Hesiod: Works & Days · Theogony
The Plainspoken Classics - Scriptorium Press (First Edition, 2026)
An original AI translation made directly from the source language.
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======== Works & Days ========

Muses of Pieria, you who give glory through song, come now and tell of Zeus, singing of your own father, through whom mortal men are spoken of and unspoken of alike, named and unnamed, by the will of great Zeus. Easily he makes a man strong, and easily he crushes the strong; easily he brings the great low and lifts up the obscure, and easily he straightens
the crooked and withers the proud, Zeus who thunders on high and dwells in the loftiest halls. Hear me, and see and listen, and straighten judgments with justice, you yourself. And I, Perses, would tell you the plain truth. There was never just one kind of Strife after all, but on the earth there are two. A man would praise the one once he understood her, but the other deserves blame. Their tempers
are entirely different. One fosters cruel war and conflict, wretched thing that she is; no mortal loves her, but under compulsion, by the will of the gods, men pay honor to grim Strife. The other, the elder of the two, is the daughter of black Night; and Cronus' son, throned aloft and dwelling in the sky, planted her down where the earth has her roots,
and she is far better for men. Even the shiftless she rouses to work. For a man who lacks work looks at another man who is rich, one who hurries to plow and plant and set his household in order well; and neighbor competes with neighbor as he hurries toward wealth. This Strife is good for mortals. And
potter bears a grudge against potter and craftsman against craftsman; beggar begrudges beggar, and singer singer. Perses, take this to heart, and don't let malicious Strife hold your mind back from work while you go gawking at quarrels and listening in on the courts. A man has little time for quarrels and courts
if he doesn't have a full year's living stored up at home in season, the grain that earth bears, Demeter's yield. Once you have plenty of that, you could stir up quarrels and conflict over other men's property. But you won't get a second chance to act this way. Instead, let's settle our dispute right here with straight judgments, which are the best kind, since they come from Zeus. Already we divided our inheritance, but
you seized much more and carried it off, greatly flattering the bribe-eating lords who are willing to judge this case. Fools — they have no idea that the half can be worth more than the whole, or what rich sustenance hides in mallow and asphodel. For the gods keep men's livelihood hidden from them. Otherwise you could easily work enough in a single day to have supplies for
a full year even doing no work at all; you'd soon hang your plow-handle up over the smoke, and the work of oxen and hard-laboring mules would come to nothing. But Zeus hid it, angered in his heart, because clever Prometheus had deceived him. That is why he devised grim troubles for mankind. He hid fire — but the noble son of Iapetus
stole it back for men from Zeus the counselor, hiding it in a hollow fennel-stalk, unseen by Zeus who delights in thunder. Then, angered, the cloud-gathering Zeus said to him: Son of Iapetus, skilled beyond all others, you are pleased to have stolen fire and outwitted me, but this will be a great sorrow to yourself and to men yet to come. In place of fire I will give them an evil, in which
they will all take delight in their hearts, embracing their own ruin. So he spoke, and the father of gods and men laughed aloud. And he commanded renowned Hephaestus, with all speed, to knead earth together with water, to set within it human speech and vigor, and to give it a face like the deathless goddesses — the lovely, longed-for figure of a young girl. Then
he told Athena to teach her needlework, the weaving of an intricate loom, and told golden Aphrodite to pour grace over her head, and painful longing, and cares that gnaw the limbs; and he ordered Hermes, the messenger, the killer of Argus, to put in her a dog's mind and a thieving nature. So he spoke, and they obeyed lord Zeus, son of Cronus. At once the famous Lame God shaped from earth
something like a modest young woman, by the will of the son of Cronus. The bright-eyed goddess Athena dressed and adorned her; the Graces and queenly Persuasion placed golden necklaces on her body; the lovely-haired Seasons crowned her with spring flowers. And Pallas Athena fitted every ornament to her body.
Then into her chest the messenger, the killer of Argus, by the will of deep-thundering Zeus, put lies and coaxing words and a thieving nature; and the herald of the gods gave her a voice, and named this woman Pandora, because all who have their homes on Olympus gave her a gift — a disaster for men who live by bread. But once he had finished this steep, inescapable trap,
the father sent the famous killer of Argus, the swift messenger of the gods, to bring her to Epimetheus as a gift. Epimetheus did not consider that Prometheus had told him never to accept a gift from Olympian Zeus, but to send it back at once, in case it should bring some harm to mortals. But he accepted it, and only understood once he already had the evil. Before this
the tribes of men lived on earth free from evils, free from harsh labor and painful sicknesses that bring death to men. But the woman removed with her hands the great lid from the storage jar and scattered its contents, and devised grim troubles for mankind. Only Hope remained there
inside, in her unbreakable house, under the rim of the jar, and did not fly out the door; for before she could, the lid of the jar closed her in, by the will of aegis-bearing, cloud-gathering Zeus. But countless other miseries wander among men; evils crowd the land, and evils crowd the sea as well; sicknesses come upon men by day, and by night
they come uninvited, bringing harm to mortals in silence, since Zeus the counselor took away their voice. So there is no way at all to escape the mind of Zeus. If you wish, I will sketch out for you another account, well and skillfully; take it to heart. The gods and mortal men come from the same origin. First of all the immortals who hold the halls of Olympus made a golden
race of men who speak with human voice. They lived in the time of Cronus, when he was king in heaven; and they lived like gods, with carefree hearts, entirely apart from toil and misery. Wretched old age did not touch them; their hands and feet never lost their strength, and they took joy in festivities, beyond the reach of all evils;
and they died as if overcome by sleep. Everything good was theirs. The grain-giving earth bore fruit on its own, abundant and unstinting, and they, willing and at peace, tended their fields amid abundant good things. They were rich in flocks, dear to the blessed gods. But once the earth covered over this race — they became, by the will of great Zeus,
holy spirits above the earth, good spirits, guardians of mortal men, protectors against evil, who watch over judgments and cruel deeds, clothed in mist, roaming everywhere across the earth, givers of wealth; this kingly privilege was theirs. Then the gods who hold Olympus made a second race, far worse,
a silver race, matching its golden predecessor in neither frame nor mind. For a hundred years a child was raised at his good mother's side, growing up a great fool, right there in the house. But when they grew up and reached the measure of their youth, they lived only a short time, suffering pain through their own folly; for they could not restrain their reckless violence
against one another, and they were unwilling to serve the immortals or to sacrifice on the sacred altars of the blessed ones, as is right for men to do according to custom. Then Zeus, son of Cronus, in anger, buried this race too, because they gave no honors to the blessed gods who hold Olympus. But once the earth had covered this race as well — they are called
blessed spirits under the earth by mortals, second in rank, but honor accompanies them too. Then father Zeus made yet a third race of men who speak with human voice, a race of bronze, resembling the silver race in nothing at all, made from ash trees, terrible and mighty; their concern was the grim work of war and violence; they ate no bread, but had hearts as hard and unyielding as adamant — fearsome men, and great strength and untouchable hands grew
from their shoulders on their sturdy limbs. Their weapons were bronze, their houses were bronze, they worked with bronze; there was no black iron yet. And these men were destroyed by their own hands, and went down nameless to the dank house of chill Hades. Black death took them, terrifying as they were, and they left
the bright light of the sun. But when the earth had covered this race too, Zeus, son of Cronus, made yet a fourth race upon the much-nourishing earth, more just and better, a godlike race of heroic men, called demigods, the generation before our own across the boundless earth. Cruel war and dreadful battle destroyed these too,
some beneath seven-gated Thebes, in the land of Cadmus, fighting over the flocks of Oedipus, others led in ships across the great gulf of the sea to Troy, for the sake of lovely-haired Helen. There death's end covered some of them, but to others father Zeus, son of Cronus, granted a life and home apart from other men,
and settled them at the ends of the earth. And they live there with carefree hearts on the Isles of the Blessed, beside deep-swirling Ocean — blessed heroes; for their sake the life-giving soil brings honey-sweet fruit to ripeness three times each year. They live far from the immortals; Cronus rules as king over them, for the father of gods and men had released him from his bonds
and to them alike honor and glory attend. Then Zeus who thunders far made yet another, a fifth race of men, who exist now upon the much-nourishing earth. I wish I had no part in this fifth race of men, but had died before it, or been born after it. For now indeed the race is one of
iron. Never by day do they rest from toil and misery, nor by night from decay; and the gods will give them harsh cares. Yet even so, for these too good will be mixed in with evil. But Zeus will destroy this race of men too, once they are born already gray at the temples. Father will not agree with children, nor children
with father, nor guest with host, nor friend with friend; even brothers will not hold each other dear, as they once did. Soon they will dishonor their aging parents, and rail at them with harsh words, cruel and reckless, without regard for the gods' watchfulness; nor would such men repay their aging parents for their upbringing, taking the law into their own hands. One man will sack another man's city.
There will be no favor for the man who keeps his oath, nor for the just or the good; instead men will praise the doer of evil and the violent man. Might will be right, and shame will not exist; the wicked man will harm the better man, speaking against him with crooked words, and swear an oath on top of it. Envy, harsh-voiced,
gloating over evil, hateful-faced, will accompany all wretched men. And then, at last, Shame and Righteous Anger, having wrapped their fair bodies in white robes, will leave mankind and go from the wide-wayed earth up to Olympus, to join the company of the gods, abandoning men; grim pains alone will remain for mortal humanity, and against evil no defense will exist. Now I will tell a fable for kings, wise as they already think themselves to be.
This is how the hawk addressed the nightingale of the dappled throat, high up among the clouds, gripping her fast in his talons, while she wept pitifully, pierced through by his curved claws. He spoke to her scornfully: Wretched thing, why do you cry out? Someone far stronger than you now holds you. You will go wherever I take you, singer though you are.
I will make a meal of you if I wish, or let you go. Foolish is the one who wants to match strength with those who are stronger; he will not win, and will suffer pain along with disgrace. So spoke the swift-flying hawk, the long-winged bird. But you, Perses, give your ear to justice, and never nourish outrage; outrage is a plague to a poor man
for a mortal. Even a good man cannot easily carry the weight of outrage once he runs into it; it bears him down. The better road is to go around it, toward what is right. Justice wins out over Violence in the end. Only after suffering does the fool learn this. For Oath-breaking runs at once alongside crooked judgments. There is an uproar
when Justice is dragged off, wherever men who feed on bribes haul her away and judge cases with crooked verdicts. She follows, weeping, through the city and the haunts of its people, wrapped in mist, bringing harm to the men who drove her out and did not deal straight. But those who give straight judgments to foreigners and townsmen alike and do not step outside
what is right — their city flourishes and its people bloom within it. Peace, the nurse of the young, is over the land, and Zeus who sees far never marks out grim war for them. Famine never keeps company with men of straight justice, nor does ruin; they enjoy the labor of their fields at festivals. The earth carries abundant life for them, and on the mountains the oak
bears acorns on its top and bees in its middle; their woolly sheep are weighed down with fleece; their women bear children who look like their parents; they flourish continuously in good things; they have no need to travel by ship, since the fertile soil yields its harvest for them. But for those given to wicked violence and cruel deeds, Zeus the son of Kronos marks out justice.
