Victory Odes

Chiefest is water of all things, for streaming
Therefrom all life and existence came;
And all proud treasure of princes the gleaming
Splendour of gold outshines, as the flame
Of a great fire flings through the night its rays.
But, heart of mine, if thou fain wouldst praise
Triumphs in athlete-contests won,
Search not, when day with his glory is glowing,
For a radiant star more life-bestowing
In the whole void sky, than the kingly sun.
Even so shall we find no brighter crown
Than Olympia giveth whereof to sing;
For thence doth the chant of high renown
O’er the spirits of bards its perfume fling,
When, the praise of Kronion in song resounding,
Unto Hiero’s blest hearth wealth-abounding
The hymn of his praise they bring.

Hiero!—yea, for the rod of his power
Is a sceptre of righteousness stretched o’er the land
Of the myriad flocks; and the choice of the flower
Of chivalry ever is plucked by his hand.
Yea, and he also is garlanded
With the blossom of song enstarring his head,
The song that with gladsome voices now
We singers chant, at the banquet meeting
Of the Prince who giveth us friendship’s greeting.
Now, O my Muse, from its rest take thou
The lyre that is strung to the Dorian strain,
If the glory of fleet Pherenikus, he
Who triumphed in Pisa’s Olympian plain,
Haply with rapture of song thrilled thee,
When flashed in the course by Alpheus’ river
His body by lash or by goad touched never,
And wedded to victory

His lord, the ruler of Syracuse-town,
The king who joyeth in gallant steeds.
Flasheth afar his name’s renown,
Flasheth from Sicily far oversea
Where Pelops, the exile from Lydia’s meads,
Founded a hero-colony—
Pelops, beloved of the Earth-enfolder,
Poseidon the strong, when the Fate of the Thread
Drew him resplendent with ivory shoulder
From the undefiled laver, whom men deemed dead.
There be marvels full many; and fables hoary
With inventions manifold broidered o’er
Falsify legend, I wot, with a story
Wherein truth liveth no more.

But the Grace of Beauty, which aye is weaving
All manner of charm round the souls of men,
Taketh these tales unworthy believing,
And arrays them in honour: so cometh it then
That man with unwavering credence clings
To a false-feigned tale of impossible things.
But the after-days are the witnesses
That be wisest. Reverent speech beseemeth
The mortal who uttereth that which he deemeth
Of the Gods—so shall his reproach be less.
O Tantalus’ son, I will speak not as they
Who told thy story in days of old!
But thy father bade thee a guest that day
To a banquet arrayed by the righteous-souled
Upon Sipylus’ loved height—so he tendered
To the Gods requital for boons they had rendered.
On a sudden the chariot of gold

Of the Lord of the Trident gleaming splendid,
Whose soul was with love for thy youth overcome,
Bare thee, as up through the blue ye ascended,
To imperial Zeus’s glory-home,
Whither also came in the after-day
Ganymedes ravished from earth away
In halls celestial the nectar to pour.
But when viewless thus from the earth they had caught thee,
Nor the questers that far and near had sought thee
To the arms of thy mother could thee restore,
Then spake some neighbour in envious spite
A whispered slander of sin and shame,
How that over the boiling water’s might
Which hissed in the bronze that bestrode the flame
Did they carve thy flesh with the knife, and seethe it,
And served at the feast, and—dare lips breathe it?—
That the God-guests ate of the same!

But impossible is it for me to call
Any Blest One man-eater—with loathing and scorn
I recoil! O, the profit is passing small
That the dealer in slander hath ofttimes found.
But if ever a man on the earth was born
Whom the Watchers from Heaven with honour crowned,
That man was Tantalus: yet of their favour
No profit he had, nor of that high bliss.
But the man’s proud stomach was drunk with its savour
And gorged with pride; and by reason of this
He drew on him ruin utter-crushing;
For Zeus hung o’er him a huge black scaur,
And he cowers from it aye on his head down-rushing
From happiness exiled far.

And there unto torment fettered for ever
Living on, living on in eternal despair
He abides with the Three2 on whom hope dawns never,
He who from the feast of the Gods could dare
To steal the ambrosia and nectar whereby
They had given him immortality,
That the guests of his wine-cup might revel thereon!
But who thinketh to hide his evil doing
From God, he errs to his bitter ruing!
So then the Immortals sent back his son
Exiled to earth from the heavenly home,
Thenceforth with the sons of a day to abide.
But in process of time, when Pelops was come
To the flower-bright season of life’s springtide,
When the soft rose-tint of his cheek ’gan darken,
To the whisper of love did his spirit hearken,
And he dreamed of the world-famed bride

Hippodameia, the glorious daughter
Of the Lord of Pisa, a prize for him
Who could win her. Alone by the surf-white water
Of the sea he stood in the darkness dim.
To the Thunder-voiced he cried o’er the wave,
To the Lord of the Trident mighty to save:
And lo, at his side did the God appear.
And “O Poseidon,” he spake imploring,
“If the gifts of the Cyprian Queen’s outpouring
To thy spirit, O King, be in any wise dear,
His bronze lance let not Oenomaus lift
To mine hurt, but cause me to Elis to ride
On a god-given chariot passing swift:
There throne thou me by victory’s side.
For lovers by that spear merciless-slaying
Have died thirteen, and he still is delaying
To bestow his child as a bride.

In the path doth a mighty peril lie;
To the craven soul no welcome it gives.
But, seeing a man must needs once die,
Wherefore should I unto old age screen
From peril a life that only lives,
Sitting nameless and fameless in darkness unseen,
In the deeds of the valiant never sharing?
Nay, lies at my feet the challenge now:
I will accept it for doing and daring!
Good speed to mine heart’s desire grant thou!”
Not fruitless the cry of his heart’s desiring
Was uttered. The God heard gracious-souled,
And crowned him with honour. Winged steeds untiring
He gave, and a chariot of gold.

So he won for his bride that maiden peerless;
For her terrible father he overcame.
And she bare to him six sons battle-fearless,
Captains of war-hosts, thirsting for fame.
And his portion assured hath Pelops still
Where the priests the blood of the sacrifice spill;
And unto his tomb resorteth the throng
Of strangers from far who have heard his story.
From his grave-mound his spirit beholdeth the glory
Of the mighty Olympian strife of the strong
In the course that from Pelops its name hath ta’en,
Wherein be contending the swift to run
And the thews that be mighty in wrestling-strain.
And whoso therein hath the victory won,
Thereafter on through his life-days ever
Sweetly his peace shall flow as a river
Blissfully gliding on

For those Games’ sake. Yea, the good that unceasing
On man’s lot daily as dew droppeth down
Is that which to each is most well-pleasing.
Now is it my bounden duty to crown
With a strain wherein hoof-beats triumphant ring
In Aeolian mood Sicilia’s King.
And hereof is my spirit assured past doubt
That amidst all men on the wide earth dwelling
There is found no host whom with prouder-swelling
Notes in many a winding bout
Of noble song I may glorify,
Yea, none more learned in honour’s lore,
None who showeth therein more potency.
The God who guardeth thee watcheth o’er
Thine hopes and thine aims, that no evil assail thee;
And if—O nay, but he cannot fail thee!—
I trust ere long once more

To chant a triumph than all more sweet,
Inspiration-wafted, as one that flies
In a chariot, on paths of utterance meet,
Till I win unto Kronos’ Hill sunbright.
O yea, in my Muses’ quiver lies
A song-arrow winged for stronger flight.
By diverse paths men upward aspire:
Earth’s highest summit by kings is attained.
Thou therefore look to attain no higher
Than earth. Be it thine on the height thou hast gained
To pace mid splendour of royal achieving
Thy life through: mine be it no less long
To consort with victors, from Hellas receiving
The world o’er praise for my song.

