Chanson of the Boatman

Chanson of the Boatman

I am Euthyphro, hailing from Arcadia, the eternal holy city. O Mother of the silver shuttle, the ever-blessed goddess Prusmene, By thy grace, I take up this meager quill to chronicle the night's final splendor. I beseech thee: grant me once more the hallowed gift of inspiration; preserve thy devout believer, Lest my soul descend beneath the silver tree, to be sullied by the dust. O wise and radiant queen, bringer of the light! I beseech thee: deliver thus thy devout believer, That my mortal frame may find eternal rest within thy holy embrace. O wondrous Prusmene — ancient mother of the night and daughter who brings the light, mistress of the Golden Hall! Countless times hast thou guided my vessel, permitting me to usher unsullied souls unto the lunar palace above the clouds. Thou grantest mortals slumber within thy pale embrace; thou grantest them dreams that are theirs, and theirs alone. Yet this is to be the final night — the final rest. For there sits the eternal throne in the heavens, the Primordial One, O world-shaking lord! It forges the bones of the earth. It bids all dreams return to the earth, and all dreamless things to return to the earth. It seeks to shroud the dreams of man with its own dream, That we, the mortals of this fleeting world, Shall abide an age without beginning or end, Passing through a life of tranquil, dreamless rest. O wise and radiant queen, bringer of the light, Deliver me from the hands of my dread master! For thee, I have ushered the unsullied souls, For thee, I have steered the silver shining ship I beseech thee: deliver thus thy devout believer, That my mortal frame may find eternal rest within thy holy embrace!