Hymn to Terpsichord (Muse of sacred song)
by Lykeia
O sweet voiced Muse, if but you would grace me with your song,
I would ever honor you in my hymns that that I set before the gods.
You get graceful fingers upon the lyre, and pluck the sacred golden
string,
And your voices raises like the holy wind, in a voice of myriad sound.
Your song is to and of the gods, it sings of all things that are holy,
This song filters down to the voices of men, a sacred gift that they
might give.
When I listen to write my sacred verse, you lean in and
whisper close,
And there your voice is like many celestial choirs layering upon
another.
When I go to write, these words that you do inspire to sing,
Your hand touches mine and guides the fingers to write a fair harmony.
The harmony of the worlds spinning together, that ties all life as one,
And that the gods act together, weaving a far greater masterpeice.
Hail to you many-voiced Terpsichord, deliverer of most sacred
gift,
Within your blessings we learn to lift our voices clear and loud,
To sing a song, to and of gods, entwined and apart from the world of
men.
The singers are blessed by your presenced and loved of the gods,
Bring to girls sweet voices singing to willowy Artemis,
And to boys Delphinian songs, to un-shorn Apollon sung.
But may my voice be so blessed, that I can sing to honor all the gods,
Dwelling of earth, heavens, and depths of the roaring seas.
May these sacred hymns pour out from within me,
Like a river that rushes on true path across green and barren lands,
Never dwindling and for all my short lived mortal days, never cease.
Hymn to Clio
by Lykeia
I sing now to you solemn Clio, bearer of the scrolls,
The winding path of history you have recorded and tracked.
History is a kind thing, oft neglected and ignored,
Men doomed to repeat, if to your soft word they do not heed.
You are the watcher of passing days, like a still and rooted
tree,
And your voice is a soft rustle of the breeze playing among the leaves.
The hide scrolls, or the parchment book it matters not,
For silently you watch and wait, and record man's good and ill deed.
What many things there are for you to account, through the
hands of men,
And though I may never be as fair as you of word and speech,
Clio if you grant me fine memory, of that which has passed and gone,
When singing of far greater deeds, I will honor you in my song.
The Artist's Prayer (to Apollon and the Muses)
by Lykeia
Bedecked and myriad colored Muses, singing sweetly of time,
Sweetly singing to Apollon verse and lyre's plucked string.
A song washes over me a melody so true and divine,
With all the colors of life brightly laid out before my touch.
Upon this song that greets my ears, it is a world so bright,
It paints a picture of vibrant life within the canvas of my mind.
Muses gather the flowers of the earth, to apply to my work,
The paints are like the many blossoms upon your holy hill.
Sweet inspiration guide me with your tender lilting song,
And Apollons hand over mine guide to paint it so true.
Never falter the brush's wide stroke, a caress of color in light,
And from this sacred ground may my art spring to holy life.
The paint builds like a crescendo of dawn filling darkest night,
And this painting is like none other filled with immortal light.
Bright Apollon help me to well depict Aphrodite's blossom cheek,
May my craft surely capture images of the immortal divine.
Whether among the easel or through sculpters soft hands,
Or if the chisel and knives touch the fleshy core of wood,
May my art be true to my heart, and your timeless woven song.
To the Muses
by Phillupus
O Daughters of Mnemosyne,
ladies three or nine,
to whom shall I offer my praises,
at whose feet shall I beg for inspiration?
A threefold libation, therefore, I pour out to you
to assist me in my work today, if it is your desire to grant me grace:
To your ancestors Gaia and Ouranos I give thanks;
To your mother Mnemosyne I chant praises;
To you, O heavenly movers, O earthly inspirers, I make this toast.
[Earthly Muses]
Melete, I call you and sing of your blessings,
may the crafts of practice be bestowed by you
on those who are deserving, if I am among them.
I recall the name of Mneme, she who does not forget,
as I remember you may I be remembered, as you recall
all things may I recall my arts, and remember thanks always.
The voice of Aoide, she who sings, sounds out--
with your favor, may I hear that voice clearly,
and may my voice not strain to sing as sweetly.
Nete Cephisso, guide me through the depths,
Hypate Borysthenis, lead me through the heights,
Meses Apollonis, true daughter of Delphi, be my mediator.
[Heavenly Muses]
Kleio, the historian of the heavens,
may the past not be hidden from me,
nor my telling of its wonders obscure to others.
