This post largely includes hymns to obscure minor olympians – perfect for completing your liturgical set.

Graces AKA Charities

“The waters of Kaphisos belong

To the place of fine horses where you dwell,

Queens of song, in sparkling Orchomenos,

Graces, who watch

Over the ancient race of the Minyans,

Hear, when I pray. By your help

All sweet and delightful things

Belong to men; if anyone

Is wise or lovely or famous.

For without the holy Graces

Not even the Gods rule dances or feasts.

They dispose all that is done in Heaven;

Their thrones are set

At the side of Pythian Apollo, the golden-bowed,

And they worship the everlasting glory

Of the Father on Olympos.”

-Pindar, Olympian Ode XIV

Dike

“There is Virgin Dike, the daughter of Zeus, who is honoured and reverenced among the gods who dwell on Olympos, and whenever anyone hurts her with lying slander, she sits beside her father, Zeus the son of Cronos, and tells him of men’s wicked heart, until the people pay for the mad folly of their princes who, evilly minded, pervert judgement and give sentence crookedly.”

-Hesiod, Works and Days

“O Perses, cast these words into your mind,

And heed the call of Justice, but forget

About the use of violence altogether.

For this is the law that Cronus’ son imposed

Upon mankind; but fish, and wild beasts,

And winged birds, he bade eat one another,

Since Justice is a thing unknown among them.

But to human beings he gave Justice,

Which is the best by far. For one who’s willing

To know what’s just and speak it out in counsel –

To that man Zeus, who thunders far, gives riches.

But one who, in his testimony, lies,

Who violates the oath he swore – at once

He gives a wound to Justice and is wounded

Incurably himself – his lineage

Is left thereafter more obscure than formerly.

As for the man who keeps his oath, his line

In time to come is greater than before.”

-Hesiod

Hymenaeus

Hymen is a minor god largely associated with weddings so this is perfect for a polytheist wedding ceremony.

“Artisans, raise high the roof beam!

Tall is the bridegroom as Ares,

Taller by far than the tallest,

O Hymenæus!

Ay! towering over his fellows,

As over men of all other

Lands towers the Lesbian singer,

O Hymenæus!

Well-favored, too, is the maiden,

Eyes that are sweeter than honey,

Fair both in face and in figure,

O Hymenæus!

For there was never another

Virgin in loveliness like her,

By Aphrodite so honored,

O Hymenæus!

O happy bridegroom, the wedding

Comes to the point of completion;

Thou hast the maid of thy choosing,

O Hymenæus!

See how a paleness suffuses

Soft o’er her exquisite features,

Passion’s benign premonition,

O Hymenæus!

Go to the couch unreluctant,

Rejoicing and sweet to the bridegroom;

He in his turn is rejoicing,

O Hymenæus!

May Hesperus lead thee, and Hera,

She whom to-night that ye honor,

Silver-throned Goddess of marriage,

O Hymenæus!”