Zeus who sees far marks it out. Often a whole city suffers for one bad man who commits crimes and plots reckless deeds. Upon them the son of Kronos brings a great disaster from the sky — famine together with plague — and the people waste away. No children are born to their wives, and their houses shrink away by the design of Olympian Zeus. And at other times
he destroys their broad army, or their wall, or their ships at sea. You kings, mark this justice well yourselves. The immortals are close among men and take note of those who wear one another down with crooked judgments, paying no heed to the gods' watching eye. For there are thrice ten thousand of them upon the earth
that feeds many — Zeus's immortal watchers of mortal men. They keep watch over judgments and cruel deeds, cloaked in mist, roaming everywhere over the earth. And Justice herself is a virgin, born of Zeus, honored and revered among the gods who hold Olympus. Whenever anyone wrongs her by twisting his verdict against her,
she goes at once and sits beside her father Zeus, son of Kronos, and denounces the unjust intent of men, so that the people may pay for the recklessness of their kings, who with wicked minds twist their rulings, turning judgments aside with crooked speech. Guard against this, you kings; straighten out your rulings, you who feed on bribes, and put crooked judgments entirely out of your minds. A man does harm to himself when he does harm to another, and
an evil plan is worst for the one who plans it. The eye of Zeus sees everything and understands everything; and even now, if he wishes, he looks upon this too, and does not fail to notice what kind of justice is kept within this city. As for me, may I not be an honest man among men, nor my son either — since it is a bad thing
for a man to be honest if the more dishonest man will get the greater share. But I do not expect Zeus the all-wise to let it end that way just yet. Perses, take these things to heart, and listen to justice, and forget violence altogether. For this is the law the son of Kronos laid down for men: that fish
and beasts and winged birds should devour one another, since there is no justice among them; but to men he gave justice, which turns out to be by far the best thing. For if a man is willing to speak what is right because he knows it, far-seeing Zeus grants him prosperity; but whoever lies deliberately, swearing a false oath as a witness, and in doing so
wounds justice and falls into incurable ruin — his line is left dimmer afterward, while the line of a man who keeps his oath grows better afterward. Now I will tell you, in your own best interest, great fool Perses. Wickedness can be had easily, and in abundance; the road to it is smooth, and it lives very close by. But before excellence
the immortal gods have set the sweat of labor; the path to it is long and steep, and rough at first; but when you reach the top, then it becomes easy, hard though it was. The best man of all is the one who works everything out for himself, considering what will be better in the end. Good too
is the man who listens to someone who speaks well. But whoever neither thinks for himself nor takes to heart what he hears from another — he is a useless man. But you, always remember what I charge you: work, Perses, you of divine stock, so that Famine will hate you and revered Demeter of the lovely crown will love you
and fill your barn with a livelihood. For Famine is always the fitting companion of the idle man. Both gods and men resent whoever lives without working, resembling in temper the stingless drones who waste the labor of the bees, eating without working themselves. Let it be your pleasure to keep your tasks in due measure, so that your barns
may be filled in their season. It is from work that men grow rich in flocks and in wealth; and by working they become far dearer to the immortals. Work is no disgrace; idleness is the disgrace. If you work, the man who sits idle will quickly grow jealous of your rising wealth; excellence and glory walk beside riches. Whatever your lot in life, it is better to work,
turning your foolish desire away from other men's belongings and toward earning your own living by work, as I urge you. Shame is no good companion for a man in need — shame, which greatly harms men, and also helps them. Shame goes with poverty; boldness with prosperity. Wealth should not be seized by force; wealth given by the gods is far better.
For if a man grabs great wealth by force of hand, or robs it by way of his tongue — a common thing, whenever profit tricks the human mind and shamelessness tramples down shame — the gods soon bring him low, and dwindle that man's house, and only for a short while
does prosperity attend him. It is all the same whether a man wrongs a suppliant or a guest, or goes up into his own brother's bed to lie secretly with his wife, doing what is improper, or through folly wrongs orphaned children, or reviles his aging father at the harsh threshold of old age, attacking him with bitter words —
against that man Zeus himself grows indignant, and in the end lays a harsh penalty on him in return for his unjust deeds. But you, keep your foolish heart entirely away from such things. To the best of your ability, offer sacrifice to the immortal gods in purity and cleanness, and burn the shining thigh-pieces; and win their favor at other moments with drink-offerings and incense,
at your lying-down and again when the sacred daylight returns, so that they may keep a kindly heart and mind toward you, and so that you may buy another's land, not have another buy yours. Invite the man who loves you to a feast, and leave your enemy be; invite above all the man who lives near you, for if
some mishap should happen at home, neighbors come ungirded while kinsmen take time to gird themselves. A bad neighbor is as much a curse as a good one is a blessing. A man who has a good neighbor has honor as his portion; not even an ox would be lost if the neighbor were not a bad one. Measure fairly from a neighbor and pay it back fairly,
Repay in equal measure — more generously, if you are able — so that in a later hour of need you will find him dependable. Do not seek dishonest gain — dishonest gains are as bad as ruin itself. Love the one who loves you, and stand by the one who stands by you. Give to a giver; to one who gives nothing, give nothing.
A man gives to the giver; no one gives to the non-giver. Giving is good, seizing is bad, a giver of death. For whatever a man gives willingly, even if it is a great deal, he takes joy in the gift and delights in his heart; but whoever takes something for himself by yielding to shamelessness — even if it is small — it chills
his heart. Whoever adds a little to what he already has wards off consuming hunger; if you set by a little at a time, and do it often, soon that little will become a great deal. What lies stored up at home does not trouble a man; it is better to keep things at home, since what is out of doors is a risk. It's good
to draw on what is at hand, but it's a misery to want for what is not there — think about that, I bid you. Take your fill at the jar's broaching and again at its dregs; be sparing in the middle — thrift at the bottom is a sorry thing. Let the wage agreed upon for a friend be kept firm. Even with your own brother, smile, but still get a witness;
for trust and mistrust alike have ruined men. Do not let a woman who sways her hips beguile your good sense with her wheedling, coaxing talk while she pries into your barn. Whoever trusts a woman trusts deceivers. A man should have an only son to keep up his father's house, for that is how wealth grows in a household; may you die old, leaving behind one more child. Yet Zeus can easily
grant boundless wealth to a greater number, too. More hands mean more work done, and greater gain besides. If your heart within you longs for wealth, do as follows: work, and pile task upon task. When the Pleiades, daughters of Atlas, rise, begin the harvest, and begin plowing when they set. For forty
nights and days they are hidden, then as the year comes round again they appear once more, first showing themselves just as the iron is being sharpened. This is the rule for the plains, both for those who live near the sea and for those who dwell in wooded valleys far from the swelling sea, in rich country: sow naked, plow naked, and reap naked,
if you want to bring in all of Demeter's works in their season, so that each of your crops may grow in its proper time, and you not go begging later at other men's houses in want, and accomplish nothing — as you have now come to me. But I will not give to you, nor measure out more grain; work, foolish Perses, at the tasks the gods have marked out for men, or else, grieving in your heart along with your wife and children,
you will go looking for a living among your neighbors, and they will pay no attention. Perhaps two or three times you'll get something; but if you keep pestering them further, you'll get nothing, and you'll waste your breath in a lot of useless talk; your fine speeches will do no good. Instead, I urge you to think of a way to pay your debts and ward off hunger. First of all, get a house,
a woman, and an ox for plowing — a bought woman, not a wife, one who can also follow the oxen — and put everything in order at home, so that you need not ask another man for a tool only to be refused, and so go without while the season slips by and the work suffers. Do not put off till tomorrow or the day after —
for a man who works half-heartedly does not fill his barn, nor does one who keeps putting things off; steady effort helps the work along, while a man who keeps delaying his work forever wrestles with ruin. When the fierce heat of the piercing sun lets up, and mighty Zeus sends the autumn rains, and a man's body feels far lighter — for then the star Sirius passes only a little
over the heads of death-marked men by day and takes a greater share of the night — at that time, timber cut with the axe is least prone to worm, as it sheds its leaves to the ground and stops putting out shoots. That is the time, then, to remember to cut your timber, fit for the season. Cut a mortar three feet across, a pestle measuring three cubits, an axle seven feet in length — that will suit it well
That's the way to do it. But if you want an eight-foot one, cut a mallet-head from the same wood too. Cut the plow-frame three spans long for a ten-palm cart. Bring plenty of bent timber home too — a plow-tree, whenever you find one, searching the mountain or the plowland, of holm-oak: that wood holds up best for oxen to plow with, once Athena's servant has
fitted it with pegs to the plow-beam and fastened it to the pole. Have two plows built and kept ready around the house, one all of a piece and one jointed, since that's far better: if you break one you can throw the other on the oxen. Poles of laurel or elm resist worms best, the frame should be oak, the plow-tree holm-oak. Keep two nine-year-old oxen, males, since their
strength is unspent then and they're at the peak of their prime — the best pair for work. They won't fight each other in the furrow, snap the plow, and leave the job undone right there. Let a vigorous man of forty follow along with them, one who's eaten a loaf broken into four pieces, eight slices, a man who keeps his mind on the work and drives a straight furrow, no longer
gazing around after his age-mates but keeping his heart on the task. No younger man does better at scattering the seed and avoiding sowing it twice, since a younger man's attention wanders after his companions. Pay attention, when you hear the crane's cry high up from the clouds, calling out year after year: it signals the time for plowing and shows the season
of winter rain. It bites the heart of the man with no oxen. That's the time to feed up the curved-horned oxen you keep at home, since it's easy to say, 'Give me a pair of oxen and a wagon,' and just as easy to be refused: 'I have work for my oxen.' A man rich in his own fancy talks of building a wagon, the fool, not even knowing that a wagon takes a hundred pieces of timber, which
he ought to have seen to and gathered at home beforehand. As soon as the plowing season first appears to mortals, get moving then, you and your slaves alike, plowing dry ground and wet alike through the plowing season, hurrying hard early, so your fields fill out. Plow in spring; but fallow ground turned in summer won't disappoint you. Sow the fallow field while
it's still light — fallow land wards off harm and soothes children's cries. Make your prayer to Zeus-of-the-soil and to holy Demeter, that Demeter's holy grain may ripen full and heavy, when you first begin plowing, once you grip the tip of the plow-handle and lay the goad across the straining backs of your oxen while they pull the yoke-peg by its straps. Let a small boy follow behind with a mattock making trouble
for the birds by burying the seed: good management is best for mortal men, bad management worst. This way, if it goes well, the grain-heads will bend down to the ground heavy with ripeness, if the Olympian himself grants a good end to it, and you'll sweep the cobwebs out of your storage jars; and I expect you'll be glad to draw on the food you have stored inside. You'll come to gray spring in comfort, and won't
look to others — someone else will be in need of you instead. But if you plow the shining earth at the solstice, you'll harvest sitting down, gathering little into your hand, binding the sheaves crosswise, covered in dust, not at all pleased, and you'll carry it home in a basket; few will admire you for it. The mind of aegis-bearing Zeus differs from one moment to the next, and it's hard for
mortal men to grasp. If you plow late, this remedy may help you: when the cuckoo first calls from the oak leaves and delights mortals over the boundless earth, then let Zeus rain for three days straight and not let up, neither overshooting the height of an ox's hoofprint nor falling short of it — that way the late plower can catch up with the early one.
