔσσομʼ ἀκοίτης,
αὐτοκασίγνητος πατρὸς Διός· ἔνθα δʼ ἐοῦσα
δεσπόσσεις πάντων ὁπόσα ζώει τε καὶ ἕρπει,
τιμὰς δὲ σχήσησθα μετʼ ἀθανάτοισι μεγίστας.
τῶν δʼ ἀδικησάντων τίσις ἔσσεται ἤματα πάντα,
οἵ κεν μὴ θυσίῃσι τεὸν μένος ἱλάσκωνται
εὐαγέως ἔρδοντες, ἐναίσιμα δῶρα τελοῦντες.
ὣς φάτο· γήθησεν δὲ περίφρων Περσεφόνεια,
καρπαλίμως δʼ ἀνόρουσʼ ὑπὸ χάρματος· αὐτὰρ ὅ γʼ αὐτὸς
ῥοιῆς κόκκον ἔδωκε φαγεῖν μελιηδέα λάθρῃ,
ἀμφὶ ἓ νωμήσας, ἵνα μὴ μένοι ἤματα πάντα
αὖθι παρʼ αἰδοίῃ Δημήτερι κυανοπέπλῳ.
ἵππους δὲ προπάροιθεν ὑπὸ χρυσέοισιν ὄχεσφιν
ἔντυεν ἀθανάτους Πολυσημάντωρ Ἀιδωνευς.
ἣ δʼ ὀχέων ἐπέβη, πάρα δὲ κρατὺς Ἀργειφόντης
ἡνία καὶ μάστιγα λαβὼν μετὰ χερσὶ φίλῃσι
σεῦε διὲκ μεγάρων· τὼ δʼ οὐκ ἀέκοντε πετέσθην.
ῥίμφα δὲ μακρὰ κέλευθα διήνυσαν· οὐδὲ θάλασσα
οὔθʼ ὕδωρ ποταμῶν οὔτʼ ἄγκεα ποιήεντα
ἵππων ἀθανάτων οὔτʼ ἄκριες ἔσχεθον ὁρμήν,
ἀλλʼ ὑπὲρ αὐτάων βαθὺν ἠέρα τέμνον ἰόντες.
στῆσε δʼ ἄγων, ὅθι μίμνεν ἐυστέφανος Δημήτηρ,
νηοῖο προπάροιθε θυώδεος· ἣ δὲ ἰδοῦσα
ἤιξʼ, ἠύτε μαινὰς ὄρος κάτα δάσκιον ὕλῃ.
Περσεφόνη δʼ ἑτέρωθεν ἐπεὶ ἴδεν ὄμματα καλὰ
μητρὸς ἑῆς κατʼ ἄρʼ ἥ γʼ ὄχεα προλιποῦσα καὶ ἵππους
ἆλτο θέειν, δειρῇ δέ οἱ ἔμπεσε ἀμφιχυθεῖσα·
τῇ δὲ φίλην ἔτι παῖδα ἑῇς μετὰ χερσὶν ἐχούσῃ
αἶψα δόλον θυμός τινʼ ὀίσατο, τρέσσε δʼ ἄρʼ αἰνῶς
παυομένη φιλότητος, ἄφαρ δʼ ἐρεείνετο μύθῳ·
τέκνον, μή ῥά τι μοι σύ γε πάσσαο νέρθεν ἐοῦσα
βρώμης; ἐξαύδα, μὴ κεῦθʼ, ἵνα εἴδομεν ἄμφω·
ὣς μὲν γάρ κεν ἐοῦσα παρὰ στυγεροῦ Ἀίδαο
καὶ παρʼ ἐμοὶ καὶ πατρὶ κελαινεφέϊ Κρονίωνι
ναιετάοις πάντεσσι τετιμένη ἀθανάτοισιν.
εἰ δʼ ἐπάσω, πάλιν αὖτις ἰοῦσʼ ὑπὸ κεύθεσι γαίης
οἰκήσεις ὡρέων τρίτατον μέρος εἰς ἐνιαυτόν,
τὰς δὲ δύω παρʼ ἐμοί τε καὶ ἄλλοις ἀθανάτοισιν.
ὁππότε δʼ ἄνθεσι γαῖʼ εὐώδεσιν εἰαρινοῖσι
παντοδαποῖς θάλλῃ, τόθʼ ὑπὸ ζόφου ἠερόεντος
αὖτις ἄνει μέγα θαῦμα θεοῖς θνητοῖς τʼ ἀνθρώποις.