-Sapho

“O, inhabitant of the mountain of Helicon, son of

Urania, who seize a dainty young woman and carry her off to

a man, o Hymenaeus, Hymen! o Hymenaeus Hymen! Crown your

temples with flowers, take your flame-colored veil, pleasant

with fragrant marjoram, and come over here, wearing a

reddish yellow slipper on a snow-white foot! And having been

roused from sleep on a cheerful day, singing wedding songs

in a high-pitched voice, strike the ground with your feet,

and shake the pinewood marriage-torch with your hand! Good

virgin Junia dons the veil for Manius with a good omen, like

Venus, who dwells in Idalium, as she came to Paris, the

Phrygian judge. And she is just like an Asian myrtle tree

shining forth with small, flowery branches, which the wood

nymphs nurture with dewy moisture, as amusement for

themselves. Therefore come, making an approach over here,

and continue, leaving behind the Aonian caves of the

Thespian rock, the caves which the nymph Aganippe makes wet

as she cools them from above. And call the mistress,

desirous of her new husband, home, as you bind their minds

with love, like wandering ivy clinging to a tree in a

tangle! Likewise, you unmarried virgins, whose own wedding

day, as well, is coming soon, act in the right and proper

way, and sing, “O Hymenaeus Hymen! o Hymenaeus Hymen,” in

order that the leader of good Venus, the one who conjoins

good love, might make his approach over here more gladly

when he hears himself being called to the task. Which god is

more to be sought by lovers who are loved? Which of the gods

will people look after the more, o Hymenaeus Hymen, o

Hymenaeus Hymen? Sex can seize nothing of benefit without

you, because a good reputation demonstrates one’s goodness,

but sex can do this when you are willing. Who would dare be

compared to this god? Without you, no family can give

children, and no parent can rely on his offspring, but he

can when you are willing. Who would dare be compared to this

god? A land that lacked your holy rites would not be able to

give guardians to its borders: but it would if you were

willing. Who would dare be compared to this god? Open the

bars of the door. There is a young woman. Do you see how the

marriage torches shake their fiery locks? ….A natural

sense of shame may delay the bride. Nevertheless, hearing

her shame the more, she weeps because she must go. Stop

crying, Junia. In your case, there is no danger that a

prettier woman has seen the rising light of day. Such a

hyacinth-colored flower usually stands in the multicolored

little garden of a wealthy lord. But you are dallying, and

the day is ending. Please go forth as the bride. Please

advance as the bride, if it seems proper at this time, and

hear our words. See? The wedding torches shake their golden

locks: please advance as the bride. Your husband is not

fickle; not devoted to a bad mistress, he does not pursue

indecent scandals, and he won’t want to sleep apart from

your dainty little breasts; but just as a supple vine

entwines with trees planted nearby, he will become entangled

in your embrace. But the day is ending. Please go forth as

the bride. O marriage bed, which for everyone… How

numerous the pleasures of the ivory-footed marriage bed come

to your husband, which, on a restless night, and in the

middle of the day, may he enjoy! But the day is ending;

please go forth as the bride. Boys, raise the wedding-

torches; I see the flame-colored veil coming. Go and sing in

unison, in the right and proper way: “Yo! Hymen Hymenaeus,

yo! Yo! Hymen Hymenaeus!” Lest the ribald Fescennine jesting

be silent for a long time, and the groom’s catamite refuse

nuts to boys as he hears about abandoned love. Give nuts to

the boys, lazy catamite! You have played with nuts long

enough: now it pleases Hymenaeus to be of service. Catamite,

give nuts. You considered farm managers’ wives unworthy of

your attention, today and yesterday. Now your hairdresser

shaves your beard. O wretched, wretched catamite, give nuts!

Anointed groom, you will be criticized for keeping away from

your bald, effeminate slaves, but keep away from them. Yo!

Hymen Hymenaeus, yo! Yo! Hymen Hymenaeus! We know that these

peccadilloes (which are permitted to you) are the only ones

you have known, but they are not permitted to a married man.

Yo! Hymen Hymenaeus, yo! Yo! Hymen Hymenaeus! Wife, beware

lest you deny the things that both you and your husband

seek, lest he go to seek them from elsewhere. Yo! Hymen

Hymenaeus, yo! Yo! Hymen Hymenaeus! Behold how powerful and

wealthy your husband’s house is, which is in your interest:

allow it to be of service to you (Yo! Hymen Hymenaeus, yo!

Yo! Hymen Hymenaeus!) until old white-haired womanhood,

nodding her tremulous head, nods assent to everything for

everyone. Yo! Hymen Hymenaeus, yo! Yo! Hymen Hymenaeus! With

a good omen, carry your gold-colored little feet over the

threshold, and go beneath the door of polished wood. Yo!

Hymen Hymenaeus, yo! Yo! Hymen Hymenaeus! Look inside in

order that your husband, reclining in his crimson bed, might

be completely intent on you. Yo! Hymen Hymenaeus, yo! Yo!

Hymen Hymenaeus! A flame burns no less ardently in his

innermost heart than in yours, but secretly, even more so.

Yo! Hymen Hymenaeus, yo! Yo! Hymen Hymenaeus! Young man,

give your smooth little arm to the maiden; let her visit her

husband’s bed now. Yo! Hymen Hymenaeus, yo! Yo! Hymen

Hymenaeus! You good women, well known by your aged husbands,

array the maiden on her marriage bed. Yo! Hymen Hymenaeus,

yo! Yo! Hymen Hymenaeus! You may come now, bridegroom: your

wife is in the marriage chamber, and her countenance is

flowery and radiant, like the white chamomile or the red

poppy. But (thus may the gods help me) you are no less

handsome, o bridegroom, and Venus is not indifferent to you.

But the day is ending. Proceed, and do not dally. You have

not waited long; now you are coming. May good Venus be of

help to you, since what you desire you desire openly, and

you do not conceal your good love. Let him who wishes to

count the many thousands of your love-plays first calculate

the amount of sand in Africa and the number of twinkling

stars! Play as you like, and within a short time, produce

children. It isn’t fitting for an old name to be without

children, but it is fitting for them to be engendered from

the same family. I want Torquatus to laugh sweetly, with a

half-open lip, as, from his mother’s lap, he stretches out

his delicate hand to his father. May he be like his father

Manlius, and easily recognized by everyone who is unknowing,

and may he declare the sexual fidelity of his mother by

mouth! May the virtue from his good mother prove the

excellence of his family, just as the peerless flame remains

for Telemachus from his excellent mother, Penelope. Close

the doors of the marriage chamber, young ladies: we have

played enough. But, good newlyweds, live well and spend your

vigorous youth in incessant conjugal activity!”

