The gods’ mountain Mother once upon a time raced through woodlands and glades, waded the streams of rivers, traversed the resonant salt sea waves in longing for her daughter whose name may not be spoken.
The cymbals crashed and the air rang with a shrill vibration when she had yoked wild beasts to her carriage and rode out to uncover the theft of her daughter who was snatched from the circling chorus of maidens.
Rushing right after her came the two goddesses, their feet swift as whirlwinds: Artemis with her arrows, Athena, Fierce-Eyed, with her spear and battle armor.
But Zeus, as he watched from the sky, brought about a fate for the girl that was very different.
Exhausted, the Mother who'd wandered for so long called a halt to her chase, gave up the race and lay down on Ida's palisades swathed in snow where nymphs keep watch.
In sorrow amid the rocks and snowdrifts she flung herself in a thicket, helpless in the face of the underhanded theft of her daughter.
From the fields of mankind she withdrew the rich harvest; from the flocks she withheld the leaves and green tendrils.
People were perishing, cities were withering, the altars were empty: no batter-cakes, no thigh-bones were laid on the flames for the gods.
She stopped the waters that once flowed in crystalline springs from the ground, so broken was she by her dreadful sorrow.
When Deo had put an end to banquets for the gods and the race of men Zeus tried to soothe the hateful rage of the Mother; he spoke to the Graces and Muses:
“Go, relieve the grieving Goddess of her anger over her stolen maiden by wailing in your wildest voice, by singing as you dance.”
The earthy voice of bronze and drums made of stretched hide were first taken up by the loveliest deity, Cypris; at last, then, the Goddess laughed as she grasped in her hands the resonant aulos and took some delight in its wild, wailing voice.
It wasn’t correct, it wasn’t holy what you did in that inner space.
You have incurred the fearsome wrath of the Mother, my child, by neglecting her worship.
There’s tremendous power in wearing dappled fawn-skin, weaving a crown of ivy around a sacred fennel stalk, and whirling overhead the circling bullroarer;
in hair flying freely at revels for Bromius, and in the festivals lasting all night for the Goddess.
When the moon rode overhead, her chariot climbing the sky, you exulted in beauty alone.
Euripides, Helen 1301–1360 (Chorus) From Euripides: Ion, Helen, Orestes, translated by Diane Arnson Svarlien
I’m really fond of this. I always find the moments when Demeter is identified with Kybele very interesting, and it’s very clear here. I like the parts where Artemis and Athena join Demeter in her search, and where Aphrodite with the Graces and Muses helps bring her joy again through the sound of clashing bronze instruments, feel especially sweet to me especially the moment when Deo finally laughs.