(ll. 1-9) I sing of Cyllenian Hermes, the Slayer of Argus, lord of
Cyllene and Arcadia rich in flocks, luck-bringing messenger of the
deathless gods. He was born of Maia, the daughter of Atlas, when she
had made with Zeus,—a shy goddess she. Ever she avoided the throng of
the blessed gods and lived in a shadowy cave, and there the Son of
Cronos used to lie with the rich-tressed nymph at dead of night, while
white-armed Hera lay bound in sweet sleep: and neither deathless god
nor mortal man knew it.
(ll. 10-11) And so hail to you, Son of Zeus and Maia; with you I have
begun: now I will turn to another song!
(l. 12) Hail, Hermes, giver of grace, guide, and giver of good things!
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