Songs, lords of the lyre! what God shall we hymn?—what hero’s praises?—
What man’s fame publish afar?
Pisa doth Zeus own; Heracles stablished Olympia’s races
With the regal spoils of his war;
Theron, who honours the guest, whose four steeds raced victorious,
Akragas’ stay, let us chant, full flower of an ancestry glorious,
His city’s saviour-star.

Toils bravely his fathers endured, and a hallowed home by the river
They reared: they were Sicily’s eye.
And to crown their inborn worth, Fair Fortune attended them, giver
Of wealth and of dignity.
Son of Kronos and Rhea, enthroned in Olympus, thou lord of the choicest
Of contests by Alpheus’ ford, guard, since in our song thou rejoicest,
For their sons ever graciously

Their fatherland-soil! When for right or for wrong hath been woven the tissue
Of our deeds, not Time the father of all can reverse the issue.
Yet oblivion may come of the past
With the dawn of a happier day; for overmastered and slain
By the sunlight of happiness oft is memory’s rankling pain,
When broad and high at the last

Prosperity grows by the fiat of God. Yea, of Kadmus’ daughters
This thing I have said proved true:—
Sore anguish they suffered, yet mightier blessings from out the waters
Of affliction the stricken ones drew.
Mid thunder-crash Semele perished, yet lives in the heavenly star-land;
And Pallas and Zeus and her son, who is crowned with the ivy-garland,
Enfold her with love ever new.

With the Sea-maids, the daughters of Nereus, to Ino a life unending
In the deep is ordained for aye.
But to mortals no date is appointed whereon death’s bolt descending
Shall smite; nor can any man say
When one day, child of the sun, shall in calm peace close with unbroken
Blessing. With sorrow and joy run life’s streams, giving no token
How their mutable courses will stray.

So Destiny, she who the line of the fathers of Theron hath guided
To happiness, yet for their god-given bliss hath also provided
In its season a bitter reverse,
Since the hour when met in his journeying Laïus was, and killed
By his doom-driven son, and the word that from Pytho went forth was fulfilled,
The old-time prophecy-curse.

Swift Erinys beheld it, and slew by hands with a brother’s blood gory
His warrior sons. When died
Polyneikes, Thersander was left to win in a new war glory,
The Adrastids’ saviour and pride.
From him these trace their descent; and the son of a prince most meetly
With all praises of song triumphant and lyres outpealing sweetly
This day shall be magnified.

Olympia’s guerdon he won, and at Pytho and Isthmus the Graces,
Who his kindred have evermore blessed,
Brought to his brother the crowns of the twelve-course four-horse races.
Ay, triumph to pain bringeth rest.
Riches with nobleness graced of many things bring fruition,
And they kindle the deep-glowing fire of the huntress of honour, Ambition,
Within their possessor’s breast,

A lodestar that beacons afar, by whose light men steer most surely,
If he who doth hold by it knoweth what shall be—that they which impurely
Here lived, shall when they have died
Suffer the penalty: sins that in Zeus’s realm of light
Were committed shall One judge there in the underworld Kingdom of Night,
And their awful doom shall decide.

But through sunlitten nights and days a life of bliss untoiling
Is ordained for the righteous-souled.
No more for a meagre pittance they labour the land sore moiling,
Nor on stormy seas are they rolled;
But with them that be honoured of Gods, who had pleasure in leal oathkeeping,
They have joy of a tearless life, while the wicked are endlessly reaping
Sin-harvests too dread to behold.

But they that through those three lives have endured, their spirits refraining
From sin upon each side death,3
These traverse the pathway of Zeus, to the Tower of Kronos attaining,
Where the breezes of Ocean breathe
Round the Isles of the Blest, where flowers all-golden like flames are glowing,
Which are drooping from trees of splendour, or float on the flood soft-flowing;
And their heads and their hands they enwreathe,

As it standeth by just Rhadamanthus decreed, the eternal assessor
Of Kronos the husband of Rhea, of her who is throned possessor
Of dominion the universe o’er.
And Peleus and Kadmus are numbered amidst the glorified there;
And the heart of Zeus by Thetis’ petition was swayed, that she bare
Achilles to that blest shore,

Him who slew the invincible Hector, and Troy’s strong pillar did shiver,
And of whom was Kyknus slain
And the Dawn-queen’s Aethiop son. Many swift shafts lie in my quiver;
To the wise is their meaning plain;
For the common herd need they interpreters. Who is by nature discerning
Is the poet inspired; but the vehement babblers of other men’s learning
Croak vanity—crows be the twain!—4

At the hallowed eagle of Zeus! O my soul, on the bow be thou aiming—
And at whom in all love wilt thou speed
The renown-giving arrow? To Akragas send thou it, boldly proclaiming—
Bidding Truth of thine oath take heed—
That through years five-score no city on earth hath been known to rear on
Her breast any son more kindly in spirit to friends than Theron,
None of more liberal deed.

Yet praise is by spite ever dogged, wherein never is justice abiding,
But from grasping envy it springs; with its slanders it fain would be hiding
In darkness the good deeds done
By the noble of heart. But, as no man can number the great sea’s sands,
So the joys on his fellow-men showered by Theron with lavish hands,
Who telleth the tale of them? None!

Oh Tyndarids, lords of all guest-welcoming,
Oh Helen of the tresses beauty-crowned,
Take pleasure in my praises, when I sing
Akragas far-renowned,
Chanting her son’s Olympian victory,
The glory of his tireless-footed team.
The Muse hath thrilled me with new harmony
Of wedded song and dance, in revelry
Where Dorian sandals gleam.

Garlands of victory twined in Theron’s hair
Exact of me this debt that Heaven ordains
For Ainesidamus’ son in order fair
To blend the varying strains
Of lyres with voice of flutes and ordering
Of chanted words; and Pisa bids proclaim
His glory—Pisa, poesy’s well-spring
Whence, by the Gods inspired, the great songs ring
That give men deathless fame,

Even they about whose hair the silvery-gleaming
Adorning of the olive-leaf is laid
By the Aetolian judge’s righteous deeming
The victor’s brows to shade,
According unto Heracles’ ancient hest.
From Ister’s shadowy springs he brought this tree,
When fared Amphitryon’s son on perilous quest
And gave Olympia’s games this fairest, best
Trophy of victory.

His courteous speech that Norland people swayed—
The folk who serve Apollo—to bestow
To his true-hearted prayer for Zeus’s glade,
Whither all Hellenes go,
A shadowing tree, a universal boon,
A wreath for prowess of the mighty given.
When hallowed were Zeus’ altars, lo, the Moon
Of midmonth flashed her splendour plenilune
Full in the face of Even.

Then for those great Games he ordained for ever
Just judgment and a Five-year Festival
By the steep banks of Alpheus’ hallowed river.
But of fair trees and tall
In Kronian Pelops’ glen, that chosen place,
His garden-close, was as a desert bare.
Him-seemed it lay unscreened beneath the blaze
Of scorching Helios’ arrow-darting rays.
Wherefore he yearned to fare

To Ister’s land, where She of the swift horses,
Queen Leto’s Child, received him graciously
When from the hills and winding watercourses
He came of Arcady,
Sped on Eurystheus’ mission forth to find—
By his sire’s doom, wherefrom is no appeal—
The Orthian Wood-queen’s golden-antlered hind,
Vowed to her by Taÿgete, and signed
With consecration’s seal.