εἶπε δὲ πῶς σʼ ἥρπαξεν ὑπὸ ζόφον ἠερόεντα
καὶ τίνι σʼ ἐξαπάτησε δόλῳ κρατερὸς Πολυδέγμων;
τὴν δʼ αὖ Περσεφόνη περικαλλὴς ἀντίον ηὔδα·
τοιγὰρ ἐγώ τοι, μῆτερ, ἐρέω νημερτέα πάντα·
εὖτέ μοι Ἑρμῆς ἦλθʼ ἐριούνιος ἄγγελος ὠκὺς
πὰρ πατέρος Κρονιδαο καὶ ἄλλων Οὐρανιώνων,
ἐλθεῖν ἐξ Ἐρέβευς, ἵνα ὀφθαλμοῖσιν ἰδοῦσα
λήξαις ἀθανάτοισι χόλου καὶ μήνιος αἰνῆς,
αὐτίκʼ ἐγὼν ἀνόρουσʼ ὑπὸ χάρματος· αὐτὰρ ὃ λάθρῃ
ἔμβαλέ μοι ῥοιῆς κόκκον, μελιηδέʼ ἐδωδήν,
ἄκουσαν δὲ βίῃ με προσηνάγκασσε πάσασθαι.
ὡς δέ μʼ ἀναρπάξας Κρονίδεω πυκινὴν διὰ μῆτιν
ᾤχετο πατρὸς ἐμοῖο, φέρων ὑπὸ κεύθεα γαίης,
ἐξερέω, καὶ πάντα διίξομαι, ὡς ἐρεείνεις.
ἡμεῖς μὲν μάλα πᾶσαι ἀνʼ ἱμερτὸν λειμῶνα,
Λευκίππη Φαινώ τε καὶ Ἠλέκτρη καὶ Ἰάνθη
καὶ Μελίτη Ἰάχη τε Ῥόδειά τε Καλλιρόη τε
Μηλόβοσίς τε Τύχη τε καὶ Ὠκυρόη καλυκῶπις
Χρυσηίς τʼ Ἰάνειρά τʼ Ἀκάστη τʼ Ἀδμήτη τε
καὶ Ῥοδόπη Πλουτώ τε καὶ ἱμερόεσσα Καλυψὼ
καὶ Στὺξ Οὐρανίη τε Γαλαξαύρη τʼ ἐρατεινὴ
Παλλάς τʼ ἐγρεμάχη καὶ Ἄρτεμις ἰοχέαιρα,
παίζομεν ἠδʼ ἄνθεα δρέπομεν χείρεσσʼ ἐρόεντα,
μίγδα κρόκον τʼ ἀγανὸν καὶ ἀγαλλίδας ἠδʼ ὑάκινθον
καὶ ῥοδέας κάλυκας καὶ λείρια, θαῦμα ἰδέσθαι,
νάρκισσόν θʼ, ὃν ἔφυσʼ ὥς περ κρόκον εὐρεῖα χθών.
αὐτὰρ ἐγὼ δρεπόμην περὶ χάρματι· γαῖα δʼ ἔνερθε
χώρησεν· τῇ δʼ ἔκθορʼ ἄναξ κρατερὸς Πολυδέγμων·
βῆ δὲ φέρων ὑπὸ γαῖαν ἐν ἅρμασι χρυσείοισι
πόλλʼ ἀεκαζομένην· ἐβόησα δʼ ἄρʼ ὄρθια φωνῇ.
ταῦτά τοι ἀχνυμένη περ ἀληθέα πάντʼ ἀγορεύω.
ὣς τότε μὲν πρόπαν ἦμαρ ὁμόφρονα θυμὸν ἔχουσαι
πολλὰ μάλʼ ἀλλήλων κραδίην καὶ θυμὸν ἴαινον
ἀμφαγαπαζόμεναι· ἀχέων δʼ ἀπεπαύετο θυμός.
γηθοσύνας δʼ ἐδέχοντο παρʼ ἀλλήλων ἔδιδόν τε.
τῇσιν δʼ ἐγγύθεν ἦλθʼ Ἑκάτη λιπαροκρήδεμνος·
πολλὰ δʼ ἄρʼ ἀμφαγάπησε κόρην Δημήτερος ἁγνήν·
ἐκ τοῦ οἱ πρόπολος καὶ ὀπάων ἔπλετʼ ἄνασσα.
ταῖς δὲ μέτʼ ἄγγελον ἧκε βαρύκτυπος εὐρύοπα Ζεὺς
Ῥείην ἠύκομον, Δημήτερα κυανόπεπλον
ἀξέμεναι μετὰ φῦλα θεῶν, ὑπέδεκτο δὲ τιμὰς
δωσέμεν, ἅς κεν ἕλοιτο μετʼ ἀθανάτοισι θεοῖσι·
νεῦσε δέ οἱ κούρην ἔτεος περιτελλομένοιο
τὴν τριτάτην μὲν μοῖραν ὑπὸ ζόφον ἠερόεντα,
τὰς δὲ δύω παρὰ μητρὶ καὶ ἄλλοις ἀθανάτοισιν.
ὣς ἔφατʼ· οὐδʼ ἀπίθησε θεὰ Διὸς ἀγγελιάων.