-Catullus

Melpomene

Hymn to the muse of lyric poetry.

“Melpomene , Muse, one whom you have looked on with favourable eyes at his birth Ismian toil will never grant fame as a boxer: while no straining horses will draw him along, triumphant in a Greek chariot, nor will his acts of war show him to the high Capitol, wreathed with the Delian laurel crown, who’s crushed the bloated menaces of kings: but the waters that run beneath fertile Tibur, and the thick leafage of the groves, will make him of note in Aeolian song. It’s thought that I’m worthy by Rome’s children, the first of cities, to rank there among the choir of delightful poets, and already envy’s teeth savage me less. O Pierian girl, you who command the golden tortoise shell’s sweet melodies, O you, who could, if you wished, lend a swan’s singing, too, to the silent fishes, all of this is a gift of yours: that I’m pointed out by the passer-by as one who’s a poet of the Roman lyre: that I’m inspired, and please as I please: is yours.”

-Horace

Calliope

Hymn to an individual muse

“Descend from heaven, queen Calliope, and come sing with your pipe a lengthened strain; or, if you had now rather, with your clear voice, or on the harp or lute of Phœbus. Do ye hear? or does a pleasing frenzy delude me? I seem to hear [her], and to wander [with her] along the hallowed groves, through which pleasant rivulets and gales make their way. Me, when a child, and fatigued with play, in sleep the woodland doves, famous in story, covered with green leaves in the Apulian Vultur, just without the limits of my native Apulia; so that it was matter of wonder to all that inhabit the nest of lofty Acherontia, the Bantine Forests, and the rich soil of low Ferentum, how I could sleep with my body safe from deadly vipers and ravenous bears; how I could be covered with sacred laurel and myrtle heaped together, though a child, not animated without the [inspiration of the] gods. Yours, O ye muses, I am yours, whether I am elevated to the Sabine heights; or whether the cool Præneste, or the sloping Tibur, or the watery Baiæ have delighted me. Me, who am attached to your fountains and dances, not the army put to flight at Philippi, not the execrable tree, nor a Palinurus in the Sicilian Sea has destroyed. While you shall be with me with pleasure will I, a sailor, dare the raging Bosphorus; or, a traveler, the burning sands of the Assyrian shore: I will visit the Britons inhuman to strangers, and the Concanian delighted [with drinking] the blood of horses; I will visit the quivered Geloni, and the Scythian river without hurt. You entertained lofty Cæsar, seeking to put an end to his toils, in the Pierian grotto, as soon as he had distributed in towns his troops, wearied by campaigning: you administer [to him] moderate counsel, and graciously rejoice at it when administered. We are aware how he, who rules the inactive earth and the stormy main, the cities also, and the dreary realms [of hell], and alone governs with a righteous sway both gods and the human multitude, how he took off the impious Titans and the gigantic troop by his falling thunderbolts. That horrid youth, trusting to the strength of their arms, and the brethren proceeding to place Pelion upon shady Olympus, had brought great dread [even] upon Jove. But what could Typhoëus, and the strong Mimas, or what Porphyrion with his menacing statue; what Rhœtus, and Enceladus, a fierce darter with trees uptorn, avail, though rushing violently against the sounding shield of Pallas? At one part stood the eager Vulcan, at another the matron Juno, and he, who is never desirous to lay aside his bow from his shoulders, Apollo, the god of Delos and Patara, who bathes his flowing hair in the pure dew of Castalia, and possesses the groves of Lycia and his native wood. Force, void of conduct, falls by its own weight; moreover, the gods promote discreet force to further advantage; but the same beings detest forces, that meditate every kind of impiety. The hundred-handed Gyges is an evidence of the sentiments I allege: and Orion, the tempter of the spotless Diana, destroyed by a virgin dart. The earth, heaped over her own monsters, grieves and laments her offspring, sent to murky Hades by a thunderbolt; nor does the active fire consume Ætna that is placed over it, nor does the vulture desert the liver of incontinent Tityus, being stationed there as an avenger of his baseness; and three hundred chains confine the amorous Pirithoüs.”

-Horace, Odes