And in that chase he looked upon the land
That sheltered lies behind the North-wind cold,
And saw its olive-trees. There did he stand
And marvelled to behold,
And dearly yearned to enring with those same trees
The goal round which twelve times swift horses strain.
Graciously still to these festivities
He comes: with him be godlike presences,
Even Leda’s scions twain.

These charged he with the Great Games’ ordering
Ere hence he passed to heavenly halls afar,
The struggle of strong men, the sweep and swing
Of the swift-rushing car.
“The Emmenids and Theron Fame hath crowned
This day!” my soul constraineth me to cry,
“Fame given by Tyndareus’ Sons the steed-renowned,
Since unto these of all men most they abound
In hospitality,

“With hearts of reverence rendering due measure
Of service to the Gods for ever blest.”
As water chiefest is, and of all treasure
Gold is held goodliest,
So Glory’s pinnacle doth Theron gain
By his high prowess: yea, his fame hath won
To Heracles’ pillars! Farther to attain
Wise and unwise all fruitlessly should strain,
Nor press I vainly on.

Zeus, hurler of thunderbolts tireless-winging,
Most Highest, returneth thy Feast-tide fair
To send me to wed with the lyre subtle-ringing
My song: of the chiefest of all Games singing
To the victor’s triumph my witness I bear.
Yea, the hearts of the good are with joy ever leaping
When friends a harvest of triumph are reaping.
O Kronos’ Son, whose dominion is o’er
Etna, the wind-scourged burden laid
On Typho the demon of heads five-score,
Receive thou this revel-procession arrayed
For a victorv won by the Graces’ aid.

For its chant is a record for ever abiding
Of wide-prevailing achievement’s renown,
On-ushering olive-crowned Psaumis, as riding
His chariot he hasteth, aglow for dividing
His fame with his own Camarina-town.
May our prayers be graciously heard in heaven
As we supplicate blessings yet to be given
Unto him who is strenuous ever to train
The steed, who with wide arms welcomes the guest,
The pure-hearted patriot who strives to attain
Peace—truth do I speak from an unfeigned breast!
Of man is the trial the one proof-test.

By such trial it was that Klymenus’ son5
Silenced the Lemnian women’s taunting
Who mocked at his tresses grey;
For the foot-race in armour of bronze he won.
To Hypsipyle then with no vain vaunting,
As he passed to be crowned, did he say:
“Lo there, my fleetness of foot have ye seen!
And mine hands be as strong, and mine heart as keen.
Ay, and not seldom silver-hoary
Show the tresses of young men, long ere the story
Hath been told of their life’s spring-day.”

O Camarina, bright daughter of Ocean, with glad spirit greet
Him who the crown of Olympian achievement and glory most sweet
Brings for his gifts to thee won by his car-team’s unwearying feet,

Psaumis! O nurse of a nation, to magnify thee hath he raised
Altars, twin altars twice three, where at feasts of the Blessèd Ones blazed
Steers that were slain; and for five days the goals of the race-course they grazed,

Chariots of horses and mules, and swift coursers. To thee consecrated
All his proud glory was, and to his sire and the burg new-created.

Back from Oenomaus’ home and from Pelops’ dear dwelling he brings
Songs unto Pallas Protectress of Cities; her precinct he sings,
Sings of thy river Oanis, the mere that thine highland enrings.

Hallowèd Hipparis sings he that quencheth thy citizens’ thirst,
Floating down fast for rebuilding thee trees in his hill-cradle nursed,
So that from darkness the light of new life on thy commonwealth burst.

Labour and cost for all noble achievement in one must be blended:
Veiled is the issue in risk; but success is for wisdom commended.

Cloud-hidden Saviour, O Zeus who art throned on the Kronian hill-crest,
Honourest Alpheus’ flood and the cave under Ida’s green breast,
Suppliant I come to thee, voicing through Lydian flutes my request:

O let this city with chivalry’s glory be aye magnified!
Thou too, Olympian victor, whose god-nurtured steeds are thy pride,
Unto a peaceful old age mayst thou win with thy sons at thy side.

If as a well-watered garden thy bliss be, and if thou desire not
More, with thy wealth and thine honours content—unto godhead aspire not!

’Neath our song’s forecourt-rooftree pillars golden
Will we uprear; a palace shall it seem.
’Tis meet the forefront shine out far-beholden
Of work that hath such splendour-flashing theme.
The victor at Olympia, who withal
Is treasurer of Zeus’s oracle-altar,
Who is co-founder of the glorious wall
Of Syracuse—shall his song-praises falter?
Share not the joy his fellow-burghers all?

Such sandal—let the son of Sostratus know it—
Gleams on his foot. Deeds without peril brought
To pass on land or sea win from no poet
Honour; but of each high achievement wrought
With hard toil, many the recorders are.
Thy deeds, Agesias, that same praise hath followed
Which justly Adrastus spake and published far
Of Amphiaraus, when the earth had swallowed
Oïkleus’ son and his bright battle-car.

When on the seven great pyres the dead lay burning,
Before Thebes’ gates the son of Talaos cried:
“For one that is not here mine heart is yearning,
Eye of mine host, good seer and warrior tried!”
And this same praise in song processional
To Syracuse’ son is rendered with all fitness.
I, who hate strife and disputation’s gall,
With a great oath to him I bear my witness:
The sweet-voiced Muses sanction it withal.

Phintis, thy mighty mule-team harness straightway,
That we may speed along a clear highway
The car, that I may reach the ancestral gateway
Whence came his race. None know so well as they
To find the track, who at Olympia won
Crowns: wherefore unto them it well beseemeth
That wide the doors of song should now be thrown.
For Pitane-ward, to where Eurotas gleameth
Must I in season due this day begone.

Now Pitane bare, by Lord Poseidon fathered,
Evadne of the violet hair, men say,
But hid her shame ’neath vesture-folds upgathered,
Till she might send her maidens thence away,
Bidding them bear her babe to Eilatus’ son
Who at Phaisane ruled in hill-girt places
Arcadian, and his lot by Alpheus won.
There was Evadne nurtured: in the embraces
Of Phoebus her love’s story was begun.

She could not for her full time hide the blossom
Of a God’s love from Aipytus: keen dread
And wrath no words might utter racked his bosom.
For light in darkness Pytho-ward he sped.
She laid the while her girdle crimson-twined
’Neath boughs dark-shadowing, and her silver ewer.
And there she bore a boy of godlike mind;
For golden-haired Apollo drew unto her
The Fates, and Eileithyia travail-kind.

So from her womb in painless birth outleaping
Iamus came. Grief-stricken on the ground
She left him. Came two bright-eyed serpents creeping
By the Gods’ counsel; softly coiling round
They fed him with the sweet dews of the bee.
But when the king from rocky Pytho riding
Came, he asked all his household eagerly:
“Where is the babe Evadne bare in hiding?
For fathered of Apollo’s self is he;

“A prophet shall he be all men excelling
To this folk: nevermore shall fail his race,”
But they, “Of him have we heard no man telling,
Nor seen him”—yet the babe was born five days!
But in a pathless reed-brake, oversprayed
With gold and purple splendours was he lying,
Which pansy-petals on his soft flesh rayed.
“So shall he,” spake his mother prophesying,
“Bear this name that through all time shall not fade.”6

Now when to fruitage of youth golden-pinioned
He won, to Alpheus’ mid-stream he strode
’Neath the night-stars, and on the wide-dominioned,
His grandsire, called, and Delos’ Archer-god,
Praying, “Let honour nation-fostering rest
Upon mine head!” And answer made his father
With voice infallible to his request:
“Arise, and to that place where all men gather
Follow, my son, obeying my behest.”