Keep all this well in mind, and don't let it slip past you — neither spring coming on gray nor the rainy season in its time. Pass by the smith's bench and the warm gathering-place in winter weather, when the cold keeps men from their work; there a diligent man could add much to his household, rather than be caught by the helplessness of a hard winter together with
poverty, and end up pressing a swollen foot with a shrunken hand. The idle man, waiting on empty hope, in need of a livelihood, stores up trouble for himself in his heart. Hope is no good companion for a needy man sitting in the gathering-place, one who has no sure livelihood. Give your slaves their orders while it's still midsummer:
'Summer won't last forever — build your shelters.' Avoid the month of Lenaion, bad days all, hard on cattle, and the frosts that come biting the earth when Boreas blows, the harsh north wind that sweeps over horse-rearing Thrace and stirs up the wide sea as it blows; earth and forest groan. It flattens many tall oaks and thick firs
down onto the nurturing earth in the mountain glens, and the whole vast forest roars. Wild animals bristle and clamp their tails down under their bellies — even beasts wrapped in thick shaggy hide; yet the cold wind pierces them regardless, deep-furred chests and all. It goes right through an ox's hide, nothing stops it; it blows through a goat too,
long-haired as it is; but it can't get through flocks of sheep, since their fleece is so dense, that force of the north wind — though it does make an old man run for cover. It can't get through a soft-skinned young girl either, who stays indoors close by her dear mother, not yet knowing the works of golden Aphrodite; she bathes her tender body well, rubs herself
with oil, and lies down deep inside the house on a winter day, when the boneless one gnaws his own foot in his fireless house and miserable haunts — the sun shows him no pasture to head out to, but circles over the land and towns of dark-skinned men, and shines more slowly for all the Greeks. That's when the horned and hornless creatures of the woods,
gnashing their teeth pitifully, flee through the wooded thickets, and all of them have one thing on their mind: to find shelter, seeking out snug hideaways and rocky hollows. Then they go about like the three-legged man, whose back is bent and whose head looks down at the ground — like him they wander, avoiding the white snow. And then
put on, as I tell you, a covering for your body: a soft cloak and a tunic down to your feet; weave plenty of woof on a scant warp; wear that over you, so your hairs stay still and don't bristle up and stand on end all over your body. Bind sturdy sandals on your feet, cut to fit from the hide of a slaughtered ox, lined inside with felt. When the seasonal frost sets in, stitch together the skins of
firstborn kids with ox-sinew, to throw over your back as a shield against the rain. Wear a well-made felt cap on your head, so your ears don't get soaked, since the dawn is cold once the north wind has fallen, and at daybreak a mist rich with dew stretches from starry heaven over the earth, over the fields of
blessed men — mist that draws itself up from the ever-flowing rivers and is lifted high above the earth by a blast of wind, and sometimes rains toward evening, sometimes blows as a stiff wind when Thracian Boreas is driving the clouds along. Finish your work and get home ahead of it, so that a dark cloud from the sky never wraps around you, leaving your skin damp and soaking
your clothes through. Avoid it — this month is the harshest, wintry, hard on livestock and hard on people. Then let the oxen have half their usual ration, but let the man have more than his share of food, since the nights are long and give plenty of help. Keep watch on all this until the year runs its full course and the nights and days come even again, once the earth, mother of all, brings forth her mingled harvest once more.
When Zeus brings sixty days of winter to completion after the sun's turning, then Arcturus quits Ocean's holy stream and first rises brilliant in the dusk. After it the swallow, daughter of Pandion, mourning shrilly, rises into the light for men, at the start of new spring. Get ahead of her and prune your vines — that's the better way. But
when the House-Carrier climbs up the plants from the ground fleeing the Pleiades, that's when you should stop digging around the vines and instead sharpen your sickles and rouse your slaves; avoid shady resting-spots and sleeping in till dawn at harvest time, when the sun scorches the skin. Then hurry and bring the crop home, getting up
at first light, so your living is secure. Dawn takes a third share of the work for herself; dawn gets a man further along the road, and further along in his work too — dawn, which once it appears, sets many men on their way and puts the yoke on many oxen. But when the golden thistle blooms and the chirping cicada, perched in a tree, pours down its clear
song thick and fast from under its wings, in the season of wearying summer heat — that's when goats are at their fattest and wine is at its best, women are most eager for love, and men are at their weakest, since Sirius parches their heads and knees and their skin is dry from the heat. That's the time to have
shade under a rock and Biblian wine, a barley-cake soaked in milk, and milk from goats that are drying up, and the meat of a woodland-fed heifer that hasn't yet calved, and of firstborn kids; drink gleaming wine too, sitting in the shade, your heart full of food, your face turned toward the fresh-blowing west wind, and from a spring that runs ever clear and unmuddied pour three parts water, and
a fourth of wine. When mighty Orion first shows himself, set your servants to threshing out Demeter's sacred grain on a breezy threshing floor that runs smooth and round. Measure it out carefully and store it in jars; but once you have all your living safely stowed away inside the house, then I tell you to take on a hired man with no home of his own and look for a childless serving-woman
too — a serving-woman with a nursing calf underfoot is more trouble than she's worth. Keep a sharp-toothed dog as well, and don't stint its food, in case the man who sleeps by day comes and steals your goods from you. Bring in fodder and litter, so there's plenty on hand for the oxen and mules. Then let your slaves rest their knees a while and unyoke the oxen. When
Orion and Sirius reach the middle of the sky, and rosy-fingered Dawn looks upon Arcturus, then, Perses, cut every grape cluster and carry the harvest back to the house. Let the sun shine on them ten days and ten nights; keep them under shade five more; and when the sixth day comes, pour the gifts of glad-hearted Dionysus into your jars. But once the Pleiades and the Hyades
and mighty Orion set, then remember it's time to plow again — that's the fitting season for it, and so the year passes rightly beneath the earth. But if longing for rough seafaring takes hold of you, when the Pleiades, fleeing mighty Orion's strength, plunge into the misty sea, then all the winds rage in every direction; don't
keep your ship any longer on the wine-dark sea then, but remember to work the land instead, as I tell you. Haul your ship up on land and pack stones all around it, to hold against the force of the wet-blowing winds, and pull the drain-plug so Zeus's rain doesn't rot it. Store all the ship's gear properly inside your house, folding up the sail-wings of the sea-going vessel neatly,
and hang the well-built rudder up above the smoke. Wait yourself for the sailing season to come; and then drag your swift ship down to the sea, load a fitting cargo aboard, so you bring home a profit, just as my father and yours, great fool Perses, used to sail in ships, in need of a good living —
the same man who once came here too, crossing a great stretch of sea, leaving behind Aeolian Cyme, in a black ship, not fleeing wealth or riches or prosperity, but grim poverty, which Zeus gives to men. He settled near Helicon in a miserable village, Ascra — bad in winter, harsh in summer, never good at any time.
But you, Perses, remember to keep all your work in its proper season, above all when it comes to seafaring. Praise a small ship, but put your cargo in a big one; the bigger the load, the bigger the profit on profit will be, if the winds hold back their harmful blasts. Whenever you turn your restless heart toward trading and wish
get free of debts and cheerless hunger, then I will teach you the rhythms of the thundering sea, for all that sailing and ships are arts I never mastered. Never yet have I crossed the broad sea by ship, except that one passage from Aulis over to Euboea, where the Achaeans of old, held back by a long storm, mustered their great host out of sacred Greece against Troy, land of lovely women. There I crossed over to Chalcis for the games held for wise Amphidamas; his great-hearted sons had set out many prizes already announced. There I say I won the contest with a hymn and carried off a tripod with handles. I dedicated it to the Muses of Helicon, on the spot where they first set me on the path of clear song. That is the whole
of my experience with well-pegged ships. Even so I will tell you the mind of aegis-bearing Zeus, for the Muses taught me to sing a song beyond words. For fifty days after the solstice, when the toilsome season of summer comes to its end, is the seasonable time for mortals to sail. In that season your ship will not be smashed, and the sea will not take your crew, unless
Poseidon the earth-shaker or Zeus, king of the immortals, deliberately wishes to destroy them; for the outcome of good and evil alike rests with them. At that time the breezes blow steady and the sea is harmless. Then put your trust in the winds, drag your fast ship down into the water, and stow all your freight aboard, but hurry
to sail home again as fast as you can. Do not wait for the new wine and the autumn rain and the oncoming winter and the fierce blasts of the South Wind, which stirs up the sea in company with the heavy autumn rain of Zeus and makes the sea rough going. There is another sailing season for men, in spring: when a man first sees
as many leaves appear on the topmost branch of a fig tree as the footprint a crow makes when it steps, then the sea is fit to be crossed. This is the spring sailing. I myself do not praise it, for it is not to my liking; it is a snatched, hasty passage — you would have a hard time escaping disaster in it. Yet people even do this, out of thoughtlessness, for money
is life itself to poor mortals. But it is a dreadful thing to die among the waves. I urge you to consider all this carefully in your mind, as I tell it to you. Do not put your whole livelihood aboard hollow ships; leave the greater part behind and load the lesser part as cargo. For it is a terrible fate when calamity overtakes a man out on the swelling sea. It is dreadful too if you
load too heavy a burden onto your wagon and break the axle, so that the goods are ruined. Keep to due measure; timing is best in everything.
Bring a wife home to your house when you are of a ripe age, neither falling far short of thirty years nor going much beyond it; this is the season for marriage. Let her be a woman four years into her ripeness, and wed her in the fifth. Choose a maiden, so that you may school her in good ways yourself. Best of all, marry the one who lives nearest you, examining everything closely, so that your marriage does not become a joke to your neighbors. For no prize a man carries off surpasses a good wife, and none is more bone-chilling than a bad one, a dinner-ambusher, the kind who
roasts her husband without a torch, strong as he may be, and delivers him over to a raw old age. Be careful always to give the blessed immortals their due honor. Do not put a comrade on the same footing as your own brother; yet if you do, never be the one who wrongs him first. And do not lie just to please the tongue. But if he starts it, either by
saying something offensive or by doing something, pay him back twice over, remembering it well. But if he wants to come back to friendship again and is willing to make amends, accept him; a worthless man makes now this friend, now that, but do not let your own good name be shamed by mere appearances. Do not be called a man of many guests nor a man of none, nor a companion of the wicked, nor
a slanderer of good men. Never dare to reproach a man with soul-destroying poverty, which is the gift of the everlasting blessed gods.
