αἵδε μὲν ἡμέραι εἰσιν ἐπιχθονίοις μέγ᾽ ὄνειαρ,
αἱ δ᾽ ἄλλαι μετάδουποι, ἀκήριοι, οὔ τι φέρουσαι.
ἄλλος δ᾽ ἀλλοίην αἰνεῖ, παῦροι δὲ ἴσασιν.
ἄλλοτε μητρυιὴ πέλει ἡμέρη, ἄλλοτε μήτηρ.
τάων εὐδαίμων τε καὶ ὄλβιος, ὃς τάδε πάντα
εἰδὼς ἐργάζηται ἀναίτιος ἀθανάτοισιν,
ὄρνιθας κρίνων καὶ ὑπερβασίας ἀλεείνων.
(End 822-828) These days are a great blessing to men on earth; but the rest are changeable, luckless, and bring nothing. Everyone praises a different day but few know their nature. Sometimes a day is a stepmother, sometimes a mother. That man is happy and lucky in them who knows all these things and does his work without offending the deathless gods, who discerns the omens of birds and avoids transgressions.
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Prooemium
