I sing of Cyllenian Hermes, slayer of Argus, prince of Cyllene and of
Arcadia rich in sheep, the boon messenger of the Immortals. Him did Maia
bear, the modest daughter of Atlas, to the love of Zeus. The company of
the blessed Gods she shunned, and dwelt in a shadowy cave where Cronion
was wont to lie with the fair-tressed nymph in the dark of night, while
sweet sleep possessed white-armed Hera, and no Immortals knew it, and no
deathly men. Hail to thee, thou son of Zeus and Maia, with thee shall I
begin and pass on to another song. Hail, Hermes, Giver of grace, thou
Guide, thou Giver of good things.