The best treasure a man can have on his tongue is thrift with it, and the greatest grace comes from speech used in due measure. If you speak ill of someone, you may soon hear worse said of yourself. Do not be surly at a feast shared by many guests
held in common, for then the pleasure is greatest and the cost least. Never pour a libation of gleaming wine to Zeus at dawn with unwashed hands, nor to any other immortal; they do not listen then, but spit back your prayers. Do not urinate standing up facing the sun; and remember, after it sets and before it rises again, do not do so on the road
or off the road while walking. Night-time is the province of the blessed ones. The devout man of sound understanding does it sitting down, or else goes to the wall of a well-fenced yard. Do not expose yourself, soiled with the mark of intercourse, indoors by the hearth, but avoid that. Do not beget children on your return from an ill-omened funeral,
but only after a feast in honor of the immortals. Never cross the fair-flowing water of an ever-running river on foot until you have gazed into its beautiful current and prayed, rinsing your hands in the bright, delightful stream. If a man fords a river with hands unwashed and evil in his heart, the gods grow indignant at him and send him sufferings afterward. At a rich feast in honor of the gods, do not cut off
the withered part from the green with bright iron. Never place the wine-ladle on top of the mixing bowl while people are drinking; a deadly fate is fixed upon that. When building a house, do not leave it unfinished, or a hoarse-cawing crow may perch and croak on it. Do not eat or wash from pots that have not been consecrated by sacrifice, for there is a penalty attached to that too. Do not let a boy of twelve
days or twelve months sit on things that should not be moved — that too carries the same kind of penalty, for it unmans a man. A man should not brighten his skin by bathing in water a woman has used, for there is a harsh penalty attached to that too, for a time. When you come upon burning sacrifices, do not mock the rites in scorn; a god resents that too. Never
urinate at the mouths of rivers as they flow to the sea, nor at their springs; avoid that entirely. Do not defecate there either; that is not good for you. Do as I say, and guard carefully against the ill report of men. For rumor is a bad thing — light and very easy to raise, but heavy to bear and hard to put down again. No rumor
ever dies away completely once many people have spread it abroad; it too is in some sense a god. Watch carefully over the days that come from Zeus and mete them out properly to your household servants; the thirtieth of the month is best for overseeing work and dividing out rations, for these are days that come from Zeus of the deep counsel, when people
judge truly and observe them rightly. First, the fourth, and the seventh are sacred days, for on the seventh Leto bore Apollo of the golden sword; the eighth and the ninth, two days of the waxing month, are especially good for mortal labors; and the eleventh and twelfth are both good days, one for shearing sheep and the other for gathering the fruit of good cheer.
The twelfth surpasses the eleventh by far, since that is the day when the air-floating spider spins her threads in broad daylight, while the wise one heaps up her pile; on it a woman should raise her loom and set her work going. On the thirteenth of the waxing month avoid beginning to sow seed, though it is the best day for setting out young plants. The middle sixth is quite
unfavorable for plants, but good for begetting a son; it is not favorable for a girl, either to be born on it or to be given in marriage. The first sixth, likewise, does not suit a girl's birth; rather it favors the cutting of kids and lambs and the building of a pen around the flock, a mild day. It is good for begetting a son, and a boy born then would love
to say cutting things, lies, and beguiling words, and secret whisperings. When the month's eighth day comes, cut the boar and the deep-bellowing bull; the twelfth is the day for cutting the toil-enduring mules. On the great twentieth, in the full light of day, a wise man is born, for he has a mind stored with much good sense. The tenth is good for begetting a son, and for a girl
the middle fourth; on that day tame with a gentling hand the sheep and the shambling, curved-horned oxen, and the sharp-toothed dog, and the hard-working mules. But guard against the fourth day at both waning and waxing of the month, taking pains in your heart, for it brings sorrows that gnaw the spirit; it is a day fully appointed for such things. On the fourth of the month lead a wife home to your house,
having first chosen the birds that are best for this business. Avoid the fifth days, for they are harsh and dreadful; on the fifth, they say, the Furies attended the birth of Oath, whom Strife bore as a bane to those who swear falsely. On the middle seventh, winnowing well the sacred grain of Demeter on the smooth threshing floor, cast it down carefully; and let the woodcutter cut timbers for house-building and the many pieces of timber
fit for ships. On the fourth day begin building slender ships. The middle ninth improves toward evening; the very first ninth of the month is entirely harmless for people, for it is a good day both for planting and for being born, for a man or a woman, and it is never an altogether unlucky day. Few
know that the thrice-nine of the month is the best day to open a wine-jar, and to lay the yoke upon oxen, upon mules, upon fast-running horses, and to drag a swift many-benched ship down to the wine-dark sea; few call it by its true name. On the fourth open the wine-jar; the middle of the month is a day sacred above all others. Few again know that
the twentieth of the month is best as morning comes on; toward evening it is worse. These days are a great boon to people on earth, but the others fall between, bringing no fixed fate, giving nothing.
Different people praise different days, and few really know them. At times a day acts like a stepmother, at other times like a mother. Blessed and fortunate is the man who, knowing all this, does his work with no offense against the immortals, reading the omens of birds and avoiding transgressions. ---

======== Theogony ========

Let us begin our song with the Muses of Helicon, who hold that great and holy mountain, and dance on their soft feet around the violet-dark spring and the altar of the mighty son of Cronus. And having bathed their tender skin in the Permessus, or the Horse's Spring, or holy Olmeius, they perform their beautiful, lovely dances on the highest ridge of Helicon, moving briskly on their feet.
From there they set out, wrapped in thick mist, and walk through the night sending forth their gorgeous voices, singing of Zeus who holds the aegis, and queenly Hera of Argos, who walks in golden sandals, and the daughter of aegis-bearing Zeus, grey-eyed Athena, and Phoebus Apollo and arrow-showering Artemis, and Poseidon who holds and shakes the earth, and reverend Themis and Aphrodite with her curling lashes, and gold-crowned Hebe
and lovely Dione, and Leto, and Iapetus, and crooked-scheming Cronus, and Dawn and great Helios and shining Selene, and Earth and great Ocean and black Night, and the whole holy race of the other immortals who live forever. It was these who once taught Hesiod fine song, while he shepherded his lambs below holy Helicon.
This is the very first thing the goddesses said to me, the Olympian Muses, daughters of aegis-bearing Zeus: 'Shepherds camped in the fields, base disgraces, nothing but bellies, lies aplenty we know how to tell that wear the look of truth, but we also know, whenever we wish, how to declare true things.' Such were the words of great Zeus's daughters, whose speech never falters; and to me they handed a staff, a branch of blooming laurel,
a wonder to behold, plucking it for me; and they breathed into me a divine voice, so that I might glorify what will be and what was before. And they told me to hymn the race of the blessed ones who live forever, but always to sing of themselves first and last. But why do I dwell on all this, on oak tree or on rock? Come, let us begin from the Muses,
who by their singing please the great mind of father Zeus within Olympus, telling of things that are, that will be, and that were before, blending their voices together; and from their mouths flows an unwearied, sweet sound. The halls of their father, loud-thundering Zeus, laugh at the lily-soft voice of the goddesses as it spreads out, and the peak of snowy Olympus echoes,
and the homes of the immortals. And sending forth their immortal voice, they glorify first in their song the august family of the gods from its origin, the children whom Earth and broad Heaven brought forth, and the gods sprung from these, the givers of good things. Next in turn they hymn Zeus, the father over gods and over men, both when they open their song and when they close it, telling how much
he is greatest of the gods and mightiest in power. And again they sing the race of men and of the powerful Giants, and so cheer the heart of Zeus inside Olympus, they, the Muses of Olympus, children of Zeus who bears the aegis. Mnemosyne, ruling over the hills of Eleuther, bore them in Pieria, after lying with the son of Cronus their father, to be a forgetting of troubles and a rest from cares. For nine nights
wise Zeus lay with her, going up into her holy bed apart from the immortals; but when the year had run its course, the seasons circling round with the dwindling months and day upon day reaching its full count, she bore nine daughters of one mind, whose hearts are set on song and who feel no care, a little way from the very topmost peak
of snowy Olympus. There they have their shining dance-floors and beautiful halls, and beside them the Graces and Desire live in festivity. Sending a lovely voice through their mouths they sing, and celebrate the customs and fine ways of all the immortals, sending forth their charming voice. They went then toward Olympus, exulting
in their beautiful voice, in their immortal song; and the black earth echoed all around as they sang, and a lovely thudding of feet rose up beneath them as they went to their father. He reigns as king in heaven, himself holding the thunder and the blazing thunderbolt, having conquered his father Cronus by force; and he arranged everything well for the immortals alike and assigned their honors. This, then,
the Muses sang, who hold the Olympian halls, the nine daughters born of great Zeus: Clio, Euterpe, Thalia, Melpomene, Terpsichore, Erato, Polyhymnia, Urania, and Calliope — she is the foremost of them all, for she attends even reverend kings. Whomever the daughters of great Zeus honor
and look upon at his birth, one of the kings nurtured by Zeus, on his tongue they pour sweet dew, and gentle words flow from his mouth; all the people look to him as he settles disputes with straight judgments; and speaking with sure authority he can quickly and skillfully put an end to even a great quarrel. That is why
there are prudent kings: because when the people are being wronged in the assembly, they set matters right easily, persuading with gentle words. And as he comes among the gathering, they show him deference like a god, with gentle reverence, and among the crowd he stands conspicuous. That is the sacred endowment the Muses bestow on human beings. For singers and players of the lyre exist upon the earth thanks to the Muses and to Apollo who shoots from afar,
and from Zeus that there are kings. Blessed is the man the Muses love; sweet speech flows from his mouth. For even if someone has grief and a heart sore with fresh sorrow, and pines away, aching in his heart, yet when a singer, the Muses' servant, hymns the famous exploits of people of former times and the blessed gods who dwell on Olympus, at once
he forgets his sorrows and no longer remembers his cares; the gifts of the goddesses quickly turn his mind elsewhere. Hail, children of Zeus, grant me a lovely song. Celebrate the holy race of the immortals who live forever — those whom Earth brought forth with starry Heaven, those born of dark Night, and those the salt Sea reared. Tell how at first
the gods came into being along with the earth, the rivers, and the limitless sea raging in its swell, the blazing stars, and broad heaven overhead; and the gods sprung from these, bestowers of blessings; and how they portioned out riches among themselves and allotted the honors, and how at first they took possession of many-folded Olympus. Tell me these things, Muses,
who hold your homes on Olympus from the beginning, and tell what first came to be among them. Truly, first of all Chaos came into being, and then broad-breasted Earth, the ever-secure seat of all the immortals who hold the peak of snowy Olympus, and murky Tartarus in a recess of the wide-pathed earth, and Eros, who is the most beautiful among the immortal
gods, the limb-loosener, who overpowers the mind and wise counsel in the breasts of all gods and all men. Out of Chaos came Erebus and black Night; and from Night in turn came Aether and Day, whom she bore after mingling in love with Erebus. Earth first of all brought forth, equal to
herself, starry Heaven, so that he might cover her all around and be an ever-secure seat for the blessed gods. She bore also the long mountains, the pleasant haunts of the goddess Nymphs who dwell in the wooded hills. And she also bore, without sweet union of love, the barren sea seething with its swell, Pontus. But afterward,
