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.
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