So reached they Kronion’s7 steep rock sunward-soaring.
There prophecy’s twin treasure gave his sire—
To hear his voice unswerving truth outpouring
First: then, when Heracles, that soul of fire,
Should come, when he, the Alkaïds’ seed renowned,
Should found his God-sire’s Feast thronged by all nations,
Of all world-games with chiefest honour crowned,
Then high on Zeus’s altar of oblations
A second oracle he bade him found.

Thereafter through all Hellas famed in story
Were Iamus’ sons, and prospered. High emprise
They honour; so they tread the path of glory.
The achievement proves the man: but envious eyes
Of slanderers follow still him on whose head
The Grace rains beauty, who before all other
His chariot round the twelvefold course hath sped.
Agesias, if the forbears of thy mother,
Who ’neath Kyllene had their old homestead,

With prayer and sacrifice ceased not adoring
Heaven’s herald Hermes, him in whom begun
Be Games and ended, who is honour pouring
On Arcady’s hero-land—He, Sostratus’ son,
With his deep-thundering Sire, thy bliss fulfils.
My tongue is poesy’s whetstone shrilly-sounding!
That fancy all my willing spirit thrills
With breathings beauty-rippling. Flower-abounding
Metope in Stymphalus ringed of hills,

My ancestress, bare Thebe chariot-glorious.
I’ll sip her dear springs, and for warriors twine
A song-wreath rainbow-hued. Thy choir victorious,
O Aeneas,8 teach to chant the Maid divine
Hera, and know that none in after days
With scoffed “Boeotian swine!” our ear abuses!
A messenger thou art whose faith all praise,
O cryptic herald-staff of bright-haired Muses,
Sweet mixing-bowl of royal-ringing lays!

Bid Syracuse and Ortygia’s praise be chanted,
By Hiero with righteous sceptre swayed
Who honours Her whose feet on furrows planted
Make red the com, the great Feast of the Maid
Of the White Steeds, and Zeus throned on the height
Of Etna honours. Lyre and song sweet-pealing
Know Hiero well. His fortune may the flight
Of time not wreck! With welcome love-revealing,
King, greet this song that chants Agesias’ might,

Which from Stymphalus’ mother-town comes winging,
From home to home—Sicilia, Arcady!
’Tis good the ship on anchors twain be swinging
In night of storm. May Heaven propitiously
Grant either folk high glory without stain.
In thy protection, Sea-lord King, enfolden
Straight onward may he sail: guard him from bane,
Spouse of the Sea-queen of the distaff golden,
And bless the gladsome flower of this my strain.

As a father with wealth-laden hand uplifteth a cup
With the flashing dew of the joy-giving wine brimmed up,
And pledgeth therein the youth who hath won for a bride
His daughter, and therewith giveth to him, to bear
From the old home unto the new, that golden pride
Of his treasures, and maketh the fair feast yet more fair,
And his kinsman envied of all friends banqueting there
For the marriage that joins hearts, one evermore to abide;

So send I the Song-queens’ gift, the nectar outpoured
From my spirit, its vintage of sweetness, a chant to record
The triumph of guerdon-winners, their victory
At Olympia and Pytho gained in the athlete-strife.
Whom praiseful report companioneth, happy is he!
Now on one, now another the Grace that enricheth life
Propitiously looks, and with manifold music of fife
And of lyre sweet-echoing breathes on him melody.

To the sound of the lyre and the pipe on-sailing
Homeward I come with Diagoras hailing
Aphrodite’s Daughter, the Bride of the Sun,
Sea-girdled Rhodes, to a man fair-fighting
And strong giving glory, whose clenched hand smiting
By Alpheus and Castaly garlands hath won.
And his father I praise, who in justice excelleth,
And in Rhodes triple-citied mid warriors dwelleth
Nigh Asia’s foreland that seaward doth run.

From their line’s first father beginning, I fain would upraise,
From Tlepolemus, this mine herald-song of praise,
The common right this of Heracles’ puissant race;
For these be descended from Zeus on the father’s side—
Ay, this is their boast!—on the mother’s their blood they trace
To Amyntor through Astydameia Tlepolemus’ bride.
Thick clouds of delusion the truth from men’s hearts hide:
This thing would we find, yet aye it eludes our chase,

What is best for a man to attain both now and at last.
For the founder of this land smote in his passionate haste
Alkmena’s base-born brother a deadly blow
With his olive-wood staff, as forth Likymnius came
From Midea’s bower; for his spirit with wrath was aglow.
In the city of Tiryns befell that sin and shame.
Yea, the feet of the wise be misled when the soul is aflame
With wrath. To the oracle fratricide-stained did he go.

And the Golden-haired spake from his shrine sweet-breathing:
“Thou must voyage afar o’er a sea surf-seething,
From the shore of Lerna in exile sped,
To a sea-ringed land of pasture, where showered
By the King of the Gods omnipotent-powered
Was a golden snow, when forth of the head
Of Zeus by the axe of Hephaistus sundered
Athena leapt, and her shout far thundered,
That Heaven and Earth-mother quaked with dread.”

Hyperion’s Son, the God who bringeth the day,
Commanded his children:9 “See that your debt ye repay.
Of all men be ye first to uprear in your isle in my sight
To the Goddess an altar: her godhead do ye revere
With offerings holy, filling the souls with delight
Of Allfather and Her of the thunderous-crashing spear.”
It is Reverence, Forethought’s daughter, that maketh dear
To the spirits of men high courage and joy of the fight.

Yet there cometh Oblivion’s wildering mist, to misguide
The hearts of men, and to cause them to swerve aside
From the deed’s straight path; and so it befell that these
Not bearing the seed of flame to the altar drew nigh.
So with fireless rites did they plant those hallowed trees
On their citadel’s height. Yet Zeus drew over their sky
A fire-hued cloud whence rained gold plenteously,
And the Grey-eyed made them in all craft-mysteries

Unrivalled; for on their highways were gleaming
Things living and moving to outward seeming,10
So that great was their glory. Yea, craft that doth show
No semblance of false pretence excelleth
In the eyes of the wise. Now a legend telleth
How that Zeus and the Deathless drew lots to know
How shared should the earth be. Rhodes was unrisen
From the wide sea’s breast, but in darkling prison
Of abysses of brine lay far below.

But since in the place where they gathered the Sun-god was not,
None for that stainless Divine One had drawn a lot;
And so, when he spake of it, Zeus was minded again
To cast the lots; but Helios would not: he said
That he saw deep under the face of the hoary main
A land upgrowing fast from its rocky bed,
A land that for myriad dwellers should bring forth bread,
Should rejoice in its sheep-flocks whitening hill and plain.

Eftsoons unto Lachesis golden-tired spake he:
“Uplift thou thine hands, and swear in sincerity
The Gods’ great Oath, and pledge thee with Kronos’ Son
That the isle that shall be sent up into heaven’s light
Shall be mine head’s guerdon of honour while time shall run.”
And the word of truth that from Lachesis’ lips took flight
Was fulfilled in the end. Grew up, as a flower blooms bright,
That isle from the rolling darkness of water won.

