The Nemean Odes
O breathing-place of Alpheus panting in chase of the Nymph Arethusa, O child
Of Syracuse world-renowned, Ortygia, couch of the Huntress-queen of the wild,
O sister of Delos, the chant sweet-ringing is speeding from thee to proclaim with singing
The mighty glory of tempest-footed horses, by Zeus’ grace, Etna’s lord;
For the chariot of Chromius and Nemea stir me to yoke to her victory song’s reward.
Lo, how the Song’s foundations are laid in homage of Gods, and in praise of the might
Of the victor’s godlike prowess! By fortune fair is he lifted to glory’s height.
Even the Song-queens joy in recording contests strenuous, garland-awarding.
Ho, scatter achievement’s splendour-seed o’er the isle Lord Zeus to Persephone gave
To be Queen of the land fruit-wealthy, and bowed the locks that o’er brows Olympian wave
For his pledge to exalt her crowns of wealthy cities, this Sicily harvest-teeming;
And a people Kronion bestowed on her, wooers of war in bronze-hammered harness gleaming,
A folk of the spear and the steed, to be wedded full oft to Olympia’s olive-leaf golden:—
Lo, I have lighted on theme after theme, never falsely, but aye by the truth have I holden.
Sweet are the strains that I sing as I stand at the doors of a hero who loveth the guest;
And there is arrayed a banquet meet for a bard in the halls whither oft have pressed
Strangers from far-off shores who departed:—O yea, he hath won for him friends true-hearted
By whom slander is quenched, as smouldering fire by water. Diverse be men in skill,
But in straight paths ever ’tis meet to walk, and to fight life’s battle as Nature shall will.
Bodily strength in action worketh, but wisdom of soul in counsel, for one
In whom is inborn the skill to foresee the future. Agesidamus’ son,
To thee, life through, by the grace of Heaven, have strength and wisdom alike been given.
I love not to hoard in mine halls vast wealth, but to taste life’s pleasures and share life’s wine,
For my good name’s sake, with friends; for the hopes of toil-tried men I account as mine.
For me, my spirit is willing thrall to the fascination of Heracles’ glory;
Mid the heights of achievement whereunto he soared I love to recall that old-time story,
How, soon as the son of Zeus came forth to the light of day with his twin-born brother,
When he leapt to the splendour of sunlight-glow from the travail-tormented womb of his mother,
Then Hera the gold-enthroned marked well where the babe mid his saffron swaddlings lay;
And the Queen of the Gods, with anger stung, two serpents against him sent straightway.
Into the chamber, when opened its portal, they slid, those servants of hate immortal,
Ravening-eager to coil their swiftly-darting jaws round the children twain.
But Heracles straightway uplifted his head, and was first to essay the battle-strain,
And of either serpent he gripped the throat in the hands wherefrom escape there was none,
Till the breath of life from their monstrous frames was breathed as the feet of time stole on.
But the arrow of horror soul-overpowering smote the maids round the bed of Alkmena cowering.
Yea, even she from her couch of the night had leapt of her tunic disarrayed,
And with weak woman-hands to beat the monsters’ tyrannous onslaught back she essayed.
And swiftly a throng of the chiefs Kadmeian came hurrying thither in bronze-mail clashing,
And thither the father Amphitryon hasted, his falchion bared from the sheath outflashing,
Smitten with keen-stabbing anguish: for each man’s grief on his own soul heavily presseth;
But soon disburdened of grief is the heart that nought but another’s affliction distresseth.
And there with his soul in a turmoil of wonder and rapture past all bearing he stood
Beholding the tokens of giant strength and the child’s unearthly-aweless mood:
For to falsehood the tale of the messengers’ telling by the Gods had been turned. Then one near-dwelling
He summoned, Teiresias ever-unerring seer, the prophet of Zeus most high;
And to him and to all his host the child’s life-fortune did that seer prophesy.
For he told how many justice-defying monsters on land and sea he should slay,
And should give unto death a man most hateful who walked in malice’s crooked way;
Yea also and when the strife should be striven on Phlegra’s plain of the Dwellers in Heaven
Against the earth-spawned Giants arrayed, then ’neath his arrows’ rushing rain
Should the flame-bright hair of the monster-brood be fouled in death with dust of the plain.
But himself, at rest from his mighty toils, should thereafter inherit through days unending
Peace ever-during, for sufferings past a recompense all earth-joys transcending,
In the mansions of bliss wherein, united to Hebe blooming in youth eternal,
With Zeus Kronion he sits at the feast in the deep content of a home supernal.
As the sons of Homer, the singers of deftly-woven lays,
Ever begin their chants with a prelude in Zeus’s praise,
So in the Grove whose glory is chanted in every nation
This hero-athlete hath laid his achievements’ first foundation
Where in Nemean Zeus’s name are bestowed the victor’s bays.
And if She, who unswerving hath guided his feet, even Destiny,
On the path by his forefathers trodden, hath given this man to be
A glory to mighty Athens, he surely is fated victorious,
This son of Timonous, often to pluck the flower most glorious
Of the Isthmian Games, and at Pytho to win the victory;
For ’tis meet that Orion’s rising should follow exceeding nigh
To the Pleiad Maids of the Mountain. Few can with Salamis vie
As a nurse of warriors mighty: yea. Hector in Troy’s war-leaguer
Heard Aias’ challenge; and thee shall thy prowess contest-eager
In the fivefold grapple, O Timodemus, glorify.
