The Sweet Honey of the Muses

But come now, learn what remains, and hear with a clearer ear. Nor does it escape my mind how dark these things are; yet the great hope of praise has struck my heart with the sharp thyrsus, and at the same time struck into my breast the sweet love of the Muses, kindled by which I now range with a mind in full vigor through the pathless haunts of the Pierides, places never before trodden by any foot. It is a joy to approach springs untouched and to drink from them, a joy to pluck new flowers and to seek from there a glorious crown for my head, from where the Muses have never yet garlanded anyone's brows.

First, because I teach of great things and press on to free the mind from the tight knots of religion; next, because on a theme so dark I compose verses so bright, touching the whole with the charm of the Muse. For this, too, does not seem without reason: just as physicians, when they try to give children the foul draught of wormwood, first touch the rim of the cup all round with the sweet and yellow liquid of honey, so that the unsuspecting age of childhood is beguiled as far as the lips, and meanwhile drinks down the bitter juice of wormwood, and, so cheated, comes to no harm, but rather, restored by such a device, gathers strength—

So I now, since this account generally seems harsher to those who have not yet handled it, and the crowd shrinks back from it, have wished to set out our doctrine for you in the sweet-speaking Pierian song and, as it were, to touch it with the honey of the Muse, in the hope that by such means I might perhaps hold your mind fast upon my verses, while you come to see the whole nature of things, and the adorned figure in which it stands.

Come now: learn what is left, and listen with a clearer mind. I'm not blind to how dark these questions are. But a great hope of praise has struck my heart with the sharp thyrsus, the ivy-tipped wand carried in revels, and at the same time it has struck a sweet love of the Muses into my breast. Carried along by that, I now range with my mind in full vigor through the untrodden country of the Pierides, the Muses—ground no one's foot has ever crossed. It is a joy to walk up to untouched springs and drink from them; a joy to pick fresh flowers; and from there to seek a crown of honor for my head, from where the Muses have never yet wreathed anyone's temples. First, because I teach of great things and keep working to loose the mind from the tight knots of religion. Second, because on a subject so dark I compose verses so bright, touching the whole of it with the charm of the Muse.

And there's good reason for that as well. It's just as when doctors try to give children the nasty bitterness of wormwood: first they coat the rim of the cup all around with honey's sweet, golden liquid, so that the child's unsuspecting age is fooled as far as the lips and drinks the bitter juice of wormwood all the way down—tricked, but not harmed—and instead, refreshed by the trick, gets its strength back.

I'm doing the same now. Since this doctrine usually seems rather grim to people who haven't worked with it, and the crowd shrinks back from it in disgust, I have wanted to lay out my teaching for you in sweet-sounding Pierian song, and to touch it, so to speak, with the Muse's honey—in the hope that I might hold your mind with verses like these while you take in the whole nature of things, and the graceful form in which it is put together.