Hymn Of Hippolytus To Artemis

Artemis! thou fairest     Of the maids that be     In divine Olympus,     Hail!    Hail to thee!     To thee I bring this woven weed     Culled for thee from a virgin mead,     Where neither shepherd claims his flocks to feed     Nor ever yet the mower's scythe hath come.     There in the Spring the wild bee hath his home,     Lightly passing to and fro     Where the virgin flowers grow;     And there the watchful Purity doth go     Moistening with dew-drops all the ground below,     Drawn from a river untaintedly flowing,      They who have gained by a kind fate's bestowing     Pure hearts, untaught by philosophy's care,     May gather the flowers in the mead that are blowing,     But the tainted in spirit may never be there.     Now, O Divinest, eternally fair,     Take thou this garland to gather thy hair,     Brought by a hand that is pure as the air.     For I alone of all the sons of men     Hear thy pure accents, answering thee again.     And may I reach the goal of life as I began the race,     Blest by the music of thy voice, though darkness ever veil thy face!