Bath of Pallas

Ladies, the bath of Pallas,
Come,
 I have heard the neighing of her holy horses,
Come, The goddess will glide forth
Hurry, my russet haired Pelasgian ladies.
Athena never does bathe her long, shapely arms
before slapping the dust from her horses' flanks,
not even when she bore her gear battle-grimed
returning from war with the lawless Giants,
but first unbridled her chariot team
by the springs of Ocean and cleansed them from sweat,
brightening their bits of all the jelled foam.

Ladies of Akhaia, come!
but not with alabaster, not with myrrh
(I hear the whir of her axle now!)
no myrrh in alabaster for the bath of Pallas
the goddess Athena does not wear perfume
and no mirror either: she is sure of her beauty.
Not even when Paris judged the contest on Ida
did the great goddess gaze into orichalch's glow
Or the diaphanous flow of the river Simois.
Nor Hera,
but Kypris gleamed with bronze reflections,
cosmetic alterations of a woman and her hair,
while my goddess ran a two-hundred stade course
like the twin Spartan stars on the banks of Eurotas,
then did her simple annointments:
oil from her olive tree, applied with skill,
and the blush, my dear maidens, that ran up her body
was like dawn-rose and pomegranate.
Only this masculine, virgin oil
(Herakles, Kastor rubbed their bodies with olive)
and a golden comb for the Goddess's sleek hair.

Athena, come,
this company will please you.


But, O Pelasgian river, 
brim your eyes to the queen:
the man who sees Pallas naked, holder of cities
sees Argos no more.
Come, Lady Athena,
and I will tell to your coming a myth
not mine for all these women:

There was a time in Thebes, my dears,
Athena loved a nymph, loved her to distraction,
loved her more than any other, the mother
of Tiresias, Khariklo by name.
And they were always together: when Athena
drove her horses to ancient Thespiai or to Plataia or Haliartos,
riding through the farmlands of Boiotia,
or on to Koroneia, where her grove is heavy
with incense, and her altars lie close
to the river Kurialos, it was goddess and nymph
in one chariot together.

No party or dance was ever complete
without Khariklo there: then it was sweet.
But even for Khariklo there were tears in store,
dear as she was to Athena's heart.
One day these two unbuckled their robes.
It was by Horse Spring, on Helikon,
and the two were bathing in the beautiful creek.
It was noon on the hill, dead calm, silent heat,
and they were bathing together. High noon.
The hillside was steeped in awesome quiet,
and Tiresias was hunting, alone with his dogs,
roaming that eerie hill. He was young, 
just bearded.
Dry thirst led him down to the creek.
And he stumbled upon the forbidden scene.
Controlling her anger, Athena spoke evenly:

"Some god-which one, son of Everes?-
has led you a rough road with an eyeless return."
And with her words night took the boys eyes.
He stood there, speechless, pain gluing his knees,
his voice paralyzed with shock. But the nymph screamed:
"What have you done to my boy?
Is this how goddesses
s how their friendship?
You've blinded him! O my poor baby,
you've seen the breast and thighs
of Pallas Athena no but never the sunlight again.
Mountain of my sorrow, O Helikon,
never will I set foot on you again.
You trade too hard, 
my son's eyes for a few roe and deer!"

As she said this she cradled her son in her arms,
mourning over him like a nightingale,
and led him away. But the goddess Athena
pitied her friend and said this to her:

"You've spoken in anger, divine woman.
Take back your words. It was not I who struck your son blind.
Putting out young eyes is not sweet to Athena,
but the laws of Kronos demand
that whoever sees an immortal against the god's will
must pay for the sight, and pay dearly.
What is done, divine woman, cannot be undone;
this is the thread the Moirai spun
when you brought him to light. Now, son of Everes,
accept like a man what is only your due.
How many sacrifices would Autonoe burn,
how many would Aristasios, her husband,
to see their son Aktaion merely go blind?
He will run in the company of great Artemis,
but neither their hunts in the hills together
nor all of the arrows they’ll shoot
will save him when he sees the bath of the goddess,
not wanting to, mind you, but still his hounds
will chew their master to bits, and his mother will gather
his bones from bushes all over the hill.
She will think you lucky and a fortunate woman
to have your son home from the hills only blind.


You musn't grieve so, darling. Your son will be honored,
All for your sake, by divine gift to him
I’ll make him a prophet, his fame will be mythic
The greatest prophet that ever has been:
He’ll know all the birds in the sky, those of good omen
And those whose flight presages doom.
He'll give oracles to the Boiotians, oracles to Kadmus,
oracles to the mighty descendants of Labdakos.
I will give him a great a staff to guide his footsteps,
and I will give him time, a long term of life,
and he alone, when he dies, will walk among the dead,
wits intact, honored by Agesilaos, host of the dead."

When she had finished speaking Athena nodded her head,
ensuring fulfillment of all that she said.
Pallas alone of all Zeus's daughters
has received paternal prerogatives,
for no mother bore her, but the high brow of Zeus,
and neither brow bends to affirm what is false,
O ladies who attend the bath of Pallas.
And now the goddess comes,
Athena is coming.
Receive the goddess, receive her with prayers,
You who are chosen receive her rejoicing.
Alleluia, Goddess, preserve Argos of Inakhos,
Alleluia, Goddess, when you drive out with horses,
Alleluia, Goddess, when you drive them back home,
Save all the estate of the Danaans forever.