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Mistress of Dendera, Lady of Thebes,
Hathor of many names, my adoration I give to thee!
Bountiful Mother whose breasts suckled Gods and Kings
Wild Cow of the rushes whose dance excites all living
things.
Thou art the fiery power of the Uraeus Crown
which spreads terror of the King through all the land.
And thou art the gentle rhythm of the sistrum
soothing frantic passions as it's shook in the hand.
Beautiful to behold, with thy kohl-darkened eyes
skin of olive, and hair of blackened night.
Fulsome are thy hips, how enchantingly they sway
suggesting the motion of the sun on its heavenly journey to
thy nourishing womb
from which it emerges, reborn, each day.
"How sweet is the name of Hathor!" every lover exclaims,
"Without her to bring us together, life would be
unbearable
like the wastes of the Red Land which receive no rain."
Look kindly upon me Mother as I sing thee this song,
and drain many flagons of beer to thy honor, all night
long.
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