He possesseth it. Sire of the sun-arrows gleaming,
The breath of whose steeds is a flame outstreaming.
With Rhodos the Isle-nymph there he lay:
Seven sons he begat, who in years forgotten
Were wisest of men; and of one were begotten
Ialysus, Lindus, Kameirus; and they
Of their father’s land made threefold division,
Neither any transgressed that righteous partition;
And after them named be their homes to this day.

There standeth an altar, a sweet recompense for the grief
Of his fall before Troy, to Tlepolemus battle-chief
Of Tirynthians: as to a God do they sacrifice
Victims, the reek of whose burning floats far round.
And at athlete-strife in his name is awarded the prize.
There twice were Diagoras’ brows with flower-wreaths bound.
And at Isthmus the famed four times, and at Nemea crowned
Once and again, and at crag-built Athens twice.

At Argos the victors’ bronze shield knoweth him well;
Memorials in Thebes and Arcadia his glory tell;
At Pellene in games Boeotian the prize did he gain;
Six times in Aegina he conquered; in Megara
The column of stone doth chant none other strain.
O Father Zeus, who holdest omnipotent sway
Over wild Atabyrium’s ridges, honour this day
The victory-hymn that use and wont ordain!

And the hero whose hands have so gallantly striven,
Unto him be all worshipful honour given
Alike of the stranger and citizen.
For he treadeth the path that from insolence turneth:
Great lessons bequeathed by his fathers he learneth
By his true heart taught. Thou, hide not from men
His fame who from Kallianax’ blood springeth.
With the Eratids’ joy lo, all Rhodes ringeth!
Yet the winds in an hour may be veering again.

Mother of contests golden-crowned, O Queen
Of truth, Olympia, where from sacrifice
Diviners seek the will of Zeus to glean,
Who hurls white-flickering lightnings through the skies,
To wot if he hath any word of grace
For men whose hearts yearn hotly to attain
To high achievement, and a breathing-space
From toil to gain.

This he vouchsafes to reverent prayer and vow.
O Pisan precinct fair with olive-lines,
Welcome this victory-procession thou,
And the crown-bearing! Bright his glory shines
Whom splendour of thy guerdon shall attend!
Ay, diverse boons to diverse men be given,
And many paths to happiness ascend
By grace of Heaven.

Timosthenes, to Zeus, who hath in keeping
Thine house, thee and thy brother Destiny
Allotted: He at Nemea honoured thee,
And Kronos’ Hill saw glory’s harvest-reaping,
Alkimedon’s Olympian victory.
Goodly of presence, not by deeds he shamed
His beauty! He, in wresthng-bout victorious,
Aegina of far-sweeping oars proclaimed
His home. There Saviour Themis, throned all-glorious
With Guest-ward Zeus, is most with honour named.

Far-reaching issues, whose decision still
Shifteth, with mind unwarped to judge of these
Fairly, is hard: yet sure the Immortals’ will
Ordained this island rampired by the seas
To be for strangers out of every clime
A god-reared pillar of strength, land of the free—
Oh may the years in this work through all time
Toil tirelessly!—

This isle committed unto Dorian hands
To be Heaven’s stewards, since, in Aiakus’ days,
When Phoebus and the Girder of all lands
A tower-coronal for Troy would raise,
And as their fellow-builder bade him come
To rear that wall, which should, when wars awoke,
Breathe out, when battle brought her day of doom,
Wild-billowing smoke.

Scarce was it built, when, with eyes lurid-glaring,
Three dragons leapt to scale its ramparts high.
Now twain of these fell back, and suddenly
Died, writhing as in impotent despairing:
But the third leapt in with fierce battle-cry.
That portent Phoebus pondered; then spake he:
“Aiakus, where thine hands reared this stone wonder,
There breached and taken Pergamus shall be,
As this sign sent down by the Lord of Thunder,
Zeus, Kronos’ Son, revealeth unto me.

“This shall thine house accomplish. Troy shall fall
Stormed by thy son and thy fourth in descent.”
So plainly spake the God, and therewithal
To Xanthus and the fleet-horsed Amazons went,
And unto Ister speeding fast his car.
With golden team the Trident-wielder fares
To Isthmus oversea, and Aiakus far
To Aegina bears.

Thence, to behold his glorious festival,
To Corinth’s mountain-ridge he bore him on.
No praise of song is sweet alike to all:
If I retrace all fame Melesias11 won
Through boys, no stone at me let envy fling!
I sing of honours no less high attained
At Nemea, and of crowns pankratian sing
By his men gained.

To teach is no hard task for him who knoweth;
But who unlearned would teach, a fool is he,
For wit untrained hath no stability.
But this Melesias best of all men showeth
How with the strong to strive victoriously,
Teacheth what training shall to triumph guide
Our champion to repeat the oft-told story,
In those great Games, of longed-for victory’s pride.
Now hath Alkimedon achieved that glory—
Melesias’ thirtieth triumph published wide!

By God’s grace, and by his own prowess he
Hath vanquished striplings four. Ha! not for him,
But them, to steal back home shamefacedly
Shrinking from taunting tongues through bypaths dim!
His victory hath thrilled his old grandsire
With strength that o’er eld’s frailty triumpheth.
For he that hath attained his heart’s desire
Forgetteth death.

I must awaken Memory, I wis,
To tell the glory of old champions’ might,
The Blepsiads’ conquering sons: the sixth crown this
That wreathes their brows from those games garland-dight.
Yea, their dead fathers have their share therein,
When due memorial rites are not forgot.
The grace of honour living kinsmen win
The dust hides not.

The song by Hermes’ child, Glad-tidings, chanted
Shall Iphion hear, his bright Olympic fame,
And to Kallimachus shall tell the same,12
The glory Zeus to this old House hath granted.
With triumph on triumph may he crown their name,
And aye avert affliction’s bitter blow!
And, for the glory in their lot, may never
God’s jealousy make Nemesis their foe.
May he exalt them and their country, ever
Vouchsafing them a life unvexed of woe.

Archilochus’ chant of the sweet voice singing
The Olympian hymn of victory,13
With its threefold measure of triumph outringing,
Sufficed to lead onward the revelry
To the Hill of Kronos, as paced along
Epharmostus amidst of his comrade-throng.
But now with such soul-stirring arrows of song
As in these our days fly fittingly
Shot from the Muses’ bows far-ranging,
Sing praises, my soul, unto Zeus, whose hand
Hurls red-glowing lightnings sin-avenging;
And the holy foreland of Elis-land
Praise thou, the land which long agone
Pelops the hero, Lydia’s son,
With Hippodameia for dowry won,
The glorious clasp of her wedlock-band.

And a sweet feathered shaft on the bowstring laying
Pytho-ward shoot thou: not to the ground
Shall thy words fall, when thy fingers are straying
O’er the quivering strings of the lyre, to sound
The praise of a lord of the wrestling-ring
Who from Opus the famed came journeying;
And the glory of that good town do thou sing
And the praise of her champion triumph-crowned.
’Tis a city that Themis and Safety-bestower,
Her child Fair Governance, won for their own;
And in knightly deeds she blooms as a bower;
For by Castaly’s fountain her praise is known,
And Alpheus murmureth her renown,
Where blow fair flowers for victory’s crown
To shine on the brows of the mother-town
Of Lokris, with trees girt stately-grown.

