Goddess of the hills, Earth all-nourishing, mother of Zeus himself, you through whose realm the great Pactolusrolls golden sands! There, there also, dread Mother, I called upon your name, when all the insults of the Atreids landed upon this man, when they handed over his father’s armor, that sublime marvel,to the son of Laertes. Hear it, blessed queen, who rides on bull-slaughtering lions!

PhiloctetesIt seems that you have come to me, friends, well commended by a grief that matches my own.