Acharnae, as tell old legends, for hero-sons is renowned;
And in all that pertaineth to contests pre-eminent still hath been found
This Timodemus’ House: in Parnassus imperial-seated
Have they won four victory-wreaths, strong champions aye undefeated.
Yea, also in royal Pelops’ mountain-folds were they crowned
Eight times by the sons of Corinth; in Nemea withal did they gain
Seven triumph-wreaths; and at home, where Olympian Zeus’s fane
Looks down on the contest, garlands whose number passeth the telling.
Let Timodemus, O citizens, hear your acclaim upswelling
Hailing his home-return! Now upraise ye the sweet-ringing strain.
O queenly Muse, our mother, hitherward come, I pray,
When the holy Moon brings round the Nemean festal day,
To Aegina the guest-thronged Dorian isle. Where the ripples are sliding
Of Asopian waves, young craftsmen of songs honey-savoured, abiding
Thy coming, are longing to hear thy voice’s great song-burden!
Sooth, diverse deeds ever thirst for many a diverse guerdon,
But victory in these Games above all things loveth Song
Meetest companion of crowns and of triumphs achieved by the strong.
O Muse, unto me full measure of inspiration accord,
And do thou, his daughter, upraise to the cloud-thronged heaven’s Lord
A noble hymn: I will blend it—its strains as in spousals allying
With the lyre and the voices of singers. Aegina’s glorifying
Shall be a delightsome task; for there did the Myrmidons olden
Dwell: on the place where in ancient days were their gatherings holden
By thy favour no shameful reproach did Aristokleides bring
By weakness in that great strife of the strong in the athlete-ring
Of the fivefold grapple, but there in Nemea’s low-lying plain
Won victory’s healing balm for the blows’ overtasking pain.
But if Aristophanes’ son, in whom is the beauty blended
Of glorious goodlihead and glorious deeds, hath ascended
To the heights of heroic achievement, impossible is it that he
Past Heracles’ Pillars should voyage on o’er a trackless sea,
Pillars the Hero-god set for a world-famed witness to men
Of their voyaging’s limits. Monstrous beasts had he quelled ere then
In the seas, and had tracked to the end the fen-floods sluggishly flowing
Till he came to the uttermost bourne that constrained his homeward going,
And he meted the bounds of earth:—but to what far foreland art bearing
On an alien shore, my soul, thy bark over dim seas faring?
Nay, I bid thee for Aiakus summon the Muse, and for Aiakus’ race;
For the flower of justice adorneth the precept, “The good shall thou praise.”
To cherish hot longings for far-away themes is nowise best:
Search rather at home. A fitting theme is the fruit of thy quest
For sweet song’s gracing. When deeds of the heroes of old thou art telling,
Sing the joy of king Peleus in hewing a lance all lances excelling,
How alone with no war-host he compassed Iolkos’ storming and spoiling,
And made captive and bride the Sea-goddess Thetis by strenuous toiling.
Sing of the world-famed might of Telamon, how with aid
Of Iolaus his war-fellow low was Laomedon laid,
And the Amazon Maids of the brazen bows did he face in the fray
With him; nor the edge of his spirit was ever dulled by dismay
The queller of men. It is inborn valour with peril that copeth;
He whose valour of others is learnt is a man that in darkness gropeth.
His will is a wind ever-veering; his feet are unstable aye;
Ineffectual his purpose is still, though achievements untold he essay.
But Achilles the golden-haired, while in Philyra’s home yet he stayed,
Child though he were, made mighty deeds but his sport: he swayed
The short-headed dart in his hands, and, swift as the wild wind’s pinions,
Death to the lions he dealt whom he tracked through their forest-dominions.
Boars also he slew, and the pulsing bodies of boar and lion
Still would he hale to the cave of the Centaur, Zeus’s scion,
At the first when but six years old, but thereafter through all those days,
So that Artemis, yea, and Athene the dauntless beheld with amaze,
As he slew the deer, unholpen of hounds or the net’s hidden guile;
For by fleetness of foot he outran them. This tale told long erewhile
I recall, how that Jason was reared in the cave of the rock-rib rafter
By deep-thoughted Cheiron, who nurtured Asklepius thereafter,
And taught how by herbs and the pain-soothing hand is disease resisted,
And who won for Peleus the Daughter of Nereus, the ivory-wristed,
And fostered for her that goodliest man of men, their son,
And trained up his soul unto greatness by chivalry alone,
That, borne on the swift-rushing wings of the winds o’er the sea’s highway
Unto Troy, he might bide the Lycian and Phrygian and Dardan array
As their battle-cry rang through the clashing of lances, and close undaunted
With the Aethiop spearmen, and set the resolve in his heart firm-planted
That Helenus’ fiery-hearted kinsman from battle-strain
Should return not, nor Memnon their chieftain behold his home again.
Thence flashed it, the splendour of Aiakus’ house, which abideth for aye,
O Zeus! They are thy blood: thine is the contest whereon my lay
Like an arrow hath lit; in its strains young voices the glory are singing
Of the land: for victorious Aristokleides ’tis meetly outringing,
Who hath added another wreath of renown unto this isle’s story,
And hath brightened the Pythian Shrine of the Envoys with visions of glory.
For the issue of all endeavours is seen in the hour of the test,
Whereby alone is it proved what champion is best of the best,
Be he a boy among boys, or a man among men, or again
An elder mid elders, as places in life’s race-course appertain
Unto humankind—yea, four be the excellences attending
Each life, and to each as it comes all heed should a man be lending.
