The Epic of Heleigiri | by Eribas


Sing, O Muses of Olympus, of the silver-bowed lord who dwells in Pytho, and of the hidden maid of the high heavens, whom men call Heleigiri, though she walked disguised among the deathless gods.


Then did Apollo, lord of light and prophetic speech, behold a wonder.
By the still waters of the secluded lake—where only the blessed immortals tread—
He stood in concealment, his heart struck by the sharp arrows of desire.
For there she bathed, stripping away her starry vestments,
And her skin shone whiter than the winter snow upon the peaks of Olympus.
Within his breast, fierce lust and noble love waged a bitter war;
Yet the son of Leto mastered his mind, checking the wild impulse,
And chose instead the path of lingering watchfulness.
Day after day, through the sacred groves, he followed her shadow,
Until the veil of her mystery parted, and he knew her true name.
Though Zeus, the cloud-gatherer, cast his own dark eyes of longing upon her,
Apollo’s passion grew as a vine in spring, unyielding and vast.


Then up rose Phoebus Apollo, entering the golden halls of his father,
And he confronted Hera, the white-armed queen of heaven,
Demanding with bold words her solemn blessing for the marriage bed.
But laughter-loving Aphrodite, born of the sea-foam, mocked him in her wrath,
For she knew not the secret depths of the maiden, who kept her face concealed.
"Miserable lover!" cried the goddess of desire, her eyes flashing fire.
"You will cast her aside in your scorn, as you once broke Cassandra of Troy,
Leaving her cursed when your fickle heart turned to ice!"
But the far-darter struck the ground with his golden staff and spoke in fury:
"False are your words, Cyprus-born queen! Cassandra suffered the weight of my wrath
Only because she scorned the gifts of a god and betrayed the vows of love!
This maiden I cherish with a slow and sacred courtship, binding my soul to hers."

Hearing this, a dark jealousy seized the hearts of Aphrodite and swift Eros,
Who themselves burned with a secret, possessive hunger for the heavenly maid,
Though pride closed their lips, and they forbade their tongues to speak it.
They whispered in the shadows of Olympus, plotting ruin,
Fearing that if the maiden denied him, Apollo would smite her with his plague-bringing arrows.
Yet they knew not the strength of the son of Leto, nor the depth of his devotion;
For he had already proven his faith through the turning of many seasons,
Swearing by his own bright majesty that he would shield her from all harms,
Even should the weapons of mortals or the wrath of the sky-gods bar his path.
Thus the bright god contends for the child of grace, whom he dreams of by day and by night.


Eribas © 2020 


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