Euterpe, most skillful musician,
I will repay your gifts in praise and sacrifice
if I might hear your fluid strains.
She of the comedic mood, Thaleia,
may good timing and verbal skill
bestow your laughter upon all...or not.
The tragic tales abound from Melpomene--
may these warnings and praises
be an example for all humans.
Play your notes, Terpsichore,
and may I be as your plucked string
vibrating in harmony with those around me.
Erato, may you skillfully guide my steps
and bend my body in the flow of your dance
as I move in unseen love-figures with others.
It is Polyhymnia who knows
a story for every occasion--
as I hear them, may I tell them!
Ourania, who knows the tracks of stars
and who teaches the arts of understanding them--
may the light of stars shine on me if you will.
Kalliope, the heroic verse-singer,
though I am no hero, may the deeds
of true heroes resound in my songs!
As I practice my arts, may you guide my hands and tongue;
As I seek inspiration, may you open my ears and focus my eyes;
As I am enlightened, may you enlighten others through me--
For every worthy work of art is your work,
Every inspire creation is your child,
Every drop of wisdom is your poured drink.
May you be praised by my words and my works,
and may you look kindly on my offerings.
All thanks to you, O heavenly maids, O earthly ladies!
To The Muses
by Rebecca Buchanan
Hail to you
Daughters of Thunder and Memory
Who make your home on
twin-peaked Parnassos
and densely-wooded Helikon
and 'round the sweet waters of Kastalia
As you sing the praises of mantic Apollon
strong-armed Athena
crafty Hephaistos
stern-eyed Artemis
So I sing your praises
Honey-Voiced Muses
(after Athenaios)
Kastalia
by Rebecca Buchanan
Nine columns stand at Kastalia
Round the sweet spring
Bronze
For the daughters of Memory
Leave flowers and first fruits
Drink of the cool waters
Sing
The Modern Nine
by Allyson Szabo
The muses nine, they call to me
Their voices rise in melody
Enticing song and dance entwined
Their sweet caress brings words to mind.
But this is now, and that was then.
The muses range outside their glen.
To human beings they now bring
Attitude and waspish sting.
Amphetamines are standard fare
They pack guns, intend to scare
Young poets into writing more
And seriously they take this chore.
The world moves fast in modern times;
The muses, too, must learn the rhymes
And rhythms of this new world's mire
Before they can hope to inspire.
I Sing The
Muses Nine
by Amanda Sioux Blake
I sing the daughters of Mnemosyne, Muses Nine
Sweet Inspirers of all arts fine
I call you to attend to my song
Written in your honor, beauteous Goddesses
Who delight in ink spilled in their names
First I sing of Kalliope, the eldest
Who tells the epic tales
Grand deeds of ancient heroes and noble kings
Mother of Orpheus, the Thrakian poet
Torn asunder by Dionysos's maddened women.
Lovely Erato of soft voice, she
Who sings the glorious melding of lover's bodies
Of sweat, of heat, of illicit kisses hidden in the dark
Brawdy limericks and love poems alike
Owe their origin to Erato.
Holy Historian Kleio
Pouring over ancient tomes
Rememberer of the forgotten
Whose stories bring the dead to life
So that we may learn from our past.
Euterpe plucking her lyre strings
Smiling mysteriously
She rarely speaks with words
She speaks in melodies, in musical notes
And the silences between them.
Laughing Thaleia full of mirth
Celestial comedian of toothy grin
Bright eyes crinkling
With the laughter of a thousand years
Pleasant company, she is always welcome
Tragic Melpomene behind her mask
Whom sad-eyed Goths adore
Inspirer of sad and lonesome tales
From Oedipus's misfortune and Troy's fall,
To Macbeth's treachery and Hamlet's madness
Terpsikhore dancing her whirling dance
Supple body bending, twisting
Swirl, spin, whirl, prance,
Like a reed in the wind
All eyes upon her, all souls entrance
Polyhymnia sing thy sacred hymns
Praise raising like incense to the skies
She who inspires holy piety
Songs like veils o'er thy limbs
And worship shining from thy eyes
Ourania, sacred astrologer
Rich-haired Muse of Science
Patroness of astronomers,
Speaking star-wisdom
Bent over her globes and charts
Glorious Goddesses, bless me
Attend the singing of my voice
And the scratching of my pen
And I will honer you e'ermore
In thought, in song, and deed.