Thou art lacking in none. Farewell, friend! Lo, unto thee am speeding
The Muses’ honey; and blended therewith is milk white-beading
With fairy bubbles the foam of whose mingling mantles around
A chalice of song ushered in by Aeolian flutes’ sweet sound,
Late though it come. Most swift is the eagle of all winged things,
Who suddenly grips in his talons with far-flying swoop of his wings
His blood-stained quarry. But chattering daws o’er the low grounds hover.
On thee, whom the favour of Klio the splendour-throned doth cover
With glory, because of thy spirit, the athlete-champion’s mind,
From Nemea and Megara light, and from Epidaurus, hath shined.
When conflict’s bitter strain to its decision
At last attaineth, then the best physician
Is mirth, to close the overtasking day.
And song, the Muses’ child inspired, can lay
On the heart’s wounds her magic hands of healing.
Not steaming baths so softly charm away
The ache of toil, as words of praise outpealing
In unison with the lyre. Man’s speech shall long
Outlast his deeds, what words soe’er the tongue
Hath drawn up, by the Graces’ kind control,
From wells of inspiration in the soul.
Now be it mine to make such song-oblation,
To Zeus Kronion tendering dedication
Thereof, and Nemea. This my prelude be
To Timasarchus’ wrestling. Be it of thee
Welcomed, O Aiakids’ stronghold goodly-towered,
Beacon of justice, aliens’ sanctuary!
O were thy sire Timokritus yet dowered
With life’s heat by the sun all-quickening,
Oft bending o’er the changeful cithern-string
Would he have waked his music for his son,
And hymned the glorious triumph he hath won,
Who from Kleonae brought a perfume-streaming
Festoon of wreaths, and one from marble-gleaming
Renownèd Athens; and again beside
Amphitryon’s sepulchre fame-glorified
Old Kadmus’ sons in Thebe seven-gated
Rained on him flowers with welcome kindly-eyed
In whose love is Aegina consecrated;
For thither as a friend to friends he hied,
As doth a ship into a haven glide,
Came to that burg which welcomes aye the guest,
Came to the Hall of Heracles heaven-blest,
With whom went stalwart Telamon for the smiting
Of Troy, and met the Meropes grim-fighting,
And Alkyoneus the giant did they slay,
A warrior terrible in battle-play;
Yet slew him not till rocks like slingstones whirling
From his hands crushed in shattered disarray
Twelve cars, and hero-riders deathward hurling
Twice twelve he strewed amid that wreck of cars.
Wholly unversed is he in lore of wars
To whose ears never that old saying came,
“Who doeth violence must endure the same.”
But not for me is legend’s full unfolding,
Who see the law of song mine hand withholding:
Yea, and the hasting hours brook no delay.
A strong spell draws me on to sing the day
Of the New Moon that on those Games was shining.
Though round thee breast-high plash the deep-sea spray,
Stand firm! Strive on ’gainst treacherous foes’ designing!
O’er foes triumphant shall we win the port
In clear day! One of less heroic sort,
With envy evil-eyed, in darkness schemes;
But fruitless to the ground shall fall his dreams.
But one thing certainly mine heart divineth,
That, whatso excellence Lord Fate designeth
For me, Time’s onward-stealing feet will bring
To its ordained perfection that same thing.
Weave on, O winsome Lyre, make speed in weaving
Thy web of song that shall accordant ring
With Lydian harmony, song-vesture cleaving
Lovingly round Oenone and Cyprus, where,
Far from the ancient home constrained to fare,
An island-king Telamonian Teucer is,
While Aias rules ancestral Salamis;
And in the Euxine Sea a sunbright island
Achilles rules; and in the Phthian highland
Still Thetis queens it; in the pastures green
Of broad Epirus, where long forelands lean
From oakwoods of Dodona downward trending
To the Ionian sea-gulf’s rippling sheen,
Neoptolemus rules a people cattle-tending.
But the land under Pelion capt with cloud,
Iolkos, was of old to thraldom bowed
When Peleus turned thereon a warring hand,
And to Haimonians gave the traitor’s land;
Because Akastus, son of Pelias, hearkened
Unto Hippolyte’s counsels treachery-darkened,
From Peleus stole the sword that Daedalus wrought,
And by the ambush of the man-brutes sought
To murder him: howbeit righteous Cheiron
Rescued him, and that destiny he brought
To pass which Fate had framed with hand of iron.
So Peleus quenched the violence of fire,
And quelled the keen claws and the furious ire
Of lions dauntless-hearted, and the grim
Edge of the terrible teeth that threatened him,
And won to wife the Child of Nereus hoary,
Thetis the bright-throned, saw the enringing glory
Of seats whereon the Lords of sky and sea
Were throned, their bridal gifts of sovranty
To him and his seed after him revealing,
Even the mighty kingdoms that should be.
But past Gadeira and the gloom concealing
The outsea none press. Turn the sail again
Of the ship backward unto Europe’s main.
The whole tale of the sons of Aiakus’ line
To tell throughout transcends all powers of mine.
I with the Clan Theandrid covenanted
To be their herald: lo, my lips have chanted
Their prowess! Of those contests is my song
Which make the thews of champions passing strong.
Olympia, Isthmus, Nemea—wheresoever
They prove their might amid the athlete-throng,
Without renown for fruit they turn back never
Home, Timasarchus, where thy clan, ’tis told,
In victory-crowns pre-eminence doth hold.