The light of my song shall fierily blaze
O’er this city so dear unto me,
And swifter than high-mettled steed can race
Or a white-winged galley can flee,
I will speed this story of Opus’ glory
Far, far over land, over sea,
If by Destiny guided my hand essay
To gather fruit and flower
In the Graces’ garden of gardens, for they
All things delightsome shower.
Whether hero or poet one be, he doth owe it
To Heaven’s all-gracious power.

How else could Heracles’ arm have wielded
Mace against Trident in battle-strain?—
When by Poseidon was Pylos shielded,
And the Sea-god pressed on the Hero amain,
When fast did the arrows of Phoebus fly
As the silver bow rang terribly,
Neither Hades refrained him from swinging on high
His staff, till his blows flashed down like rain—
The staff wherewithal through the cavernous portals
Of his mansion he leadeth, that Underworld-king,
The shadowy forms of perished mortals:—
Nay, nay, this slander afar from thee fling,
O mouth of mine! Him who dares impeach
The Gods, him hatefullest wisdom doth teach!
O yea, for untimely bold-mouthed speech
Doth with strains insensate of madness ring.

Babble not thou in witless folly
Of battle and war of Immortals, nor dare
Blaspheme them! Nay, to the city holy
Of Protogeneia thy song-gift bear,
Telling how by His dooming who wields evermore
The flickering lightning, the thunder’s roar,
Deukalion and Pyrrha long of yore
Fixed their first habitation there,
When down from Parnassus they came, and unmated
Of Aphrodite in wedlock-yoke,
Out of the stones of the field created
A race that should be thenceforth one folk;
And from stones were they named, that stone-born race.
Awaken for these thy clear-ringing lays!
O yea, old wine well mayest thou praise;
But ’tis song’s fresh flowers that our praises provoke.

Out of old days cometh a legend which saith
That the great deep’s fountains rained
On the dark earth’s bosom a deluge of death,
Till, by counsels of Zeus restrained,
The flood-tide sinking with waters shrinking
Swiftly was seaward drained.
And this stone-born generation’s sons
Your grey forefathers were,
All valiant bearers of shields of bronze,
Whom Iapetus’ daughters bare
When they made affiance with Kronos’ scions,
And kings of their blood reigned there,

Till the Lord of Olympus, from earth upraising
The daughter of Opus, wafted his bride
To a lone spot meet for a God’s embracing
Mid Mainalus’ ridges, and lay by her side.
Thereafter to Lokrus the childless he brought
That maid, lest the fingers of eld should blot
Out his name, and his line be continued not
If heirless the king of the land should have died.
But the king’s bride bare till her time’s fulfilling
The seed of the Mightiest ’neath her zone;
And the hero rejoiced with a joy heart-thrilling
O’er the fair babe not of his own seed sown;
And he gave him his mother’s father’s name,
And a man pre-eminent he became
In goodlihead and in deeds of fame,
And his sire gave a city to rule for his own.

And there unto him were gathered strangers:
From Argos the horse-land, from Thebes they hied,
And from Pisa, and Arcady’s mountain-rangers;
But of all that came in his land to abide
Was Aegina’s and Aktor’s son honoured most,
Menoitius, whose son with the Atreids’ host
Unto Teuthras’ plain by the Troyland coast
Sailed. There alone by Achilles’ side
Steadfast he stood, when Telephus turning
The valiant Danaans backward in flight,
Of their sea-pacing galleys essayed the burning;
So that all men knew who could deem aright
That a brave soul dwelt in Patroclus’ breast.
And the son of Thetis with earnest request
Exhorted him, yea, with insistent behest:
“Never hereafter in murderous fight

“Do thou range thyself mid the battle-strain
From my man-quelling spear afar!”
O that to fit praise I may attain
Of those that your champions are,
As, bearing my burden of glory’s guerdon,
I speed in the Song-queen’s car!
And may Daring attend me close at my side
And Power all-compassing!
For hither at friendship’s call have I hied,
And at Chivalry’s summons I sing
Of Lampromachus telling in prowess excelling
In the Isthmian athlete-ring.

Yea, in the same day stood victorious
He and his brother in mimic fray;
And at Corinth’s gates was the name twice glorious
Of Epharmostus in athlete-play.
Other wreaths did he win him in Nemea’s vale,
And at Argos again did his prowess prevail,
When in strife with men did he nowise fail,
As he failed not at Athens in boyhood’s day.
And what contest was that, when, waxing bolder,
From the boys’ ranks stealing at Marathon,
He abode the grapple of strong men older
Than he, for the silver cups to be won;
And by ring-craft that shifteth its balance fast
Never falling, he threw them. As tempest-blast
Rang the cheering, as down the arena he passed
In his goodlihead, goodliest deeds who had done.

At the festal assembly of Zeus Lycaean
Wondrous he showed in Parrhasia’s sight,
And again at Pellene’s games Heraean
He won him a warm defence from the spite
Of the blasts of winter, a mantle-vest.
And the sepulchre where Iolaus doth rest,
And Eleusis beside the sea attest
The splendour of all his deeds of might.
The gifts that by Nature’s self be given
Are ever the best; yet many there be
That by learning of teachers have painfully striven
To attain unto honour’s felicity.
But the deed whose achievement no God hath blessed,
That it never be published abroad is best.
Some paths there be that in glory’s quest
Lead farther than others her votary.

One path of endeavour, ye well may deem,
Leads not all men unto fame.
Ah, steep are poesy’s heights supreme;
Yet, Muse, when thou crownest his name
With thy guerdon of singing, with shout high-ringing
Fearlessly then proclaim
Of our champion, that Nature hath dowered him
By the favour of Fate the divine,
With deftness of hand, with litheness of limb,
With valour’s light in his eyne,
And that now victorious hath he made glorious
Oïlean Aias’ shrine.

Read ye to me his name—upon mine inmost heart ’tis writ—
Archestratus’ son, he who won the Olympian victory:
I owe him a sweet triumph-song—I had forgotten it!
At last, O Muse, and thou, O Truth, the child of Zeus most high,
Do ye with your atoning hands make of the offence an end:
Blot out the stain of broken troth, the sin against a friend!

From far hath come accusing Time with wings that slowly trail
Yet surely, crying shame on me for my deep debt unpaid.
Yet if with usury I pay it now, this may avail
To lift the burden, hush the lips that faithlessness upbraid.
My song shall swell as rolling surge that sweeps the shingle down,
Shall pay the wronged one friendship’s debt, shall chant his land’s renown.

Unswerving Honour’s home is there beside the western seas.
The Lokrians’ burg. They reverence the Queen of Epic Song
And Ares bronze-arrayed. Yea, even mighty Heracles
Must needs before your Kyknus flee, a foeman over-strong.
To Has let the Olympian victor render thanks this day,
Who trained Agesidamus’ hands for that grim gauntlet-play;
As oft Patroclus thanked Achilles, saith the old-time story.
The man for high achievement born shall win yet higher glory
If one with God’s help whet his spirit’s edge to each essay.

The joy of triumph few have won without hard toil, I ween,
The joy that is a light of life that makes the toil seem naught.
Statutes of Zeus have kindled me to sing the peerless queen
Of contests, which beside the tomb of Pelops ancient-wrought
Did Heracles with altars six found in that haunted dell
When Kteatus, Poseidon’s flawless son, before him fell;

And Eurytus he slew withal, to wrest his hire thereby
For service wrought, which Augeas the tyrant grudged to pay.
Couched in a copse ’neath Kleonae in ambush did he lie,
And as they came, leapt forth and fought and slew them in the way;
For Molos’ haughty sons had slaughtered his Tirynthian men
Erewhile by treachery, as they lay encamped in Elis’ glen.

