When thou earnest to ask what healing the Gods would grant of their grace
For thy stammering tongue. Of a surety now in the latter days,
As when mid the springtide’s roses a burgeoning tree is seen,
So, eighth in the line of Battus, Arkesilas’ leaf is green.
Even him did Apollo and Pytho cause to be triumph-renowned
In the chariot-race in the presence of all folk dwelling around.
I will hymn his fame to the Song-queens, and will sing of the Golden Fleece,
Of the Minyans’ Quest and the sowing of god-given glory for these.