If thou wouldst bid me rear, besides all these,
Unto thy mother’s brother Kallikles
A pillar more than Parian marble splendid—
As gold when the refiner’s work is ended
Shows all its brightness forth, so by the lay
That chants great deeds in war or athlete-play
A man is raised to heights of bliss excelling
The pomp of kings—let him then, though to-day
On Acheron’s shore thy Kallikles be dwelling,
Yet catch the sound of this my voice that sings
On earth his praise who in the athlete-rings
Of the great Trident-wielder thunder-voiced
With brows at Corinth garland-crowned rejoiced.
His praise did Euphanes thy grandsire hoary
Sing, fain to tell, my son, his prowess’ story.
Hymned by the old bards men of old have been;
But, whatsoe’er each singer’s self hath seen,
That trusteth he that best of all he singeth.
So he that chants Melesias’ praise, I ween,
Would be as one who every rival flingeth
To earth, with words like wrestlers’ limbs that twine;
In grapple of speech yields never his mighty line—
A courteous conqueror of a noble foe,
He deals the churl relentless overthrow.
No carver of statues am I, to fashion images moveless abiding
Dumb on the pedestals where men set them! Nay, sweet song of mine,
Forth do thou fare from Aegina’s haven, on every tall ship riding,
And on every pinnace, bearing the tidings over the far sea-line
How Pytheas, son of Lampon the stalwart-thewed, hath won the crown
Of victory at the Nemean Games, the All-overcomer’s renown,
Ere his cheeks were flushed with the summer bloom of the soft vine-cluster’s down.
So to the Aiakids, hero-spearmen from Kronos and Zeus descended
And from the golden Nereid Sea-maids, honour hath Pytheas brought,
And to the mother-city which alway the stranger-guest hath befriended.
That peopled with heroes and famed for ships she might be, this was besought
By Endaïs’ scions the far-renowned and by princely Phokus’ might
Who of Psamatheia the Goddess was born on the sea-beach foam-flecked white.
By the altar they stood of Zeus the Hellenian Sire, and to heaven’s height
These all together uplifted their hands, and for that boon made supplication.
I shrink with shame from telling the awful deed unrighteously dared,
And the doom from Oenone that drave them forth to be men without a nation,
And how from the far-famed island-home those mighty heroes fared.
I refrain: not every perfect truth its face should prudently show,
And how to be silent is oft the wisest thing that a man may know.
But and if the praise of riches or might of hands or of battleward-sweeping
Steel-clad war-hosts kindle the heart of the bard, let them delve me the ground
For a long leap hence—O yea, for my knees are strung for lightsome leaping.
Ay, an eagle am I, and the eagle’s swoop is beyond the sea-line’s bound.
Yea, for those heroes the welcoming song upon Pelion’s height was sung
By the choir most lovely of Muses nine; and the lyre with seven chords strung
With the golden quill in Apollo’s hand was swept till melodies rung
Of strains ever changing in manifold wise. The praises of Zeus they chanted;
Then sang they of Thetis and Peleus, and how Hippolyte, wanton child
Of Kretheus, fain would have trapped his feet in the treachery-net that she planted;
And her husband, the lord of the Magnete folk, by a tale of lies she beguiled,
And by counsel of subtlety wrought upon him to share in her own dark plot;
For a slanderous tale of her heart’s devising, a web of deceit she wrought,
How that Peleus had shamed her, Akastus’ queen, and his bed’s defilement sought.
But contrary thereunto was the truth, for with passionate heart she besought him
Oft with beguiling words; but her bold speech stirred him to wrath: straightway
He refused her embraces; with awe of the anger of Guest-ward Zeus he bethought him.
And Allfather, the King of Immortals, who marshals the host of the cloud-array,
Was ware thereof, and pledged by his nod that his bride ere long should be
Of the Maids of the Golden Distaff a child of the Ancient of the Sea.
For Poseidon their kinsman’s consent would he win, who from Aigae on shores Euboean
Oft rideth the ridges of sea to the world-famed Dorian Isthmus, where
Glad chorus-companies welcome the God with the reed-flutes’ ringing paean,
And men contend in the lists with the fearless strength of lithe limbs there.
’Tis the Fate which is linked with the hour of our birth that controlleth our whole life long
Our actions. Thou from Aegina twice, Euthymenes the strong,
Hast leapt to the arms of Victory, and hast won the guerdon of song.
O Pytheas, still doth thy mother’s brother honour his kin who follow
In the steps of one of the selfsame blood. Upon thee did Nemea smile,
And the Delphian festal month of Aegina, ever-beloved of Apollo.
Triumphant wast thou o’er thine age-mates all, alike in thy native isle,
And by Nisus’ hill of the pleasant glades. I rejoice that for glory’s crown
In the lists of honour contendeth still Aegina’s every town.
But forget not thy debt to Menander, through whom were thy toils repaid with renown.
It is meet that of Athens a trainer be lent! If thou art come condescending
To praise Themistius, Muse, shrink not! Uplift thy voice! Hoist high
The sail to the topmast-yard! Proclaim him victor with fists contending
And in that strife all-overcoming, who won him a double victory
At Epidaurus, and thence to the portals of Aiakus did he bear
Flower-garlands with green sprays twined, led on by the Graces of golden hair.
One is the race of men, and one the race of Gods; but they
And we alike are children of the same Earth-mother’s womb.