lying with Heaven, she bore deep-eddying Ocean, and Coeus, Crius, Hyperion, Iapetus; then Theia and Rhea, with Themis and Mnemosyne, Phoebe with her golden crown, and Tethys the lovely. Youngest of them all came crooked-scheming Cronus, most terrible of her brood, and he loathed his vigorous father. And she bore also the Cyclopes with their overbearing hearts, Brontes
and Steropes and stout-hearted Arges, who gave Zeus the thunder and forged the thunderbolt for him. In everything else these were like the gods, but a single eye lay in the middle of their forehead. They were named Cyclopes because a single round eye lay set in their forehead; and strength
and force and craft were in their work. And besides these, Earth and Heaven produced three more sons, huge and mighty, unspeakable, Cottus and Briareus and Gyges, arrogant children. From their shoulders sprang a hundred hands, unshapely, and to each of them fifty heads grew from the shoulders
upon their sturdy limbs; and their strength was measureless and mighty, matched to their huge form. For of all those born from Earth and Heaven, these were the most fearsome children, and their own father hated them from the start. And as soon as any of them was about to be born, he hid them all away and would not let them come into the light, in a hollow of Earth, and he delighted in this
wicked act, Heaven did. But huge Earth groaned within herself, being crowded, and she devised a cunning and wicked plan. Quickly making the substance of grey adamant, she fashioned a great sickle and showed it to her own dear children; and speaking to encourage them, though grieving in her heart, she said: 'My children, and children of a reckless father, if you are willing to obey me, we might avenge your father's
wicked outrage on you; for he was the first to plot shameful deeds.' So she spoke; but fear seized all of them, and not one of them spoke. Then great Cronus of crooked counsel took courage and answered his dear mother: 'Mother, I will undertake this task and carry it out, since I have no regard
for our father, wretched as he is, for he was the first to plot shameful deeds.' So he spoke; and huge Earth rejoiced greatly in her heart. She hid him in an ambush and placed in his hands a jagged-toothed sickle, and taught him the whole trick. And great Heaven came, bringing on the night, and, longing for love, spread himself all around Earth and lay stretched out fully;
and his son reached out from his ambush with his left hand, and with his right took hold of the huge sickle, long and jagged-toothed, and swiftly cut off his own father's genitals and threw them behind him to be carried away. They did not fly from his hand in vain, for all the bloody drops that spurted out Earth received; and as the years turned around
she bore the mighty Furies and the great Giants, gleaming in their armor, long spears gripped in their fists, and those Nymphs called Meliae across the boundless earth. As for the genitals, once he had cut them off with the adamant sickle, he threw them from the mainland into the surging sea, and they were carried a long time over the waves, and white foam rose around them from
the immortal flesh, and in it a girl was formed. First she came near holy Cythera, and from there she went on to sea-girt Cyprus. There she stepped out, a reverend and beautiful goddess, and grass grew up around her slender feet. Gods and men call her Aphrodite, the foam-born goddess, and also fair-crowned Cytherea,
because she grew up in the foam; and Cytherea, because she touched land at Cythera; and Cyprogenea, because she was born on wave-washed Cyprus; and also Philommedes, because she sprang from the genitals. Eros joined her, and fair Desire followed her when she was first born and came into the company of the gods. From the beginning she has had this honor and been allotted
this share among men and immortal gods: the whispers of maidens, smiles, deceptions, sweet delight, and love and tenderness. But great Heaven called his sons, whom he himself had fathered, Titans as a term of reproach, saying that they had strained to do a monstrous deed in their recklessness, and that vengeance for it would come
afterward. And Night gave birth to loathsome Doom, to black Fate, and to Death; she bore Sleep too, and brought forth the tribe of Dreams; next, though she had lain with no one, dark Night bore Blame and grievous Misery, and the Hesperides, keepers of the beautiful golden apples beyond glorious Ocean, and the trees bearing that
fruit. She also bore the Fates and the pitiless avenging Spirits, Clotho and Lachesis and Atropos, who give mortals at their birth both good and evil to have, and who pursue the transgressions of men and gods; nor do these goddesses ever cease from their dread anger until they give harsh punishment to whoever has done wrong.
And deadly Night bore Nemesis too, a torment for mortal men, and after her she bore Deceit and Affection and ruinous Old Age, and she bore hard-hearted Strife. And hateful Strife bore agonizing Toil, Forgetfulness and Hunger, tearful Pains, Battles and Combats, Murders and Killings of Men,
Quarrels and Lying Words, Disputes and Lawlessness and Ruin, each the companion of the others, and Oath, who brings the most harm to men on earth whenever someone knowingly swears a false oath. And Pontus fathered Nereus, truthful and honest, the eldest of his children; men name him the Old Man since he is unerring and gentle, and he does not
forget what is right, but knows just and kindly counsel. Then again, mingling with Gaia, Pontus fathered great Thaumas and proud Phorcys, Ceto of the fair cheeks, and Eurybia, whose breast holds a heart of adamant. From Nereus were born lovely children, goddesses, in the barren sea, by Doris of the beautiful hair, daughter of Oceanus, the perfect river — Ploto
and Eucrante and Sao and Amphitrite and Eudora and Thetis and Galene and Glauce and Cymothoe and Speio and Thoe and lovely Halia, Pasithea, Erato, Eunice of the rosy arms, and graceful Melite and Eulimene and Agave and Doto and Proto and Pherusa and Dynamene
and Nesaea and Actaea and Protomedea, Doris and Panopea and beautiful Galatea, charming Hippothoe and Hipponoe of the rosy arms, and Cymodoce, who together with Cymatolege and shapely Amphitrite easily calms the waves on the misty sea and the gusts of raging winds; then Cymo, Eione, and fair-crowned Halimede, and Glauconome
who loves to smile, and Pontoporea, Leagora and Euagora and Laomedea, Poulynoe and Autonoe and Lysianassa, Euarne of lovely form and blameless looks, and graceful Psamathe, and divine Menippe, Neso and Eupompe, Themisto and Pronoe and Nemertes, who has the mind of her immortal father.
These were the fifty daughters born to blameless Nereus, skilled in blameless works. And Thaumas took to wife Electra, daughter of deep-flowing Oceanus; she bore swift Iris and the fair-haired Harpies, Aello and Ocypete, who on rapid pinions chase the gusts of winds and the birds alike, for they dart through the air on high. And to Phorcys in turn
Ceto bore the Graeae, fair-cheeked from birth and gray-haired, whom gods and men who walk the earth call the Graeae — Pemphredo in her fine robe and Enyo robed in saffron — and the Gorgons, whose home lies beyond glorious Oceanus at the edge of the world, toward Night, where the clear-voiced Hesperides dwell: Stheno and Euryale and Medusa, who suffered a grim fate.
She alone was mortal, while the other two were immortal and ageless; and with her, the one, the Dark-Haired One lay down in a soft meadow among the spring flowers. And when Perseus severed her head from her neck, out leaped great Chrysaor and the horse Pegasus. Pegasus got his name because he was born near the springs of Oceanus,
while the other held a golden sword in his hands. Pegasus flew away, quitting the earth that mothers the flocks, and reached the immortals; he lives in the house of Zeus, carrying thunder and lightning for wise Zeus. Chrysaor fathered three-headed Geryon, mingling with Callirhoe, daughter of glorious Oceanus. Geryon was slain by the might
of Heracles beside his shambling cattle, on sea-girt Erythea, on the day Heracles drove the broad-browed cattle toward holy Tiryns, crossing the stream of Oceanus, after killing Orthus and the herdsman Eurytion in a misty steading beyond glorious Oceanus. And Callirhoe bore another monster, unmanageable, unlike anything among
mortal men or immortal gods — in a hollow cave she bore strong-hearted Echidna, half a nymph with bright eyes and fair cheeks, and half a monstrous serpent, terrible and huge, mottled and ravenous, deep within the sacred earth. There she has a cave, deep beneath a hollow rock, far from immortal gods and mortal men; there
the gods assigned her a splendid home to dwell in. And she, deadly Echidna, is confined beneath the earth among the Arimi, an immortal nymph, ageless for all her days. They say Typhon lay with her in love, that terrible, violent, lawless one, with the bright-eyed girl, and she conceived and bore strong-hearted children. First she bore Orthus,
the hound of Geryon; then next she bore another creature, unspeakable, ravenous Cerberus, the bronze-voiced hound of Hades, fifty-headed, shameless and strong; and third she bore the destructive Lernaean Hydra, which the goddess white-armed Hera raised, furious beyond measure at the might of Heracles. And her the son of Zeus slew with pitiless bronze,
the son of Amphitryon, Heracles, together with war-loving Iolaus, by the counsels of Athena, driver of spoils. And she bore the Chimera, breathing unquenchable fire, terrible and huge, swift-footed and strong. She had three heads — one of a fierce-eyed lion, one of a goat, and one of a serpent, a mighty dragon — lion in front, dragon behind,
and goat in the middle, breathing out the fierce force of blazing fire. Pegasus and noble Bellerophon slew her. And Echidna, subdued by Orthus, bore deadly Phix, the ruin of the Thebans, and the Nemean lion, which Hera, Zeus's glorious wife, raised and settled on the hills of Nemea, a torment to men. There he preyed upon the
tribes of men who lived nearby, lording it over Tretus of Nemea and Apesas; but the strength of Heracles overcame him. And Ceto, mingling in love with Phorcys, bore her youngest, a terrible serpent, who in the dark depths of the earth guards the golden apples in their vast reaches. Such, then, is the brood that came from Ceto and Phorcys. And Tethys bore to Oceanus the swirling
Rivers — the Nile and the Alpheus and deep-eddying Eridanus, the Strymon and the Maeander and the fair-flowing Ister, the Phasis and the Rhesus and silver-eddying Achelous, the Nessus and the Rhodius and the Haliacmon and the Heptaporus, the Granicus and the Aesepus and sacred Simoeis, the Peneius and the fair-flowing Hermus and the Caicus and the Sangarius,
great Ladon and the Parthenius and the Evenus and the Ardescus and sacred Scamander. And Tethys bore a sacred race of daughters, who together with lord Apollo and the Rivers raise young men to manhood across the earth — this task they hold from Zeus — Peitho, Admete, Ianthe, Electra, then Doris and Prymno
and godlike Urania and Hippo and Clymene and Rhodea and Callirhoe and Zeuxo and Clytie and Idyia and Pasithoe and Plexaura and lovely Galaxaura and Dione and Melobosis and Thoe and beautiful Polydora and Cerceis of lovely form and ox-eyed Plouto and Perseis and Ianeira and Acaste
and Xanthe and lovely Petraea and Menestho and Europa and Metis and Eurynome and Telesto in her saffron robe and Chryseis and Asia and lovely Calypso and Eudora and Tyche and Amphiro and Ocyrhoe and Styx, who is the foremost of them all. These were the eldest daughters born of Oceanus and Tethys,
but there are many others besides. For there are three thousand slender-ankled Oceanids, who scattered far and wide tend the earth and the depths of the waters alike, splendid children of the goddesses. And just as many again are the loud-flowing rivers, sons of Oceanus, born of queenly Tethys, whose names it is hard for a
mortal man to tell, but each of the people who live nearby knows them. And Theia bore great Helios and bright Selene and Eos, who shines for all who live on earth and for the immortal gods who hold the wide heaven, submitting in love to Hyperion. And Eurybia, mingling in love with Crius, bore great Astraeus
and Pallas, foremost of the gods, and Perses, who excelled all in wisdom. And to Astraeus, Eos bore the strong-hearted winds — clearing Zephyrus, and swift-traveling Boreas, and the South Wind — the goddess lying with the god in love. After them the Dawn-bringer bore the star Eosphorus and the shining stars with which the sky is crowned. And Styx,
daughter of Oceanus, mingling with Pallas, bore Zelus and fair-ankled Nike in their halls, and she bore glorious children, Cratos and Bia; these have no home apart from Zeus, nor any seat, nor any path where the god does not lead them, but always they sit beside deep-thundering Zeus. For thus did undying Styx
the Oceanid resolve, on the day the Olympian, lord of lightning, called all the immortal gods to great Olympus and declared that whoever among the gods fought beside him against the Titans would not be stripped of any privilege, but each would keep the honor he had before among the immortal gods; and he declared that whoever had been without honor or
privilege under Cronus would be raised to honor and privilege, as is right. And undying Styx was the first to reach Olympus, bringing her children with her, by the counsel of her dear father. And Zeus honored her, and gave her surpassing gifts: he appointed her to be the gods' great oath, and granted that her children should live with him forever.