And verily it was not long ere that Epeian lord
Guest-faithless saw his wealth-abounding land and his own town
Beneath the fire’s remorseless breath and iron stroke of sword
Into the dark unfathomed gulf of ruin sinking down.
Ay, when a man hath rushed into contention, hard it is
To win forth thence, and loose the grip of mightier foes, I wis.
Yea, Augeas’ self, brought by his redeless counsel to confusion,
Was captive taken at the last, nor ’scaped sin’s retribution,
Hurled down to death, as one who falls from some sheer precipice.

Then Zeus’s mighty son assembled all his battle-band
And all the spoil of war: a sacred precinct did he trace
In Pisa for his sire supreme, and fenced on every hand
The Altis, and the bounds thereof in a clear open space
He marked out, and for rest and feasting all the plain around
Ordained; and so was Alpheus’ stream by him with honour crowned,

With the twelve Royal Gods; and on the height therein bestowed
The name of Kronos’ Hill; for when Oenomaus was king
Nameless it was, a crest by clouds of winter oversnowed.
And while men bowed them in that rite primeval worshipping,
The Fates were there unseen, yet close they stood beside him then,
And Time was there, who of the truth alone convinceth men.

For, journeying onward, clearly Time hath told truth manifest
How Heracles took battle’s gifts, how he divided all,
And to those Gods apportioned out of all the spoils the best,
And with due sacrifice ordained that fifth-year festival,
That first Olympiad whose fame has pealed the ages down.
And who were they, the first that won that new-appointed crown
With battling hands, with racing feet, with chariot swiftly flying,
Who in their hearts the vision saw of glory’s wreath undying,
And by their deeds of prowess won unperishing renown?

Adown the straight course of the racing-track Likyminius’ son
Oionus sped: fast did his feet before all rivals bound:
From Midea’s gates in Argolis he led his war-host on.
And by his wrestling Echemus made Tegea renowned.
The gauntlet-fighters’ guerdon from the lists Doryklus bore
Who dwelt in Tiryns. In the chariot-race of horses four

Samos of Mantinea, Halirhothius’ son, sped fast
Beyond the rest; and Phrastus’ lance with aim unerring flew;
And Nikeus past all rival marks the huge stone discus cast,
The weight that whirling round with circling sweep of hand he threw.
Then thundered forth the mighty cheer from all his war-mates there.
And lo, the fair-faced moon’s sweet light lit up the evening air.

Then rang the close with songs, as music rings through banquet-hall.
So voices still the victor sing, and feet the revel tread.
Now, as the grey beginnings of those contests we recall,
We too, in song named after Victory stately-charioted,
Will chant the thunder’s praise, the fiery-handed flames that fly
In crimson-flickering bolts of Him who wakes the thunder’s cry,
And sendeth down upon the earth his lurid-gleaming levin
Which sealeth every victory with Zeus’s sign from heaven.
And consonant with flutes shall ring my song’s rich melody,

Which here by Dirke’s stream renowned hath come to light at last.
As welcome to that father comes a son in wedlock born
Whose feet unto the further slope of young life’s hill have passed,
And lights a love-flame in the heart that was of joy forlorn—
For to a dying man is death a thing to hate yet more
If alien heirs like sheep shall herd his wealth of garnered store;—

Even so, Agesidamus, when from emprise nobly wrought
A man descendeth all unsung to mansions of the dead,
Scant pleasure all his toil hath won, his breath was spent for nought.
But upon thee the sweet-voiced lyre and dulcet flute have shed
The grace of all their winsomeness: like some wide-spreading tree
By those Zeus-born Pierian Maids thy fame shall fostered be.

And I, their earnest fellow-worker, to mine heart enfold
This glorious race of Lokrians. Song’s honey-dew I shower
On that burg of heroic men. Thy praises have I told,
Archestratus’ all-comely son, whose victory in that hour
Achieved by prowess of thine hand by mine own eyes was seen.
Beside the altar crowned in that Olympian demesne
I saw him! Goodly was his presence, strength and beauty blended
With that spring-bloom which glowed on Ganymede when he ascended
Heaven-high above death’s ruthless clutch, by favour of Love’s Queen.

Sometimes the wind-battalions shouting loud
Do men most service, now again
The rains of heaven, the children of the cloud,
Bring blessing in their train.
But when by toil one winneth victory,
The singer’s honey-throated lays
Upringing, plant for fame that yet shall be
A sure foundation, are a prophecy
Of exploits worthy praise.

Far beyond envy are the praises stored
For victors at Olympia crowned.
Songs are my sheep; I, as some shepherd-lord,
Find them fair pasture-ground.
By God’s gift inspiration bloometh aye
In the bard’s heart unfadingly.
Son of Archestratus, know thou this day,
Agesidamus, that my victory-lay
Shall sweetly sound for thee,

Shall for the triumph of thy ring-craft grace
With splendour thy bright olive-wreath,
And honour therewithal the Lokrian race
Fanned by the West-wind’s breath.
O Song-queens, hither speed your festal feet!
I pledge me in sincerity
No guest-repelling folk ye there shall meet,
Nor in fair chivalry
Unschooled: nay, over wisdom’s heights they range,
They with the spear were valiant ever.
That these be like their sires is nowise strange:
Red fox and thunder-throated lion change
Their inborn nature never.

Hear, O thou Daughter of Zeus the Deliverer, Fortune the Saver
From peril! Keep watch and ward, I implore,
Over Himera, burg of the far-stretching might; for ’tis by thy favour
That ships be steered to their haven-shore
Over the sea; and torrent-like wars, and council-decisions
Be guided on land. Tossed high, whelmed low
Be the hopes of men, as over a sea of delusive visions
Cleaving the treacherous waves they go.

But through all the years never any of men on the earth abiding
Hath found sure tokens from God to reveal
How he shall fare in the days to come, but in darkness hiding
Are the future’s warnings of woe or weal.
Many chances to men have befallen, yea, past all expectation:
Some plunge from joy into sorrow’s abyss;
And some, who have battled with troublous surges, by sudden mutation
Their anguish have changed for the height of bliss.

O son of Philanor, verily even thy swift feet’s glory
Had as dead leaves faded, unmarked, uncrowned,
There by the hearth of thy fathers: thy name had been heard not in story;
As a home-fighting cock hadst thou been unrenowned,
Had contention in Knossus of burgher with burgher in conflict gory
In the homeland not left thee no foot of ground.
But now at Olympia, Ergoteles, winning a victory-garland
And at Isthmus, at Pytho, twain—by these
Thou exaltest to honour the steaming Baths of the Nymphs in a far land,
On thine own lands dwelling in stormless peace.

Now, while I laud a house that thrice can vaunt
Olympian victory, gracious to the guest,
To fellow-burghers courteous, I will chant
With theirs the praise of Corinth heaven-blest.
Here Isthmian Poseidon fixed his portals,
This city glorious—noble sons are hers!
Here hath Fair Governance her home mid mortals,
Here dwell her sisters, city-stablishers,
Justice, and Peace her fellow-fosterling:
God’s stewards of true wealth to men they be,
Themis’s golden daughters, they who bring
Wise counsels from the Queen of Equity;

And resolute are they afar to scare
Insolence, glutted greed’s tongue-shameless dam.
Fair witness of them it is mine to bear;
By forthright boldness spurred to speak I am.
None can suppress our nature’s inborn powers,
Hide them can none. On you, Aletes’ seed,
Oftentimes have the Seasons crowned with flowers
Bestowed the splendour of the victor’s meed
As upon men with hero-prowess fired,
Men in the sacred Games with victory wreathed;
And oft into men’s souls have they inspired
Devices wise by them of old bequeathed.

