Hymn to Zeus. Born in Arcadia and raised on Crete, Zeus becomes king of the gods.

When we pour out wine as an offering to Zeus, what better subject is there to sing about than the god himself? He is powerful forever and king for all time. He drove back the Pelagonians, and he hands down justice to the children of Heaven.

How should we sing about him: as lord of Dicte or of Lycaeum? I can’t decide, because people disagree about where he was born. Zeus, some say you were born in the hills of Ida, and others, Zeus, say Arcadia. Which of them lied, Father? “Cretans are always liars.” The Cretans even built a tomb for you, Lord, but you did not die, because you live forever.⁠a

Rheia gave birth to you in Parrhasia, on a hill covered in dense brush. Ever since, the place has been sacred. No woman, and no four-legged animal that needs Eileithyia’s help in giving birth, goes near it, and the Apidanians call it Rheia’s ancient birthplace. After your mother set you down from her lap, she immediately went looking for a stream, so she could wash herself clean after the birth and bathe your body.

But the great river Ladon wasn’t flowing yet, and neither was the Erymanthus, the clearest of rivers. All of Arcadia was dry, though it would soon be known for its water. When Rhea gave birth, many hollow oaks grew where the Iaon now flows, wagons rolled where the Melas now flows, and snakes made their dens in the bed of the Carnion, full of water as it is today. A man could walk across the Crathis and the pebbly Metope and still be thirsty, with all that water lying under his feet.

Rheia was in distress, and she said, “Dear Earth, you give birth too! Your labor will be easy.” Then the goddess raised her strong arm and struck the mountain with her staff. It split wide open and released a great flood of water. In that water, Lord, she washed you, wrapped you in cloth and gave you to Neda to carry to a Cretan hiding place, so you could be raised in secret. Neda was the oldest of the nymphs who helped at the birth, born right after Styx and Philyra. The goddess repaid her generously by naming that stream Neda. I believe it still flows in full flood past the city of the Cauconians called Lepreion and mingles with Nereus, and the descendants of Lycaon’s daughter, the Bear, drink its ancient water.

Father Zeus, as the nymph was carrying you toward Cnosus and leaving Thenae, which is near Cnosus, your umbilical cord fell off. That is why the Cydonians call that plain the Plain of the Navel. Then the Dictaean Meliae, companions of the Cyrbantes, held you in their arms, Zeus, and Adrasteia put you to sleep in a golden cradle. You drank milk from the goat Amaltheia and ate sweet honeycomb, because on the hills of Ida, which people call Panacra, the work of the Panacrian bee suddenly appeared. The Curetes danced a vigorous war dance around you, banging on their armor, so that Cronus would hear the clash of shields and not your crying.

You grew up well, heavenly Zeus, and were well looked after. You grew quickly, and soon your first beard came in. While you were still a child, you were already planning everything a grown man does. So your older relatives didn’t object to you making heaven your home. They say the sons of Cronus drew lots to divide up their three domains. But who would draw lots for Olympos and Hades, except a fool? People draw lots when the shares are equal, and these two are worlds apart. If I’m going to tell a story, it should be one the listener can believe! You didn’t become king of the gods by drawing lots. You won it by your own actions, by your power and the strength you keep beside your throne. You made the greatest of birds the messenger of your signs; may the signs you send favor my friends! And of all people, you chose the best for yourself. You didn’t choose sailors, soldiers or singers. You left those to lesser gods right away, and other concerns to others. You chose the rulers of cities themselves, who are in charge of the farmer, the soldier, the rower and everyone else. What isn’t under a ruler’s control? So we say that blacksmiths belong to Hephaestus, soldiers to Ares, hunters to Artemis of the Tunic, and to Phoebus those who know the music of the lyre well. But kings come from Zeus, and nothing is more divine than the kings of Zeus. That’s why you chose them as your own share and gave them cities to protect. You sat in the high places of the cities, watching which rulers govern their people with corrupt judgments and which govern fairly. You have given them wealth and prosperity in abundance, to all of them, but not equally. Our own Ruler is proof of that, because he has far surpassed all the others. By evening he has finished what he thought of in the morning: by evening the biggest things, and the smaller ones as soon as he thinks of them. Others get some things done in a year, and some not even in that. For others still, you yourself block what they set out to do and frustrate their plans.

We salute you, highest Son of Cronus, with all our hearts, giver of good things and giver of safety! Who could sing about everything you have done? No one ever has, and no one ever will. We salute you, Father, again and again! Give us goodness and prosperity. Without goodness, wealth can’t make people happy, and goodness can’t either without prosperity. Give us goodness and prosperity.