θαυμασίην γὰρ τήνδε νεήφατον ὄσσαν ἀκούω,
ἣν οὐ πώ ποτέ φημι δαήμεναι οὔτε τιν᾽ ἀνδρῶν
οὔτε τιν᾽ ἀθανάτων, οἳ Ὀλύμπια δώματ᾽ ἔχουσι,
νόσφι σέθεν, φηλῆτα, Διὸς καὶ Μαιάδος υἱέ.
τίς τέχνη, τίς μοῦσα ἀμηχανέων μελεδώνων,
τίς τρίβος; ἀτρεκέως γὰρ ἅμα τρία πάντα πάρεστιν,
εὐφροσύνην καὶ ἔρωτα καὶ ἥδυμον ὕπνον ἑλέσθαι.
καὶ γὰρ ἐγὼ Μούσῃσιν Ὀλυμπιάδεσσιν ὀπηδός,
τῇσι χοροί τε μέλουσι καὶ ἀγλαὸς οἶμος ἀοιδῆς
καὶ μολπὴ τεθαλυῖα καὶ ἱμερόεις βρόμος αὐλῶν:
ἀλλ᾽ οὔ πω τί μοι ὧδε μετὰ φρεσὶν ἄλλο μέλησεν,
οἷα νέων θαλίῃς ἐνδέξια ἔργα πέλονται.
θαυμάζω, Διὸς υἱέ, τάδ᾽, ὡς ἐρατὸν κιθαρίζεις.
443-455 For wonderful is this new-uttered
sound I hear, the like of which I vow that no man nor god dwelling on
Olympus ever yet has known but you, O thievish son of Maia. What skill
is this? What song for desperate cares? What way of song? For verily
here are three things to hand all at once from which to choose,--mirth,
and love, and sweet sleep. And though I am a follower of the Olympian
Muses who love dances and the bright path of song--the full-toned chant
and ravishing thrill of flutes--yet I never cared for any of those feats
of skill at young men’s revels, as I do now for this: I am filled with
wonder, O son of Zeus, at your sweet playing.
Complete text
DEMETER