To him of whom first each invention came
Is all the honour due. Who caused to appear
Dionysus’ graces, with the dithyramb
That wins the ox? Who unto horses’ gear
Added the rein? On temples god-enshrining
Who set the twofold image of the king
Of birds? Flower-fragrant there the Muse is shining,
And Ares spear-girt by a warrior-ring.

Olympian Lord most high, who far and wide
Reignest, grudge not fulfilment of my prayer
Through all time! May this city’s folk abide
In safety! May the breeze of fortune fair
That breathes on Xenophon, blow constant ever!
The due procession singing home his crown
Accept thou, as from Pisa’s plain and river
He leads it onward to his native town.
For victor in the Contests Five is he
And in the foot-race: so hath he attained
Such glory multiplied of victory
As mortal never yet before hath gained.

And shadowed was his head by garlands twain
When Isthmus saw him win the parsley-meed:
Kindness no less from Nemea did he gain
The record of his father’s lightning speed
Is treasured still where Alpheus softly paces.
Yea, and at Pytho by his feet were won
The crowns of honour in the twofold races,
Single and double, under one day’s sun.
In that same month at rocky Athens-town
A day fulfilled of glorious victory
Set on his hair crown after victor’s crown
Whose flying feet had won him races three.

Seven times Hellotia crowned him. ’Twere too long
To tell how with their father Ptoiadore
Did Terpsias and Eritimus strong15
Triumph in games beside the Sea-god’s shore;
How oft at Delphi ye, and in the Lion’s
Dark glen stood first—though my song-treasury
Outrival all bards, their tale bids defiance
To reckoning; countless as the sands they be.

But to each thing pertaineth measure meet,
And best of all it is to know aright
The fit time. I, who sail in your great fleet,
Yet choose mine own course, sing the battle-might
And wisdom of old days, and in the telling
Lie not—of heroism’s highways trod
By Corinth, and of Sisyphus excelling
In cunning counsels even as some God,
And of Medea, her who dared defy
Her father, chose at her own heart’s behest
A bridegroom, and the saviour was thereby
Of Argo and the Heroes of the Quest.

Again of old when dashed the war’s red seas
Against Troy’s walls, ’twas ever Corinth’s sons
That swayed to either side war’s balance, these
Helping Atreides and his mighty ones
To win back Helen, those to make resistance
Unto the uttermost, when Danaans quailed
Before strong Glaukus, who from the far distance
Of Lycia’s highlands flashed on them bronze-mailed,
And vaunted of his father’s empery
Over the city of Peirene there,
And of his heritage of deep-loamed lea,
And of his stately palace royal-fair,

That sire who sorely suffered by the spring
Where he would fain bind snake-haired Gorgon’s son
Pegasus. Dreaming, he saw Pallas bring
The bridle that with golden frontlet shone:—
And lo, ’twas no dream! “Aiolid prince, awake thee!”
She cried—“Receive this spell to charm yon steed.
To thine horse-taming Sire with this betake thee;
There let a white bull on his altar bleed.”

Thus as he slumbered in the gloom of night,
The Maid of the Dark Aegis seemed to say.
Upleaping, on his feet he stood upright,
And seized the marvel that beside him lay.
Then joyously to Corinth’s seer he wended,
And to the son of Koiranus he showed
How that strange venture of the night had ended,
How, trusting all the prophet did forebode,
He laid him down to sleep all through the night
Upon the altar in Athene’s fane;
How she, the Child of Him whose lance of light
Is levin, with her own hands did she deign

To bring to him the spirit-taming gold.
The seer bade haste that vision to obey;
To the Wide-ruler who doth earth enfold
The bull, the mighty-footed beast, to slay;
And then to rear to Pallas chariot-reining
An altar. Ah, by power of Gods is brought
To pass a thing transcending prayers’ attaining,
Transcending all hope—effortlessly wrought!
So was it now; for strong Bellerophon
With haste impetuous hied him forth to quell
That winged steed—lo, the victory was won
When touched his jaws the fury-stilling spell!

He sprang on Pegasus’ back; in brazen mail
Arrayed to play the play of swords he sped;
And riding on that steed did he assail
From the chill cloudland’s folds untenanted
The Amazon host, the maids that bear the quiver;
Fire-breath’d Chimaera slew and Solymi.
That steed in Zeus’s stalls abideth ever:—
His rider’s doom I pass in silence by.

But, as I hurl the whizzing casting-spear,
My shaft beside the mark I may not speed.
To Song-queens splendour-throned with joy draws near
Their champion, and to Oligaithus’ seed.
How oft at Nemea these have shone victorious
And at the Isthmus, all will I comprise
In few words: of the record passing-glorious
My tale a truthful witness ratifies—
Ay, under oath—that noble herald’s tongue
Which published threescore victories in the names
Of this House—welcome-sweet his accents rung!—
When Nemea and the Isthmus held their games.

Touching their victories at Olympia won,
Meseems, the tale already hath been told;
And of the great deeds that shall yet be done,
Their tale hereafter shall my song unfold
Clearly. I hope now: with God lies the issue;
But, if this House’s fortune speed, I trow,
Zeus and the War-god’s hands shall weave the tissue
Of that bright future. ’Neath Parnassus’ brow
Six triumphs won they: all at Argos gained
And Thebes, and where by that Lykaian height
The altar royal unto Zeus ordained
Shall witness in Arcadia’s people’s sight,

And in Pellene, Megara, Sikyon,
And in the Aiakids’ close fair-walled around,
And at Eleusis, shining Marathon,
And towns by Etna’s huge mass overfrowned,
Euboea—nay, all Hellas through, thy questing
Shall prove them countless. Zeus, who answerest prayer,
Light let their feet glide on! Be honour resting
On these, all bliss be theirs and fortune fair!

O ye who your lot by Kephisus have found,
Ye who dwell in the land where the swift horse races,
O bright Orchomenus’ queens, ye Graces
Who compass the ancient Minyans round
With your guardian arms, O song-renowned,
Now hearken my prayer! By your bounty all pleasure,
All sweet things on menfolk descend in full measure,
All wisdom, all beauty, all fame with its splendour.
’Tis with help that the Graces, the worshipful, render
That the Gods’ own dancings and feastings be holden;
Yea, these be dispensers of all things in Heaven.
By the side of the Lord of the bow all-golden,
Pythian Apollo, be thrones to them given;
The Olympian Sire are they ever adoring,
And his majesty’s fountain for aye outpouring.

O Daughters of Zeus of the Gods most high,
Euphrosyne lover of song, and Aglaia,
And thou who dost joy in the chant, Thalia,
Hearken ye now to our suppliant cry!
Look down as our triumphing troop sweeps by,
As onward with lightsome foot it is pacing
The victor’s fortune of happiness gracing.
I come hither the praise of Asopichus singing,
In Lydian measure my chant outringing,
For that now is the Minyan House victorious
By your grace at Olympia. Fly, Echo, telling
Unto old Kleodamus the tidings glorious
That shall brighten Persephone’s dark-walled dwelling,
How his son in the Vale far-famous in story
Hath enwreathed his tresses with garlands of glory.