And just as he had promised, so he fulfilled it fully for all; and he himself rules mightily and reigns. And Phoebe in turn came to the beloved bed of Coeus; and the goddess, conceiving then in the god's embrace, bore dark-robed Leto, ever gentle, kind to men and to the immortal gods, gentle from the beginning, the mildest within
Olympus. She bore also fair-named Asteria, whom Perses once led into his great house, to bear the name of his beloved wife. And she conceived and bore Hecate, whom Zeus, son of Cronus, honored above all; he gave her splendid gifts, a share of the earth and of the barren sea. And she also has a portion of honor from the starry heaven,
and she is honored greatly by the immortal gods. For even now, whenever any man on earth offers fine sacrifices and prays as custom requires, it is Hecate he invokes. Great honor readily follows the one to whom the glorious goddess is willing to grant his prayers, and she bestows prosperity on him, since the power is truly hers.
For of all those born of Gaia and Uranus who received honor, she has a share of every one of them. Nor did the son of Cronus do her violence, nor take away anything of what she had received among the earlier gods, the Titans, but she keeps it, just as the division was from the beginning, and she has her rightful share on earth and in heaven and
in the sea. And though she is her mother's only child, the goddess enjoys no less honor, but even much more, since Zeus honors her. To whomever she wishes, she comes with great help and benefit; she sits beside kings in judgment, in their revered assembly, and she stands out among the people in the marketplace for whomever she wishes; and whenever men arm themselves
for man-destroying war, there the goddess is present, ready to grant victory graciously and bestow glory on whomever she wishes. She is good too when men compete in a contest, for there the goddess is present and gives her help; and the one who wins by strength and might easily carries off a fine prize with joy, and gives glory to his parents. She is good also to stand
beside horsemen, for whomever she wishes. And to those who work the gray and stormy sea, and who pray to Hecate and to the loud-crashing Earthshaker, the glorious goddess easily grants a great catch, and just as easily takes it away once it is in view, if that is her wish. She is good also in the stables, together with Hermes, to increase the herd; the droves of cattle and the wide flocks of goats
flocks of woolly sheep, gladly, with her whole heart, she makes the few grow strong and cuts the many down to less. So it is that she, though her mother's only child, is honored among all the immortals with every privilege. And Cronus's son made her a nurse of the young, all those who after her looked with their eyes on the light of far-seeing Dawn. So from the beginning she has been a nurse of children, and these are
her honors. Rhea, mastered in love by Cronus, bore him splendid children: Hestia, Demeter, and gold-sandaled Hera, and mighty Hades, who dwells in a house beneath the earth with a pitiless heart, and the loud-crashing Earth-Shaker, and Zeus of the crooked counsel, father of gods and of men, whose thunder makes the wide earth quake. And these
great Cronus swallowed down, each one as soon as it came from its mother's holy womb to her knees, his purpose being that none besides himself among Heaven's proud offspring should wield royal honor among the deathless gods. For he had learned from Earth and starry Heaven that it was fated for him to be brought down by his own child, mighty though he was,
through the designs of great Zeus. So he kept no blind watch but lay in wait, and swallowed his children; and Rhea was gripped by a grief that would not fade. Yet when the time drew near for her to give birth to Zeus, father of gods and men, she pleaded then with those who bore her, Earth and Heaven of the stars,
to devise a plan with her, so that she might bear her child in secret and pay back the avenging spirits of her father and of the children whom great crooked-counseled Cronus had swallowed down. And they listened closely to their dear daughter and did as she asked, and told her all that was fated to happen concerning Cronus the king and his stout-hearted son. And they sent her to Lyctus,
to Crete's fertile country, at the time she was due to deliver the youngest of her children, great Zeus. Huge Earth took him from her to rear and nurse in wide Crete. There, carrying him through the swift black night, she came first to Lyctus, and took him in her hands and hid him in a steep cave, beneath the sacred
hiding places of the earth, on Mount Aegaeum, thick with forest. Then she wrapped a great stone in swaddling clothes and put it into the hands of the son of Heaven, the great lord, the former king of the gods. He took it then in his hands and put it down into his belly, wretched man, not realizing in his mind that in its place his own son, unconquered and untroubled, was left behind, who soon
was going to overpower him by force of hand and drive him from his honor, and would himself rule among the immortals. And swiftly then the strength and splendid limbs of that lord grew; and as the years turned round, deceived by the shrewd counsels of Earth, great crooked-counseled Cronus brought his offspring up again, beaten by the skill and strength of his own son. And first
he vomited up the stone, which he had swallowed last of all. Zeus set this stone firm in the wide-wayed earth at holy Pytho, in the hollows under Parnassus, to be a sign thereafter, a wonder for mortal men. And he freed his father's brothers from their grim bonds, the sons of Heaven whom their father had bound in his folly; and they remembered their gratitude for his kindness, and gave him thunder
and the smoking thunderbolt and lightning; these huge Earth had hidden before. Trusting in these he rules over mortals and immortals. Iapetus led away Clymene, the fair-ankled daughter of Ocean, and went up into the same bed with her. She bore him Atlas, a son of strong will; she bore also proud Menoetius and Prometheus, subtle and quick of mind, and Epimetheus, thoughtless, who from the
beginning became a curse to men who live by bread; for he was the first to receive the molded woman, made for Zeus, as his own virgin bride. Zeus, whose voice carries far, hurled violent Menoetius down into Erebus with a smoking thunderbolt, because of his recklessness and overweening strength. And Atlas, under harsh compulsion, holds up the wide sky where the earth reaches its limits, in front of the Hesperides with their clear singing voices,
holding it up with his head and untiring hands; for this was the portion wise Zeus allotted to him. And crafty Prometheus he bound in inescapable fetters, painful bonds, driving them through the middle of a pillar, and he set upon him a long-winged eagle, which ate his immortal liver; but it grew back each night to the same size it had been before,
whatever the long-winged bird had eaten in the day. This eagle Heracles, the mighty son of fair-ankled Alcmene, killed, and drove the wretched plague away from Iapetus's son and freed him from his torment — and Olympian Zeus, ruling on high, did not oppose it — so that the fame of Heracles, born at Thebes, might be even greater than before over the fruitful earth. Honoring this, Zeus favored his glorious son,
and although he was still angry he let go the wrath he had felt before, because Prometheus had contended in counsel with the overwhelming son of Cronus. For once, when gods and mortal men were dividing matters at Mecone, Prometheus, with willing heart, carved up a great ox and set it out, meaning to deceive the mind of Zeus. Before the gods he laid out the flesh and the rich innards wrapped
in the ox's hide, covering them over with the belly; but for Zeus he set out the white bones of the ox, arranged with cunning skill and covered over with shining fat. Then the father of gods and men spoke to him: "Son of Iapetus, most renowned of all the lords, my friend, how unfairly you have divided the portions!" So spoke Zeus, mocking him, for he knew the imperishable counsels. And to him in turn
crooked-minded Prometheus answered, smiling quietly, not forgetting his cunning skill: "Zeus, most glorious and greatest of the gods who live forever, choose whichever of these your heart within you bids you take." So he said, devising his trick; but Zeus, who knew the imperishable counsels, recognized the deceit and was not fooled by it, and in his heart he foresaw troubles for mortal men, which
were indeed to come to pass. He lifted the white fat, using both his hands. Anger rose in his heart, and wrath came upon his spirit, when he saw the white bones of the ox laid out by cunning craft. And this is why, upon fragrant altars, the races of humankind on earth burn white bones to the immortals. And to him, greatly
troubled, cloud-gathering Zeus said: "Son of Iapetus, who knows counsels beyond all others, my friend, you have not yet forgotten your cunning craft, have you." So spoke Zeus in anger, who knows the imperishable counsels; and from that time on, remembering the trick, he would not give the strength of untiring fire to the ash-tree nymphs, for mortal men who live upon the earth. But
the noble son of Iapetus deceived him, stealing the far-seen gleam of untiring fire in a hollow fennel stalk; and it bit deep into the heart of Zeus who thunders on high, and stung his spirit within, when he saw among men the far-seen gleam of fire. At once, in place of fire, he fashioned an evil for men: the famous Limping God molded out of earth the likeness of a modest maiden,
by the will of the son of Cronus. And the grey-eyed goddess Athena dressed and adorned her in silvery clothing, and with her hands drew down over her head an embroidered veil, a wonder to behold; and around her head Pallas Athena set garlands, lovely wreaths of fresh spring flowers. And around her head she also placed a golden crown, which the famous Limping God himself had made,
working it with his own hands, as a favor to father Zeus. On it were wrought many intricate designs, a wonder to see: all the many creatures that the land and sea nourish, he set many of these upon it—and grace shone all about it—wonderful things, like living creatures that could speak. But when he had made this beautiful evil in exchange for a good thing, he led her out to where the other
gods and men were, adorned in the finery of the grey-eyed daughter of a mighty father. Wonder held the immortal gods and mortal men when they saw the sheer deception, irresistible to men. For from her comes the race of female women; from her comes the ruinous race and tribes of women, a great trouble living among mortal men,
no fit companions for ruinous poverty, but only for abundance. As when in close-covered hives the bees feed the drones, those partners in wicked works — the bees toil the whole day through till sunset, storing up their white combs, while the drones stay inside the sheltered hives and pile the labor of others into their own bellies—
just so, as an evil for mortal men, high-thundering Zeus made women, partners in troublesome works. And he gave another evil in exchange for the good: whoever flees marriage and the troublesome deeds of women and refuses to wed comes to a miserable old age with no one to tend him; he does not lack for a living while he is alive, but when he dies
distant kin divide up his property among themselves. And as for the one whose lot it is to marry, and who gets a good wife suited to his ways, for him throughout his life the bad continually rivals the good; but whoever gets a wife of a troublesome kind lives with unrelenting grief in his heart and spirit, and it is an evil beyond cure.
