Ruling classes descend from Zeus.
But one whom the Muses love
is lord of all the world’s beauty,
His tongue is smooth and sweet.
Even when fresh turbulence
shakes him and shivers
the pulse of his blood,
the poet, cheerful concierge to the Muses,
sings about ancient men and their prowess,
and of the always happy Gods
who live on Olympus, the ultimate acropolis.
This singing, this consonance of cunning
vibration frees him from the vortex
and cleans out the infection of sorrow
when the vivacious daughters of Mnemosyne,
with their infinite charms,
compel him to new beauty and thought.
— Hesiod, Theogony, my very free adaptation.