Yet some Power wholly diverse sunders us: we fade away
To nought, but evermore abides their heaven’s brazen dome,
Through all the years, the eternal years, their never-shaken home.
Yet have we something in us like the Gods, the everlasting—
It may be this our mighty mind, our nature it may be—
Yet know we not what course by day, or ’neath night’s wings on-hasting
Is marked out, for our feet to run therein, by Destiny.
Now, now Alkimidas hath proved, plain for all eyes to see,
That this his House is like the fields that flame with golden grain,
Which, in the alternating years, now yield abundantly
To toiling men the bread of life that loads the laughing plain,
And in the year thereafter rest, to gather strength again.
Lo, now Aegina’s athlete-son, from where in Nemea holden
Are those heart-gladdening contests, cometh home, who, following
The course whose chart was by the destiny of Zeus unfolden,
Hath proved no baffled glory-hunter in the wrestling-ring.
His feet along the footprints of Praxidamas have raced,
Even those by one of his own blood, his father’s father, traced,
Who, in Olympia victor, first brought home the olive-spray
For Aiakus’ princely line’s renown,
Five times at Isthmus won the crown,
At Nemea thrice, and wiped Sokleides’ deedless stain away,
Of sons of Agesimachus the eldest—yet ungraced.
Howbeit he saw the crown of prowess won by athletes three,
His sons, who dared the trial, and achieved. By Heaven’s aid,
There is none other house beside that is by victory
Proclaimed the holder of more crowns in that stern strife essayed
At Hellas’ inmost heart with gauntlets in the olive-glade.
Straight flew mine arrow to the mark, though I have told their story
In vaunting strain; yet none the less true rang my bowstring then.
Come, O my Muse, unto this victor waft thy gale of glory,
The breath of song! For when from earth have passed her mighty men,
Then rescued from oblivion are their noble deeds by lay
And legend. Oh, the Bassid Clan hath little lack of these,
That house of ancient fame! A freight of triumph-song bear they—
’Tis all their own. Well may their stately march of victories
Inspire the bards who till the fields of the Pierides
With plenteous theme for song! ’Neath Phoebus’ temple’s holy shadow
One of the blood of this same clan, his strong hands gauntlet-bound,
Kallias, won his house a victory in Pytho’s meadow,
Who erst with Golden-distaff Leto’s children favour found.
And brightly blazed at eventide his name by Castaly,
When rang the Graces’ chant. The Bridge ’twixt sea and tireless sea
Gave honour to Kreontidas at that feast where the blood
Of bulls in third-year feasts is poured
Forth in the close of the Sea-lord.
Brow-shadowed by the Lion’s herb of Nemea once he stood
Victor ’neath Phlius’ ancient hill dark-draped with many a tree.
For bards who tell the tale of old-time legend, broad and fair
On every hand stretch out the avenues that open lie
To glorify this world-famed isle: to her folk the Aiakids there
By their example gave of mighty deeds high destiny.
Across the land, across the sea, their name’s renown flies high.
Yea, even to the Aethiop folk, who saw not home returning
Alive their chieftain Memnon, leapt that terrible renown
What time Achilles hurled on them grim conflict, vengeance-burning
For Nestor’s son, and from his car to Troy’s red plain sprang down,
And when the point of that wrath-gleaming spear laid low the son
Of splendour-glowing Dawn. This was the track oft trod before,
A chariot-highway, where the bards of olden time rode on.
And I too follow in their path, inspired by legend-lore.
Yet still the wave that nighest rolls unto the steering-oar
Disquiets most the shipman’s heart; so, twofold burden bearing,
Alkimidas, on willing shoulders, to thy land I speed.
A messenger to tell that thou, thy new-won glory sharing
With thy far-famous house, this five-and-twentieth triumph-meed
Hast gained in those proud conflict-lists which men name “Games Divine.”
Yea also, and the hope of Polytimidas, and thine
Of garlands twain in Kronius’ close were snatched, my son, from thee
By chance of lots. None can surpass
In training-lore Melesias:
He guides, like cunning charioteer, athletes to victory,
Teaching a swiftness fleet as dolphin dashing through the brine.
O Eileithyia enthroned for ever
By the Destinies deeply-brooding, hearken,
Thou Daughter of Hera the mighty, O giver
Of birth unto babes! Unholpen of thee
Never a child of man may see
The day-dawn break or the even darken;
Nor ever thy sister may we behold,
Young Hebe with limbs of glorious mould.
We receive not our breath for a like life all,
But to each doth his several destiny fall.
We are fettered by Fate. By thy grace alone
Chanted to-day are the glorious feats
Wrought in the contest of pentathletes
By Sogenes, son of Thearion.
For he dwells in a city where cannot perish
Delight in song, where rule spear-clashing
Aiakids: eager are they to cherish
A spirit in strife of the Games well-tried.
If a man by achievements be glorified,
He hath dropped on the Muses’ rills sun-flashing
Honey-sweet matter for song-delight.
For shrouded in gloom of oblivion’s night
Are mighty deeds that be left unsung.
One mirror alone do we know that hath flung
Their reflection afar to endure for long,
If by grace of the Lady of Memory
Of the shining coronal, these may see
Their requital for toils in ringing song.
Wise shipmen know, though the fair wind tarry,
It will blow on the third day; therefore they wait
Patiently, letting not gain-lust carry
Their freight to destruction. The small and the great
Alike to the bourne of death pass down.
But I deem that Odysseus inherits renown
Far, far surpassing his sufferings,
Through the sweet-voiced lay that Homer sings.
