ir meadow. There,
when he had foddered the deep-voiced kine, he herded them huddled
together into the byre, munching lotus and dewy marsh marigold; next
brought he much wood, and set himself to the craft of fire-kindling.
Taking a goodly shoot of the daphne, he peeled it with the knife, fitting
it to his hand, {140} and the hot vapour of smoke arose. [Lo, it was
Hermes first who gave fire, and the fire-sticks.] Then took he many dry
faggots, great plenty, and piled them in the trench, and flame began to
break, sending far the breath of burning fire. And when the force of
renowned Hephaestus kept the fire aflame, then downward dragged he, so
mighty his strength, two bellowing kine of twisted horn: close up to the
fire he dragged them, and cast them both panting upon their backs to the
ground. [Then bending over them he turned them upwards and cut their
throats] . . . task upon task, and sliced off the fat meat, pierced it
with spits of wood, and broiled it,--flesh, and chine, the joint of
honour, and blood in the bowels, all together;--then laid all there in
its place. The hides he stretched out on a broken rock, as even now they
are used, such as are to be enduring: long, and long after that ancient
day. {141a} Anon glad Hermes dragged the fat portions on to a smooth
ledge, and cut twelve messes sorted out by lot, to each its due meed he
gave. Then a longing for the rite of the sacrifice of flesh came on
renowned Hermes: for the sweet savour irked him, immortal as he was, but
not even so did his strong heart yield. {141b} . . . The fat and flesh
he placed in the high-roofed stall, the rest he swiftly raised aloft, a
trophy of his reiving, and, gathering dry faggots, he burned heads and
feet entire with the vapour of flame. Anon when the God had duly
finished all, he cast his sandals into the deep swirling pool of
Alpheius, quenched the embers, and all night long spread smooth the black
dust: Selene lighting him with her lovely light. Back to the crests of
Cyllene came the God at dawn, nor blessed God, on that long way, nor
mortal man encountered him; nay, and no dog barked. Then Hermes, son of
Zeus, bearer of boon, bowed his head, and entered the hall through the
hole of the bolt, like mist on the breath of autumn. Then, standing
erect, he sped to the rich inmost chamber of the cave, lightly treading
noiseless on the floor. Quickly to his cradle came glorious Hermes and
wrapped the swaddling bands about his