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.