For over his winged poet-craft and its feigning
Hath some strange glamour of majesty brooded;
And beguiled by his inspiration’s constraining
Through his realm of faery lost we stray.
Ah, the general throng of mortals aye
Are blinded of heart! Were their eyes not hooded
From discerning the truth, never Aias the strong,
For the armour wroth, as is told in song,
Had thrust through his heart the sword smooth-bright—
Aias, the mightiest man in fight,
Save Achilles, of all that to Ilium fared
By the west-wind wafted over the tide
With breath unswerving, to rescue the bride
Of Menelaus the golden-haired.
Over all men alike the dark surge sweepeth
Of Hades, on fameless heads hath descended
And on men of renown: but honour keepeth
Their memories green whose after-fame
God causeth to wax ever fairer, the name
Of battle-helpers whose days are ended,
Even such as in old time journeyed on
Unto wide-bosomed earth’s great navel-stone.
So buried ’neath Pytho’s floor doth lie
Neoptolemus, there foredoomed to die
When Priam’s town had been sacked by his hand,
Where also the Danaans travailed sore.
But he missed on the home-voyage Skyros’ shore;
So wandering came they to Ephyre-land.
Short time in Molossia the mighty-hearted
Reigned; but the honour was borne evermore
By the hero’s posterity. Thence he departed
To the shrine of Apollo, and thitherward bore
Rich treasure, the choicest of all the prey
That was gathered from Troy. But there, in a fray
Embroiled touching sacrifice-meats, by the knife
Was he slain of a treacherous lover of strife.
But the Delphians were stricken with grief heart-thrilling—
Guest-welcomers they:—howbeit so dying
His fate foredoomed was he but fulfilling;
For in that most ancient hallowed place
Was it destined that one of the royal race
Of the Aiakids should through the ages be lying
By Apollo’s mansion of fair-walled pride,
And should over the hero-processions preside,
That Justice’s fair name none may despise.
And, touching the issue, three words shall suffice:
No false witness is he, who there
Sitteth umpire o’er deeds by the mighty wrought.
Aegina, I fear not to utter my thought
Of the children whom thou unto Zeus didst bear,
Even this—they have trodden a highway of glory
By inheritance theirs; through deeds most mighty
Have they won it—yet needs not to dwell on their story.
Sweetly doth rest after labour come:
Even honey may cloy, and the flowers that bloom
Delightsome in gardens of Aphrodite.
Diversely all men’s natures be wrought,
And each man draweth his several lot
In life; but if any man think to attain
Unto bliss all-perfect, his hope is vain.
None know I to whom I can say that Fate
This consummation hath granted, to be
Inalienable. Thearion, thee
In season she bringeth to happy state;
Thou hast shown aforetime a spirit daring
In gallant deeds: Fate suffereth not
That thy wisdom now know any impairing.
Thy guest-friend I, I abhor the thought
Of slander stealing in darkness to stain
The man that I love; nay, praise will I rain
Upon him, and crown him with glory; this
For the noble of heart meet guerdon is.
Nay, if any Achaian of those abiding
Beside the Ionian sea be near me,
He shall nowise blame me: I rest confiding
On my friendship-tie: mid the folk of my land
With clear gaze meeting their eyes I stand.
Of the charge of presumptuous dealing I clear me;
All violence thrust I, a hater of strife,
From my feet. May the residue of my life
Flow blithesomely! He shall testify
Who knoweth me, whether with slander and lie
I jangle the music of life as I go.
Sogenes, son of the Eupatrid Clan,
The mark-line never I overran
When I shot swift speech—as one that should throw
The bronze-headed dart with a cast that delivers
Neck and sinew from wrestling with sweat down-pouring
Ere the limbs strain hard where the sunglare quivers—
Never, I swear it! If toil there hath been,
The delight that succeedeth is yet more keen.
Nay, forgive, if my song over-loudly was soaring
For old times’ glory! In these my lays
No niggard am I of the victor’s praise.
Easy it is flower-garlands to twine;
Nay, but tarry a space till this Muse of mine
Shall have knit the gold to the ivory
And the lily-like blossom of stone that she drew
From the depths where it lurked beneath spray-dew
That falls on the face of the slumbrous sea.
But bethink thee of Zeus the while thou raisest
For Nemean triumph the far-ringing song
Soft-swelling. ’Tis meet that the while thou praisest
Him who sitteth enthroned the Immortals among,
Such praise be chanted in this your land
With reverent voice by the chorus-band,
For that here of his seed begotten, ’tis sung,
Of an Isle-nymph mother hath Aiakus sprung
To be for the fair-famed land of his mother
A ruler of cities, in all thy labour
To be ever a loyal friend and brother,
O Heracles! If a man may prove
Of his fellow-man any fruition of love,
Then well may we say that neighbour to neighbour
Is a joy that is worth all else beside
If with steadfast heart in his love he abide.
Now if also a God will sanction this,
By thy favour, O queller of giants, it is
That, rendering aye love-homage meet
To his father, fain would Sogenes
Dwell mid ancestral memories
In the stately-builded sacred street
Where his home ’twixt thy temples doth stand, which face him
At his goings forth, as with blessing laden:
Like a chariot’s twin yokes, so they embrace him.
And thee, O Heracles ever-blest,
It beseemeth to win to grant his request
Hera’s Lord and the grey-eyed Maiden.
For oft upon mortals canst thou bestow
Help in the hour of the bitter woe
Of hopelessly tangled perplexities.