So there is no way to deceive or get around the mind of Zeus. For not even Prometheus, the kindly son of Iapetus, escaped his heavy wrath, but of necessity, wise as he was, a mighty chain holds him fast. When their father first grew angry in his heart at Briareus and Cottus and Gyges, he bound them in a strong chain,
resenting their overweening strength and their looks and their size, and he settled them beneath the wide-wayed earth. There they lived in pain beneath the earth, dwelling at its far edge, at the borders of the great earth, grieving greatly for a long time, with great sorrow in their hearts. But Cronus's son and the other immortal gods, whom fair-haired Rhea bore
in love with Cronus, brought them up again into the light, on the advice of Earth; for she told them the whole story from beginning to end, that with these allies they would win victory and glorious renown. For a long time the Titan gods and those born of Cronus had fought a grievous struggle, facing one another in mighty battles, some from lofty
Othrys, the proud Titans, and others from Olympus, the gods, givers of good things, whom fair-haired Rhea bore lying with Cronus. These, then, with bitter wrath against one another, fought continuously for more than ten years; and there was no resolution or end of the hard strife for either side, but the outcome of the war hung equal. But when
Zeus had furnished those allies with everything they required — nectar and ambrosia, the food the gods themselves take — proud spirit grew in the breasts of all of them. And when they had tasted nectar and lovely ambrosia, then the father of gods and men spoke among them: "Hear me, splendid children of Earth and Heaven, so that
I may say what the heart in my breast bids me. For a long time now, day after day, we have fought one another for victory and mastery, the Titan gods and we who were born of Cronus. Show now your great strength and your irresistible hands against the Titans in this grim battle, remembering our kindly friendship, and all
you suffered before you came back into the light from your cruel bondage beneath the murky gloom, through our counsels." So he spoke; and blameless Cottus answered him in turn: "Wondrous one, you tell us nothing we do not know; indeed we ourselves know well that your mind and your judgment surpass all others, and that for the immortals you have proved a shield against chilling ruin.
Through your wisdom we have come back again out of the murky gloom, out of our merciless bonds, son and lord of Cronus, having suffered what we never hoped to escape. Therefore now, with a fixed mind and shrewd purpose, we will defend your power in the dread conflict, fighting the Titans in mighty battles." So he spoke, and the gods, givers of good things,
praised him when they heard his words; and the craving for war rose in their spirits, fiercer even than before; and all of them stirred up a hateful battle, female and male alike, on that day—the Titan gods, and those born of Cronus, and those whom Zeus brought up from beneath the earth, out of Erebus, into the light, terrible and strong, possessed of overwhelming might. Of them
A hundred arms sprang from the shoulders of each of them alike, and fifty heads grew from each one's shoulders above their massive limbs. They took their stand against the Titans in the grim battle, holding sheer cliffs of rock in their massive hands. Opposite them the Titans braced their battle lines with a will, and each side put on display the work of hands and raw strength.
The boundless sea roared terribly around them, the earth crashed loudly, the wide sky groaned as it shook, and tall Olympus was rocked from its base under the rush of the immortals. The heavy tremor reached down to murky Tartarus, along with the shrill din of feet in the indescribable charge and of powerful blows. So they hurled their groaning missiles at one another. The voice
of both sides reached the starry sky as they shouted their war cries, and they clashed with a great roar. Now Zeus no longer held back his fury. At once his heart filled with rage and he showed all his strength. From the sky and from Olympus together he came on, flashing lightning without pause. The
thunderbolts flew thick and fast from his massive hand, thunder and lightning together, whirling a sacred flame. All around, the life-giving earth crashed as it burned, and the vast forest crackled loudly in the fire. The whole land boiled, and the streams of Ocean, and the barren sea. Hot vapor wrapped the earthborn Titans
round, and unspeakable flame reached the bright upper air. The blazing glare of the thunderbolt and the lightning blinded their eyes, strong though they were. A prodigious heat took hold of Chaos. To look at it with the eyes or hear the noise with the ears, it seemed exactly as if Earth and the wide Sky above were slamming together — that is
the kind of enormous crash that would rise if she were being smashed down and he were collapsing from above. So great was the crash as the gods met in strife. The winds, too, churned up quaking and dust together, thunder and lightning and the smoking bolt, the shafts of great Zeus, and carried shouting and battle cries into the middle between the two sides.
An unbearable din rose from the horrifying struggle, and raw power showed itself in action. Then the battle tipped. Before that, holding against each other, they had fought on relentlessly through the brutal engagements. But now in the front ranks Kottos and Briareos and Gyes, insatiable for war, stirred up bitter fighting. Three hundred rocks from their massive hands
they hurled one after another, and they buried the Titans under their missiles. Down under the earth of the broad ways they dispatched them, tying them in painful bonds after beating them by force for all their proud spirits, as far down below the ground as the sky is above the earth — for that is the distance from earth to murky Tartarus. Nine nights and
nine days a bronze anvil falling from the sky would travel, and on the tenth it would reach the earth; and again nine nights and nine days a bronze anvil falling from the earth, and on the tenth it would reach Tartarus. Around it a bronze fence has been driven, and around its neck night is poured in three layers; and above grow the roots
of the earth and of the barren sea. There the Titan gods are hidden away under murky gloom, by the plans of Zeus who gathers the clouds, in a dank place at the far edges of the monstrous earth. There is no way out for them. Poseidon fitted it with bronze doors, and on either side a wall encircles it. There Gyes and Kottos and great-hearted Obriareos live, the trusted guards of Zeus who holds the aegis.
There, all in order, are the sources and limits of the dark earth and murky Tartarus, of the barren sea and the starry sky — grim, dank places that even the gods loathe: a huge chasm. Not even in the full course of a year would someone reach its floor, once he was inside the gates; storm after cruel storm would carry him this way and
that. Even to the immortal gods this is a thing of dread. There stand the terrible houses of gloomy Night, wrapped in blue-black clouds. In front of them the son of Iapetos holds up the wide sky, standing firm on his head and his tireless hands, where Night and Day come close and greet each other
as they cross the great bronze threshold. One descends inside while the other steps out through the doorway, and never are the two of them enclosed in the house together; instead, one of them is always outside the house, ranging over the earth, while the other stays inside the house and waits for the hour of her own journey, until it comes. One carries far-seeing light for those who live on the earth;
the other holds Sleep in her arms, the brother of Death — deadly Night, wrapped in misty cloud. There dwell the offspring of gloomy Night in their houses — Sleep and Death, terrible gods. Never does the shining Sun look upon them with his rays, whether climbing the sky or coming down from it. One of them ranges over the earth and
the broad back of the sea, quiet and gentle to human beings. The other, though, carries iron in his heart, and the spirit within his chest is pitiless bronze: whichever human he seizes first, he keeps. He is hateful even to the immortal gods. There, at the entrance, rise the resounding halls of the underworld's god — mighty Hades and dread Persephone — and a terrible
dog keeps guard before them, pitiless, and he has a nasty trick: those entering he flatters, wagging his tail and moving both ears alike, but he does not let them come back out again; he lies in wait and eats whoever he catches going out through the gates of mighty Hades and dread Persephone. And there lives a goddess loathsome
to the immortals, dread Styx, eldest daughter of Ocean who flows back on himself. Apart from the gods she inhabits her famous house, roofed over with great rocks; on every side it is propped against the sky with silver pillars. Rarely does swift-footed Iris, the daughter of Thaumas, travel to her with a message over the broad back of the sea. But when quarrel and strife arise among the immortals, and
one of those who hold the halls of Olympus tells a lie, then Zeus sends Iris far off to fetch, carried in a jug of gold, the gods' great oath: the famous cold water that trickles down from a high, sheer rock. Far below the wide-pathed earth it flows out of the sacred river through black night — a branch of Ocean. A tenth
share is allotted to her: nine parts, winding around the earth and the broad back of the sea in silver eddies, fall into the salt water, but the one part flows out from the rock, a great bane to the gods. Whoever of the immortals who hold the peak of snowy Olympus pours a libation of that water and swears falsely lies breathless for a full year. Never
does he come near ambrosia and nectar for food; he lies there without breath and without voice on a covered bed, and an evil coma wraps him. And when he has finished that sickness after the long year, another ordeal, harsher still, follows on its heels. Nine full years he remains sundered from the gods who live forever; never does he join their council
or their feasts for nine whole years; in the tenth he mingles again in the gatherings of the immortals who hold the halls of Olympus. Such is the oath the gods made of the imperishable, primeval water of Styx; and it pours out through a rugged place. There, all in order, are the sources and limits of the dark earth and murky Tartarus, of the barren sea and the starry sky —
grim, dank places that even the gods loathe. There are gleaming gates and a bronze threshold, immovable, fixed on unbroken roots, grown of itself; and before them, far apart from every god, the Titans make their home, beyond gloomy Chaos. But the famous allies of loud-crashing Zeus have their homes on the foundations of Ocean —
Kottos and Gyes. As for Briareos, because he was loyal, the deep-thundering Earth-shaker made him his son-in-law and gave him Kymopoleia, his own daughter, to marry. But when Zeus had driven the Titans out of the sky, monstrous Gaia bore her youngest child, Typhoeus, in love with Tartarus, through golden Aphrodite. His hands are strong,
made for action, and the feet of the powerful god never tire. From his shoulders grew a hundred snake heads, the heads of a terrible serpent, flickering with dark tongues; and from the eyes in those uncanny heads fire flashed beneath the brows. Fire blazed out of every one of the heads whenever he looked around. Voices, too, sounded from each of those dreadful heads,
