Nymph

A nymph (Greek: νύμφη, nymphē) in Greek mythology is a minor female nature deity typically associated with a particular location or landform. There are 5 different types of nymphs, Celestial Nymphs, Sea Nymphs, Land Nymphs, Wood Nymphs and Underworld Nymphs. Different from goddesses, nymphs are generally regarded as divine spirits who animate nature, and are usually depicted as beautiful, young nubile maidens who love to dance and sing; their amorous freedom sets them apart from the restricted and chaste wives and daughters of the Greek polis. They are believed to dwell in mountains and groves, by springs and rivers, and also in trees and in valleys and cool grottoes. Although they would never die of old age nor illness, and could give birth to fully immortal children if mated to a god, they themselves were not necessarily immortal, and could be beholden to death in various forms. Charybdis and Scylla were once nymphs.

Other nymphs, always in the shape of young maidens, were part of the retinue of a god, such as Dionysus, Hermes, or Pan, or a goddess, generally the huntress Artemis. Nymphs were the frequent target of satyrs. They are frequently associated with the superior divinities: the huntress Artemis; the prophetic Apollo; the reveller and god of wine, Dionysus; and rustic gods such as Pan and Hermes.

Read more about Nymph:  Etymology, Adaptations, In Modern Greek Folklore, Modern Sexual Connotations, Classification

Famous quotes containing the word nymph:

    O ruddier than the cherry,
    O sweeter than the berry,
    O Nymph more bright
    Than moonshine night,
    Like kidlings blithe and merry.
    Ripe as the melting cluster,
    No lily has such lustre,
    Yet hard to tame,
    As raging flame,
    And fierce as storms that bluster.
    John Gay (1685–1732)

    The Nymph exulting fills with shouts the sky;
    The walls, the woods, and long canals reply.
    Alexander Pope (1688–1744)

    The features of our face are hardly more than gestures which force of habit made permanent. Nature, like the destruction of Pompeii, like the metamorphosis of a nymph into a tree, has arrested us in an accustomed movement.
    Marcel Proust (1871–1922)