To Enyo, beautiful, terrible goddess,
I offer my praise. Companion of Ares,
daughter of Hera and thundering Zeus,
you delight in the clash of arms, the loud battle-cries;
you dance upon the blood-soaked ground. Fiery-eyed Enyo,
sister of War, destroyer of cities,
the sword and the spear are yours to wield;
the lives of the young are yours to take.
Keen-eyed goddess, strong of arm and swift of strike,
yours is the frenzy of the field, the madness
of the fray, the pounding pulse of strife.
I honor your work, O goddess; I honor your might.
Phobos and Deimos, great sons of Aphrodite
and Ares who exceeds all warriors,
companion of Enyo, fierce battle-goddess,
and Eris who delights in all strife. Brothers two,
ever-present on the field of war, ever-ready
with spear and with shield, you hold fast the reins
of your father’s bright chariot, O mighty ones,
O spirits of fear. Phobos of the burning eyes,
yours it is to rout the foe, to drive them in panic
from the battleground; Deimos, yours is a subtler power,
yours is the silent chill of dread that drains the heart
of courage. I praise you, I gods; I honor your might.
I call to you, Harmonia, child of love and war,
of Ares who is strong of heart, of courage unrivaled,
of Aphrodite whose might it is that binds us all.
Fair bride of Cadmus, great of Thebes, on your wedding day
did gods and mortals all rejoice, for none yet knew
the doom which would befall you, the cursed ornament,
the ruin of all who would possess it. Harmonia,
great goddess who knows the worth of a peaceful life,
yours is the joy in tranquillity, in friendship
and in understanding, yours is the union
of soul and soul, of two hands clasped, of two hearts joined.
Harmonia, gracious one, I pray for your blessing.
I call to Eunomia, lady of laws,
daughter of Themis and thundering Zeus,
sister of Dike who is just and Eirene
the peace-bringer, sisters three who hold in hand
the well-being of all, of the community.
Yours are the good laws, the fair and proper order,
for law itself does not make what is right;
yours is the punishment of the evil-doer;
yours too is the care of the powerless,
of those preyed upon by the strong and the cruel.
Eunomia who knows the good of custom and the ill,
I pray to you for wisdom, for the courage to do right.
I pray to Eirene, most gracious of goddesses,
fair of face and tender of heart, daughter of Zeus
and clear-headed Themis; with your sister Seasons
you welcome the springtime with each new year.
O goddess of peace, of the sweetness of concord,
the comfort of friendship, the ending of war,
yours is the olive branch, supple and green;
yours is the blessed horn of plenty, the wealth
of a land free of strife. Easer of tension,
soother of wrath, resolver of conflict,
we pray to you, Eirene, that our lands and our lives
be touched by your gifts, we pray to you for favor.
I call out to Maia of the star-strewn skies,
eldest of the Pleiades, wise daughters of Atlas
who holds up the heavens. Beautiful Maia,
Maia of the cypress wood, black-eyed goddess,
in the dark of night Zeus came to you, to lay with you
in your deep-hewn cave, well hidden in the stony soil
of distant Mount Kyllene. Maia of the mountain,
well-honored you were in wild Arcadia,
that rugged land in which you bore your son,
bright Hermes of the many gifts. Gracious goddess,
companion of women in their travail, friend of the mother,
the child at her breast, I praise your kindness and your might.
I call to Kairos, great god of opportunity,
youngest son of thundering Zeus, yours is the moment seized,
the chance swiftly taken; yours is the eye that sees
where luck may land, the arrow loosed, the race well-run.
Beautiful Kairos, fair of face, you appear without warning
and must be grasped, swift and sure, for in an instant
you are gone. We cannot summon you, O god,
or tell where you may go, but only watch for you
with care and hope to know you when you come–
a flash of certainty, a spark that may ignite a flame
or may be lost to darkness. I pray to you,
O Kairos, that when you come I may not hesitate.
I sing now to Methe, joyful and unrestrained,
goddess who knows the worth of pleasure, the value
of forgetfulness. Yours is the flow of words,
the loosening of the tongue; yours is merriment
and good cheer, the heady sweetness of the wine,
the wild-hearted dance, the fire of ecstasy,
the rule of the heart, impulse obeyed,
stories that never end, tales only true
in the telling. Companion of Dionysos,
you travel with his retinue, you follow in his wake;
we know you in the brimming cup, the stumbling step,
an evening’s evanescent grace. I honor you, O Methe.
Kindly Anteros, good of heart and great of mercy,
son of brave Ares and sea-born Aphrodite,
brother of Eros who aims his sharp shafts
at one and all, yours is a treasure more precious than gold:
a love requited and returned. Shining Anteros,
bright-winged as the butterfly, a love long-lived
is yours to give, a heart filled full with all delight,
the solace of a life’s companion, the sweetness
of fulfilled desire. Friend of the faithful, good Anteros,
your blessing comes to the tender-hearted–
your wrath to those who play at love, whose cruelty snuffs
a steady flame. Grant me your favor, compassionate one.
To Pothos, great of repute, great of might,
imminent and inevitable, companion
of fair Aphrodite and the Erotes,
yours is the gift of sweet desire that fills the heart
and fires the loins, a gift that sears the soul.
Yours is the cup of passion, from which you pour,
lavishly and with abandon, upon all humankind,
a blessing of unreason, an irresistible call;
yours is the longing of the lovelorn, the yearning
of the distant lover, of those torn from the arms
of their beloved, separated by need, by duty,
or by sorrowful circumstance. Pothos, to you I pray.