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: “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,
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 roUing 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.