sending out every kind of sound, beyond description. At one moment they spoke so that the gods could understand; at another they gave the bellowing of a bull, loud-roaring, unstoppable in fury, proud in voice; at another the sound of a lion with a shameless heart; at another sounds like puppies, astonishing to hear; and at another he hissed, and the tall mountains echoed underneath. And on
that day a thing beyond remedy would have happened — he would have become king over mortals and immortals — had the father of men and gods not taken sharp notice. He thundered hard and heavy, and all around the earth rang out fearfully, and the wide sky above, and the sea, and the streams of Ocean, and the depths of the
earth. Great Olympus shook under the immortal feet of the lord as he rose up, and the earth groaned in answer. The heat from both of them gripped the violet-dark sea — from the thunder and lightning, from the fire of that monster, from the scorching winds and the blazing thunderbolt. The whole earth boiled, and the sky and the sea. Long waves raged
around and about the shores under the rush of the immortals, and an unquenchable quaking rose. Hades trembled, lord over the dead below, and so did the Titans down in Tartarus, gathered around Kronos, at the unquenchable din and the dreadful fighting. And when Zeus had piled up his strength and taken his weapons — thunder
and lightning and the smoking bolt — he leaped from Olympus and struck, and he scorched all the uncanny heads of the terrible monster on every side. And when he had beaten him down under the lash of his blows, Typhoeus collapsed, crippled, and the monstrous earth groaned. Flame shot out from the thunderstruck lord in the dark, rugged glens of the mountain where he had been struck. A great stretch of the monstrous
earth burned in the prodigious blast and melted like tin heated by the skill of craftsmen in well-vented crucibles, or like iron, the strongest metal of all, when blazing flame overpowers it among the mountain valleys and it runs molten in the shining ground beneath the hands of Hephaistos. Just so the earth melted in the glare of the burning fire. And in the anger of his heart Zeus hurled him
into wide Tartarus. From Typhoeus comes the force of the wet-blowing winds — apart from Notos and Boreas and clearing Zephyros, for those are from the gods by birth, a great blessing to mortals. But the others blow at random over the sea; falling on the misty water, a great bane to mortals, they rage
with evil storm. They blow now one way, now another, and scatter ships and destroy sailors; and there is no defense against that evil for men who meet them out on the sea. And over the boundless flowering land too they destroy the lovely works of earthborn human beings, filling everything with dust and harsh, roaring confusion. But when
the blessed gods had finished their labor and settled the contest of honors with the Titans by force, then at Gaia's prompting they urged wide-seeing Olympian Zeus to be king and to rule over the immortals; and he distributed their honors among them. Zeus, king of the gods, took as his first wife Metis, wisest among gods and mortal humans. But just when
she was about to give birth to the goddess gray-eyed Athena, he deceived her mind with a trick, with coaxing words, and swallowed her down into his own belly, at the prompting of Gaia and of starry Ouranos. For this is how they advised him, so that no other of the gods who live forever should hold the royal honor in place of Zeus. For it was fated that exceedingly wise children would be born from her: first a daughter
gray-eyed Tritogeneia, who matches her father both in might and in thoughtful counsel. But after that Metis was about to bear a child who would be king of gods and men, a creature of overwhelming heart. But before that could happen Zeus put her down into his own belly, so that the goddess might advise him on good and evil. Second he married bright Themis, who bore
the Seasons, and Good Order and Justice and blooming Peace, who tend to the works of mortal men, and the Fates—Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos—on whom counselor Zeus bestowed honor beyond all others; it is they who allot to mortals their portion of good and of evil. Eurynome, Ocean's daughter, with her lovely face, bore him three Graces, fair of cheek,
Splendor, Joy, and lovely Good Cheer. From their eyes, as they looked, desire flowed that melts the limbs; and beautifully they glance from under their brows. Then he came to the bed of Demeter, rich in grain, who bore white-armed Persephone, whom Hades snatched away from her mother; but wise Zeus had given his consent.
Then again he fell in love with lovely-haired Memory, and from her came the nine gold-crowned Muses, who delight in festivities and the pleasure of song. Leto, after mingling in love with aegis-bearing Zeus, gave birth to Apollo and arrow-showering Artemis, the loveliest offspring among all the children of Heaven. Hera came last: Zeus took her as his flourishing bride, and to him she bore Hebe and
Ares and Eileithyia, after she mingled in love with him who rules over gods and men alike. Out of his own head Zeus brought forth gray-eyed Tritogeneia, terrible, rousing the battle-din, leading armies, the unwearied lady, who delights in war-cries and battles and combat. And Hera, without joining in love, bore glorious Hephaestus, quarreling and rivaling with her husband, from
all the children of Heaven he was skilled in crafts. Hera quarreled and rivaled with her husband. Out of that quarrel she bore a shining son, Hephaestus, without the aid of Zeus who holds the aegis, skilled in craftsmanship beyond all the children of Heaven. But he lay with the daughter of Ocean and lovely-haired Tethys, apart from Hera, deceiving Metis though
she knew very much. Snatching her up in his grip, he stowed her away inside his own belly, afraid she might give birth to something mightier than the thunderbolt. For that reason Zeus, high-throned, dwelling in the sky, swallowed her suddenly; and she at once conceived Pallas Athena, whom the father of gods and men brought forth by the top of his head, beside the banks of the river Triton. Metis
then sat hidden beneath the vitals of Zeus, mother of Athena, crafter of just things, knowing more than all gods and mortal men together; there the goddess received it, from where by her own skill Athena surpassed all the immortals who hold homes on Olympus, making the aegis, the armor of fear that belongs to Athena; with it he brought her forth wearing weapons of war. And from
Amphitrite and the loud-thundering Earth-Shaker came great, wide-ruling Triton, who dwells at the bottom of the sea beside his dear mother and his lordly father, in a golden house, a fearsome god. And to war-piercing Ares Cytherea bore Fear and Terror, dreadful gods, who scatter the close-packed ranks of men in chilling war together with city-sacking Ares, and Harmony,
whom bold Cadmus made his wife. And to Zeus, Atlas' daughter Maia bore glorious Hermes, herald of the immortals, having climbed into his sacred bed. And Cadmus' daughter Semele bore him a shining son, joined in love with him, joyful Dionysus, an immortal from a mortal woman; now both are gods. And Alcmene bore mighty Heracles, joined
in love with Zeus who gathers the clouds. And Hephaestus, the famous god of the two strong arms, made Splendor, youngest of the Graces, his blooming wife. And golden-haired Dionysus took fair-haired Ariadne, the daughter of Minos, as his flourishing bride, and Cronos' son granted her freedom from death and from old age. And the strong son of fair-ankled Alcmene, the might of Heracles, having finished his grievous labors, made the daughter
of great Zeus and gold-sandaled Hera, Hebe, his honored wife on snowy Olympus—a blessed man, who having accomplished a great labor among the immortals lives free from pain and age forever. And to unwearied Helios the famous daughter of Ocean, Perseis, bore Circe and Aeetes the king. And Aeetes, son of Helios who gives light to mortals, married,
by the will of the gods, Idyia of the fair cheeks, daughter of Ocean, the perfect river. And she, overpowered by golden Aphrodite, bore him fair-ankled Medea in love. Now farewell, you who hold the homes of Olympus, and the islands and continents and the salt sea within. And now, honey-voiced Olympian Muses, children of aegis-bearing Zeus, sing the race of goddesses—all those who, mortal
lying with mortal men, immortal as they were, bore children like the gods. Demeter, shining among goddesses, bore Wealth, joined with the hero Iasion in lovely love in a thrice-plowed fallow field, in the rich land of Crete—a kindly god who ranges everywhere, across dry land and over the wide ridges of the sea; whoever meets him and takes him into his hands,
him he makes rich, and grants him great prosperity. And Harmony, daughter of golden Aphrodite, bore to Cadmus Ino, Semele, Agave of the lovely cheeks, and Autonoe—the one whom deep-haired Aristaeus took in marriage—and Polydorus as well, in fair-crowned Thebes. And the daughter of Ocean, joined in love with strong-hearted Chrysaor, through golden Aphrodite, Callirhoe
bore a son, the mightiest of all mortal men, Geryon, whom the might of Heracles killed for the sake of his shambling cattle in sea-girt Erythea. And to Tithonus, Dawn bore bronze-helmeted Memnon, king of the Ethiopians, and lord Emathion. And by Cephalus she conceived a radiant child, mighty Phaethon, a man in the likeness of the gods. Him, while still young, holding the tender flower of glorious
youth, with a childish mind, smiling Aphrodite snatched up and carried away, and made him, in her holy shrines, a night-watching temple-keeper, a divine spirit. And the daughter of Aeetes, the Zeus-nurtured king, the son of Aeson led away from Aeetes, by the will of the everlasting gods, having accomplished grievous labors, many of which the great, overbearing king had imposed on him, insolent and reckless Pelias, a man of violent deeds. These
having accomplished, the son of Aeson reached Iolcus, after much suffering, bringing the bright-eyed girl on his swift ship, and he made her his blooming wife. And she, subdued by Jason, shepherd of the people, bore a son, Medeus, reared among the hills by Chiron, Philyra's son; so the purpose of great Zeus moved toward its accomplishment. As for the girls born to Nereus, the aged god of the salt water, they indeed
Psamathe, shining among goddesses, bore Phocus, joined with Aeacus through golden Aphrodite, and silver-footed Thetis, subdued by Peleus, bore lion-hearted Achilles, breaker of men. And fair-crowned Cytherea bore Aeneas, joined in lovely love with the hero Anchises, on the peaks of wooded, many-folded Ida. And Circe, daughter of Helios, son of Hyperion, bore
to steadfast Odysseus, in love, Agrius and Latinus, blameless and strong; and Telegonus she bore through golden Aphrodite. These ruled, far off in a hollow of the sacred islands, over all the famous Tyrrhenians. And to Odysseus, shining Calypso bore Nausithous and Nausinous, joined in lovely love. These, mortal
lying with mortal men, immortal as they were, bore children like the gods. And now, honey-voiced Olympian Muses, children of aegis-bearing Zeus, sing the race of women. ---