Aristophanes, Birds 682–722: Parabasis: Chaos, Love and the birth of the birds

Ye men who are dimly existing below, who perish and fade as the leaf, Pale, woebegone, shadowlike, spiritless folk, life feeble and wingless and brief, Frail castings in clay, who are gone in a day, like a dream full of sorrow and sighing, Come listen with care to the Birds of the air, the ageless, the deathless, who flying In the joy and the freshness of Ether, are wont to muse upon wisdom undying. "We will tell you of things transcendental; of Springs and of Rivers the mighty upheaval; The nature of Birds; and the birth of the Gods: and of Chaos and Darkness primeval. When this ye shall know, let old Prodicus go, and be hanged without hope of reprieval.

There was Chaos at first, and Darkness, and Night, and Tartarus vasty and dismal; But the Earth was not there, nor the Sky, nor the Air, till at length in the bosom abysmal Of Darkness an egg, from the whirlwind conceived, was laid by the sable-plumed Night. And out of that egg, as the Seasons revolved, sprang Love, the entrancing, the bright, Love brilliant and bold with his pinions of gold, like a whirlwind, refulgent and sparkling! Love hatched us, commingling in Tartarus wide, with Chaos, the murky, the darkling, And brought us above, as the firstlings of love, and first to the light we ascended. There was never a race of Immortals at all till Love had the universe blended; Then all things commingling together in love, there arose the fair Earth, and the Sky, And the limitless Sea; and the race of the Gods, the Blessed, who never shall die.

So we than the Blessed are older by far; and abundance of proof is existing That we are the children of Love, for we fly, unfortunate lovers assisting. And many a man who has found, to his cost, that his powers of persuasion have failed, And his loves have abjured him for ever, again by the power of the Birds has prevailed; For the gift of a quail, or a Porphyry rail, or a Persian, or goose, will regain them. And the chiefest of blessings ye mortals enjoy, by the help of the Birds ye obtain them. ’Tis from us that the signs of the Seasons in turn, Spring, Winter, and Autumn are known. When to Libya the crane flies clanging again, it is time for the seed to be sown, And the skipper may hang up his rudder awhile, and sleep after all his exertions, And Orestes may weave him a wrap to be warm when he’s out on his thievish excursions.

Then cometh the kite, with its hovering flight, of the advent of Spring to tell, And the Spring sheep-shearing begins; and next, your woollen attire you sell, And buy you a lighter and daintier garb, when you note the return of the swallow. Yes, your Ammon, Dodona, and Delphi are we; we are also your Phoebus Apollo. For whatever you do, if a trade you pursue, or goods in the market are buying, the wedding attend of a neighbour and friend, first you look to the Birds and their flying. And whene’er you of omen or augury speak, ’tis a bird you are always repeating; Rumour’s a bird, and a sneeze is a bird, and so is a word or a meeting,

A servant’s a bird, and an ass is a bird. It must therefore assuredly follow That the birds are to you (I protest it is true) your prophetic divining Apollo. Then take us for Gods, as is proper and fit, And Muses Prophetic ye’ll have at your call Spring, winter, and summer, and autumn and all.