Underflow

I call to Thalia, wreathed in ivy,
daughter of Zeus and wise Mnemosyne,
good mother of the Corybantes
who dance with spear and shield a-clash,
O merry muse of comedy,
of country rhyme and rustic tales,
bearer of the long-armed crook
with which the shepherd guides his flock,
yours is the laughter that clears the soul,
the simple jest and the sharpened wit.
O ever-blooming Thalia,
I pray to you, goddess, I honor your gifts.

I call to Calliope, eldest of muses,
daughter of Zeus and wise Mnemosyne,
goddess who tells the hero's tale,
recounter of great deeds. Calliope,
mother of sweet-singing Orpheus,
you know well of sorrow and of loss;
you know too of the venturesome soul,
the core of greatness in humanity,
and how to tend a noble story
that it may grow into a legend.
Calliope, easer of the flow of words,
I pray to you, goddess, I honor your gifts.

I call to Chione, bright-shining daughter
of Boreas who drives the cold north wind
and mountain-roaring Oreithyia,
mother of Eumolpos who served great Demeter,
who brought to the world her deepest mysteries.
Chione, beautiful goddess, fierce-hearted,
bold of spirit, child of the frozen earth,
yours is the winter, the long, dark nights;
yours is the storm and the deep-drifting snow.
We know you in the darkening days;
we know you in the ice-bound lands. Chione,
goddess of the frost and the rime, I honor you.