HYMN OF HIPPOLYTUS TO ARTEMIS

Artemis! thou fairest

Of the maids that be

In divine Olympus,

Hail! Hail to thee!

To thee I bring this woven weed

Culled for thee from a virgin mead,

Where neither shepherd claims his flocks to feed

Nor ever yet the mower's scythe hath come.

There in the Spring the wild bee hath his home,

Lightly passing to and fro

Where the virgin flowers grow;

And there the watchful Purity doth go

Moistening with dew-drops all the ground below,

Drawn from a river untaintedly flowing,

They who have gained by a kind fate's bestowing

Pure hearts, untaught by philosophy's care,

May gather the flowers in the mead that are blowing,

But the tainted in spirit may never be there.

Now, O Divinest, eternally fair,

Take thou this garland to gather thy hair,

Brought by a hand that is pure as the air.

For I alone of all the sons of men

Hear thy pure accents, answering thee again.

And may I reach the goal of life as I began the race,

Blest by the music of thy voice, though darkness ever veil thy face!