of men who have power and prestige in this town,

who keep its walls in good shape, whose decisions

count for much, and whose advice is listened to here:

wise Triptolemus and Diocles, that good man

Eumolpus, then Polyxeinus, and Dolichus,

and our own dear father of course, all have

wives kept busy with the care of their houses;

not one of them would take a dislike to you

and turn you away from the door – they would welcome

you in, for there is something special about you.

Stay here, if you will, and we’ll all run back

to tell our mother, Metaneira, the whole story,

then see whether she’ll suggest that you come

to ours, and not go looking for another home.

She has a new baby in the house now, a son

born later in life, hoped for and prayed for:

if you were to take care of him, and see him through

to manhood, you would be the envy of any

woman, so well would that childcare be paid.’

Demeter simply nodded her head, and the girls

filled their shiny pitchers up with fresh water

and carried them away, their heads held high.

Soon they were at the family home, where they told

their mother all they had seen, all they had heard.

She ordered them to hurry back, and request this woman

to come and work for a good wage. So then

like deer, or like young calves in springtime,

happy and well-fed, running around in the fields,

they pulled up the folds of their long dresses

and dashed down the cart-track; the long hair,

yellow as saffron, streamed back over their shoulders.

They found Demeter where they had left her, by the road,

and they led her then towards their father’s house

while she walked a little way behind, troubled at heart,

her head veiled, and with the dark dress fluttering

this way and that over her slender legs.

They got back to Celeus’ house, and went in

through the hallway, where their mother was waiting,

seated by a pillar that held up the strong roof,

with her child, the new son and heir, at her breast.

The girls ran straight to her: slowly Demeter placed

a foot over the threshold, her head touched the rafters,

and around her the entire doorway lit up.

Astonishment and draining fear together shook

Metaneira; she gave up her couch to the visitor

and invited her to sit. But Demeter, who brings

the seasons round, and brings gifts with the seasons,

had no wish to relax on that royal couch, and she

maintained her silence, with eyes fixed on the floor,

until Iambe came up, mindful of her duty,

and offered a low stool, which she had covered

with a sheep’s white fleece. The goddess

sat down now, and with one hand she drew

the veil across her face; and there she remained,

sunk in her quiet grief, giving to no one