Oh wouldst thou but link with the life of these
All steadfast strength, through youth’s glad day
Weaving its web of happiness still
Till an easeful eld thy task fulfil!
May their children’s children possess for aye
The honour that now is theirs, and ever
Win greater glory in days to be!
But with all my soul I protest that never
Hath Neoptolemus’ name by me
Been befouled by slander dishonouring!—
Yet thrice, four times to repeat this thing
Is folly like his of whom children tire
As he babbles “Corinth hath Zeus for sire.”
Queen of the beauty of youth, thou herald of Aphrodite’s celestial yearning,
Who on eyelids of boys and of maidens enthroned, in hands spell-weaving for ever art turning
Our destinies to and fro, unto this man allotting joy, and to that man grief,
Sweet is it for one who hath transgressed never in aught that he doeth the right’s due measure
To be suffered to grasp the fulfilment of life’s most noble aims, of his heart’s dream-treasure.
Such spirits were they who dispensed the Cyprian’s gifts in the hour of the love-communion
Of Olympian Zeus and the Nymph Aegina, and born was Oenone’s king of their union,
One peerless in prowess and counsel; and many a time men prayed to behold that chief;
For of all the heroes that dwelt around him exceeding fain were their goodliest flower,
Unchallenged of any, to bow in subjection before him, obeying his sovran power,
Alike the heroes that marshalled the host in Athens’ crag-built town,
And they that in Sparta traced their long descent from Pelops down.
Lo, I come as a suppliant clasping the holy knees of Aiakus, bringing
For his city and people a Lydian crown fair-woven, with sweet song ringing,
For the foot-race victories Deinias and Megas his father at Nemea won;
For longest enduring mid men is prosperity sown with the blessing of God thereon;
So of old were riches on Kinyras heaped in Cyprus ringed with the sea-crests hoary.
Lo, upon light-poised feet do I stand, drawing breath till again I take up the story;
For in manifold wise many tales have been told; but to coin new thoughts and to put to assay
Of the touchstone—this is perilous all. A dainty morsel are heroes’ praises
For envy’s fang: she leaps on the great, but against the mean not a hand she raises.
By her was Telamon’s son devoured, by whose hand through his side was his own sword driven.
For the tongue-tied, how stout soever of heart, when the bitter strife of words is striven,
Is oblivion’s thrall; but shiftful lying beareth the goodliest guerdons away.
For by fraudful voting the Danaans showed to Odysseus favour, for truth uncaring;
And Aias, robbed of the golden armour, wrestled with death in his mad despairing.
Ha, diverse the wounds were they tore in the quivering flesh of foes, these twain,
When under the onset of storming spears men reeled in the battle-strain
Now o’er the fresh-stricken corse of Achilles, anon in the conflict-travail
Of days wide-ruining! Ay, for of old the hate of malignant cavil
Consorted with cunning speech, and imagined deceit and the venomous sneer. Ah yes,
The bright names still it assails, and exalts the abjects’ fame which is rottenness.
Never in me be such spirit as this, O Father Zeus! May I still be cleaving
To the paths of a life of innocency, and so unto death may I pass down, leaving
To my sons no name of evil repute! Some pray for gold, and others for land
Without limit: be I to my fellow-men well-pleasing, ever extolling the lover
Of righteousness, ever rebuking the doer of wrong, till the earth my limbs shall cover.
Ever groweth the fame of a noble life, as a tree that is quickened by dews down-drifted:
Yea, so by poets inspired and righteous high as the heavens its glory is lifted.
Of manifold sort be the uses of friends; but the chiefest of all is the helping hand
In trouble. Yet also doth happiness crave some certain assurance of bliss to inherit.
It is nowise within my power, O Megas, to call back again into life thy spirit:
Nay, vain is the end of baseless hopes! Yet for thee and thy Chariad line
I lightly may rear a pillar of song for feet of fair omen, thine
And thy son’s. With gladness unfeigned am I now the exultant praise outpealing
That befitteth your deeds. By the spell of song hath the singer oft brought healing
To the faintness of toil: yea, victory-chants processional rang in the olden days,
Long ere the flame of the feud ’twixt Kadmus’ sons and Adrastus began to blaze.
We will lead the revel, O Queens of Song, from Apollo’s Sikyonian fane
Unto new-built Etna—whose doors flung wide are too strait the throng of her guests to contain—
On unto Chromius’ wealthy palace. Upraise ye the chant of lips sweet-singing!
He hath mounted his car of the steeds triumphant, proclaiming a hymn in the Mother’s praise
And of her twin offspring who ward in fellowship Pytho through everlasting days
A saying there is among men—“It befits not that great deeds done he amerced of fame
And he buried in earth.” The chant celestial is meet the renown of such to acclaim.
Awake, awake ye the pealing lyre, awake the flute in the honour ringing
Of the crown of contests of steeds which Adrastus founded in Phoebus’ name beside
Asopus’ streams! When I tell their renown, in my far-ringing praise shall be magnified
That hero-king who exalted his city and made it glorious, reigning there,
With festivals new, and contests of strength of the athlete, and chariots carven fair,
Being exiled from Argos his home ancestral by Amphiaraus the aweless hearted
And by baleful sedition; for Talaus’ sons were lords no longer therein, overborne
By civil strife. When a stronger cometh, a realm from the rightful possessor is torn.
