Without whom the heavenly temple
None would render obedience,
She, the bestower of strength, grants the desire of the faithful,
Prayers she hears, supplication receives, entreaty accepts.
Ishtar, the perfect light, all-powerful,
Who enlightens Heaven and earth,
Her name is proclaimed throughout all the lands,
Esarhaddon, king of lands, fear not.
To her it is good to pray.
XII. ORACLES OF
ISHTAR OF ARBELA
(B.C.
680-668)
Esarhaddon, king of
lands, fear not.
The lord, the spirit
who speaks to thee
I speak to him, I have
not kept it back.
Thine enemies, like
the floods of Sivan
Before thee flee perpetually.
I the great goddess,
Ishtar of Arbela
Have put thine enemies
to flight.
Where are the words
I spake to thee?
Thou hast not trusted
them.
I, Ishtar of Arbela,
thy foes
Into thy hands I give
In the van and by thy
side I go, fear not
In the midst of thy
princes thou art.
In the midst of my host
I advance and rest.
O Esarhaddon, fear not.
Sixty great gods are
with me to guard thee,
The Moon-god on thy
right, the Sun-god on thy left,
Around thee stand the
sixty great gods,
And make the centre
firm.
Trust not to man, look
thou to me
Honor me and fear not.
To Esarhaddon, my king,
Long days and length
of years I give.
Thy throne beneath the
heavens I have established;
In a golden dwelling
thee I will guard in heaven
Guard like the diadem
of my head.
The former word which
I spake thou didst not trust,
But trust thou now this
later word and glorify me,
When the day dawns bright
complete thy sacrifice.
Pure food thou shalt
eat, pure waters drink,
In thy palace thou shalt
be pure.
Thy son, thy son’s
son the kingdom
By the blessing of Nergal
shall rule.
XIII. AN ERECHITE’S LAMENT
How long, O my Lady,
shall the strong enemy hold thy sanctuary?
There is want in Erech,
thy principal city;
Blood is flowing like
water in Eulbar, the house of thy oracle;
He has kindled and poured
out fire like hailstones on all thy
lands.
My Lady, sorely am I
fettered by misfortune;
My Lady, thou hast surrounded
me, and brought me to grief.
The mighty enemy has
smitten me down like a single reed.
Not wise myself, I cannot
take counsel;
I mourn day and night
like the fields.
I, thy servant, pray
to thee.
Let thy heart take rest,
let thy disposition be softened.
BY LUCIA GILBERT RUNKLE