I call Ǽrohs: mighty, holy, lovely and sweet,
the valiant archer bearing wings. On your flaming footpath you strike quickly
as you play with Gods and mortal men.
Skillful, two-formed, you hold the keys to everything:
of the upper aithír, of the sea, and of the earth, and as much as mortals
are nurtured by the all-generating winds of Dimítir,
and as far as wide Tártaros and throughout the thunderous sea;
for you alone have command of all these things.
But, blessed one, bring pure motivation to the initiates
And cast out our vulgar desires.