ἐσσυμένως δʼ ἤιξε κατʼ Οὐλύμποιο καρήνων,
ἐς δʼ ἄρα Ῥάριον ἷξε, φερέσβιον οὖθαρ ἀρούρης
τὸ πρίν, ἀτὰρ τότε γʼ οὔτι φερέσβιον, ἀλλὰ ἕκηλον
ἑστήκει πανάφυλλον· ἔκευθε δʼ ἄρα κρῖ λευκὸν
μήδεσι Δήμητρος καλλισφύρου· αὐτὰρ ἔπειτα
μέλλεν ἄφαρ ταναοῖσι κομήσειν ἀσταχύεσσιν
ἦρος ἀεξομένοιο, πέδῳ δʼ ἄρα πίονες ὄγμοι
βρισέμεν ἀσταχύων, τὰ δʼ ἐν ἐλλεδανοῖσι δεδέσθαι.
ἔνθʼ ἐπέβη πρώτιστον ἀπʼ αἰθέρος ἀτρυγέτοιο·
ἀσπασίως δʼ ἴδον ἀλλήλας, κεχάρηντο δὲ θυμῷ.
τὴν δʼ ὧδε προσέειπε Ῥέη λιπαροκρήδεμνος·
δεῦρο τέκος, καλέει σε βαρύκτυπος εὐρύοπα Ζεὺς
ἐλθέμεναι μετὰ φῦλα θεῶν, ὑπέδεκτο δὲ τιμὰς
δωσέμεν, ἅς κʼ ἐθέλῃσθα μετʼ ἀθανάτοισι θεοῖσι.
νεῦσε δέ σοι κούρην ἔτεος περιτελλομένοιο
τὴν τριτάτην μὲν μοῖραν ὑπὸ ζόφον ἠερόεντα,
τὰς δὲ δύω παρὰ σοί τε καὶ ἄλλοις ἀθανάτοισιν.
ὣς ἄρʼ ἔφη τελέεσθαι· ἑῷ δʼ ἐπένευσε κάρητι.
ἀλλʼ ἴθι, τέκνον ἐμόν, καὶ πείθεο, μηδέ τι λίην
ἀζηχὲς μενέαινε κελαινεφέι Κρονίωνι.
αἶψα δὲ καρπὸν ἄεξε φερέσβιον ἀνθρώποισιν.
ὣς ἔφατʼ. οὐδʼ ἀπίθησεν ἐυστέφανος
Δημήτηρ·
αἶψα δὲ καρπὸν ἀνῆκεν ἀρουράων ἐριβώλων·
πᾶσα δὲ φύλλοισίν τε καὶ ἄνθεσιν εὐρεῖα χθὼν
ἔβρισʼ· ἣ δὲ κιοῦσα θεμιστοπόλοις βασιλεῦσι
δεῖξεν Τριπτολέμῳ τε Διοκλεῖ τε πληξίππῳ
Εὐμόλπου τε βίῃ Κελεῷ θʼ ἡγήτορι λαῶν
δρησμοσύνην θʼ ἱερῶν καὶ ἐπέφραδεν ὄργια πᾶσι,
Τριπτολέμῳ τε Πολυξείνῳ, ἐπὶ τοῖς δὲ Διοκλεῖ
σεμνά, τά τʼ οὔπως ἔστι παρεξίμεν οὔτε πυθέσθαι
οὔτʼ ἀχέειν· μέγα γάρ τι θεῶν σέβας ἰσχάνει αὐδήν.
ὄλβιος, ὃς τάδʼ ὄπωπεν ἐπιχθονίων ἀνθρώπων·
ὃς δʼ ἀτελὴς ἱερῶν ὅς τʼ ἄμμορος, οὔποθʼ ὁμοίων
αἶσαν ἔχει φθίμενός περ ὑπὸ ζόφῳ ἠερόεντι.
αὐτὰρ ἐπειδὴ πάνθʼ ὑπεθήκατο δῖα θεάων,
βάν ῥʼ ἴμεν Οὔλυμπόνδε θεῶν μεθʼ ὁμήγυριν ἄλλων.
ἔνθα δὲ ναιετάουσι παραὶ Διὶ τερπικεραύνῳ
σεμναί τʼ αἰδοῖαι τε· μέγʼ ὄλβιος, ὅν τινʼ ἐκεῖναι
προφρονέως φίλωνται ἐπιχθονίων ἀνθρώπων·
αἶψα δέ οἱ πέμπουσιν ἐφέστιον ἐς μέγα δῶμα
Πλοῦτον, ὃς ἀνθρώποις ἄφενος θνητοῖσι δίδωσιν.
ἀλλʼ ἄγʼ Ἐλευσῖνος θυοέσσης δῆμον ἔχουσα
καὶ Πάρον ἀμφιρύτην Ἀντρῶνά τε πετρήεντα,
πότνια, ἀγλαόδωρʼ, ὡρηφόρε, Δηοῖ ἄνασσα,
αὐτὴ καὶ κούρη περικαλλὴς Περσεφόνεια·
πρόφρονες ἀντʼ ᾠδῆς βίοτον θυμήρεʼ ὄπαζε.
αὐτὰρ ἐγὼ καὶ σεῖο καὶ ἄλλης μνήσομʼ ἀοιδῆς.

Source Colophon

Ancient Greek text from the Perseus Digital Library, canonical-greekLit repository. Identifier: tlg0013.tlg002.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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