Hymn To Hathor
Come, O Golden
Goddess, the singers chant
for it is nourishment
for the heart to dance the iba,
to shine over the
feast at the hour of retiring
and to enjoy ha-dance
at night
Come! The procession
takes place at the site of drunkenness,
This area where one
wanders in the marshes.
Its routine is set,
the rules are firm:
Nothing is left to be
desired.
The royal children
satisfy You with what You love
And the officials
give offerings to You.
The lector priest
exalts You singing a hymn,
And the wise men read
the rituals.
The priest honors You
with his basket,
And the drummers take
their tambourines.
Ladies rejoice in
Your honor with garlands
And girls do the same
with wreaths.
Drunkards play
tambourines for You in the cool night,
And those they wake
up bless You.
The bedouin dance for
You in their garments
And Asiatics dance
with their sticks.
The griffins wrap
their wings around You,
The hares stand on
their hind legs for You.
The hippopotami adore
with wide open mouths,
And their legs salute
Your face
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