Yet the Talaïds gave for a pledge of alliance the woman destined her lord to betray,
Eriphyle, to Oikles’ son; and now of the bright-haired Danaans greatest were they;
And leading a valorous host of men on a march ill-omened to Thebes they departed,
To the burg seven-gated: but Kronos’ Son would speed them not from their home to fare
In their madness of heart, but hurling the flickering levin he bade from the journey forbear.
And so to a doom foreshown to their eyes that company marched with spear and targe
All-brazen, and war-steed trappings;—and there for ever they left on Ismenus’ marge
Sweet hope of their home-return, and fed with their war-grej^ corpses the smoke upsoaring.
Seven pyres ravined up those young men’s limbs; but for Amphiaraus Zeus with the might
Of his thunderbolt clave broad-breasted earth, and hid the man and his steeds from sight
Ere his warrior-soul should be shamed by a thrust in the back from Periklymenus’ spear:
For when panic is sent from Heaven, even the sons of the Gods must flee in fear.
If it be possible, O Kronion, such trial of manhood with spears blood-pouring,
Such struggle for hfe and death, I fain would defer to the uttermost. Nay, I implore,
Grant thou to the sons of Etna a portion in governance fair for evermore,
Zeus Father, and wed her people to pageant-splendours through gladsome streets outrolled.
Lo, there dwell chariot-lovers and men who have spirits above the lust of gold;—
Sooth, hard to believe is the thing I have said: greed steals away honour by secret cajoling,
Honour, renown-bringer. Hadst thou to Chromius been shield-bearer in battle’s day
Mid footmen or horsemen, or clash of ships, thou hadst judged what peril he faced in the fray.
For in war it was Honour the Goddess that girded his warrior-spirit with might to withstand
The War-god’s havoc of onslaught. Few there are that have strength of heart and hand
Backward to hurl on the foemen’s ranks the imminent war-cloud nearer rolling.
Yet is it told how Hector’s fame bloomed fair by Skamander in those old wars;
And even so on the banks of Helorus, the deep-channelled stream walled in by scaurs,
At the ford men call the Passage of Rhea dawned his light of victory
On Agesidamus’ son in his earliest manhood: in days thereafter hath he
Won many a triumph on dust-grey plains and on neighbour seas: I will tell their story.
But to toils by the strength of youth and the Right achieved there succeedeth when eld draws nigh
An even of calm. Let him know he is dowered with wondrous bliss by the Dwellers on high.
For if any, together with wealth abounding, have won him renown far-shining bright,
It can nowise be that a mortal’s feet may attain any loftier mountain-height.
Peace loveth the banquet: a conqueror’s fame like a tree grows with fresh-blossoming glory
Watered by soft-dropping dews of song. By the goblet the bard’s voice waxeth bold.
Let them mingle the mazer that heraldeth sweetly triumph’s processional-chant outrolled,
And in silver chalices bear around to the feasters the potent child of the vine,
In the cups that Chromius’ horses won him, and sent with the wreaths that for victors they twine
In Phoebus’ honour in holy Sikyon. Zeus, let me chant the fame, I implore thee,
Of Chromius’ prowess by help of the Graces, and outsing every rival in praise
Of his victory, hurling my shaft of song true-aimed to the mark that the Muses place.
Sing, Graces, the city of Danaus and of his fifty daughters splendour-throned,
Argos the dwelling of Hera, meet for a Goddess: she shineth starry-zoned
With countless achievements of chivalrous deeds of valiant heroes’ essaying,
Overlong to tell were the story of Perseus, the tale of the Gorgon’s slaying.
Many the cities were that were founded by Epaphus’ hands in Egypt-land.
Nor Hypermnestra from duty erred when alone she resolved to unsheathe not the brand.
And Diomedes immortal was made by a Goddess, the golden-haired, grey-eyed.
Stricken with thunderbolts of Zeus the earth at the gates of Thebes yawned wide,
And swallowed up Oikles’ son the seer, a storm-cloud battle-laden.
And peerless the land from of old is in beauty of fair-tressed matron and maiden:
Yea, this Zeus testified, thitherward coming for love of Alkmene and Danae.
In Adrastus’ father and Lynkeus the fruit of wisdom and justice blended she.
And she nursed the spear-renown of Amphitryon: mailed in bronze he went forth to fight
Teleboan foes, and was raised the while to the crowning summit of fortune’s height,
Being linked in affinity with Zeus, for then did the King of Immortals,
Taking upon him Amphitryon’s form, pass in through the palace-portals,
And aweless Heracles there he begat, who hath Hebe, of Goddesses fairest, for bride
Who with Hera her mother walks in Olympus, walks at the Marriage-perfecter’s side.
Ah, but my tongue would fail me to tell all glories wherein the hallowed close
Of Argos hath shared; and ill to encounter is jealousy of praise-weary foes.
Yet, yet awaken the lyre of the lovely strings! Be thy rapt meditation
Of the prowess of wrestlers! The strife for the buckler of bronze forth summons a nation
To the sacrifice of oxen to Hera, to conflict’s decision, where Oulias’ son,
Theaius, the twice-triumphant, to rest from the toils so unflinchingly borne hath won.
And at Pytho once o’er the Hellene host was he victor, and won by the gracious will
Of Fortune at Isthmus and Nemea crowns; and he gave to the Muses new acres to till
Thrice at the mountain-gates of the sea in the athlete-contests excelling,
And thrice on the hallowed ground where stood mid pastures Adrastus’ dwelling.
Zeus Father, his lips are sealed, but thou knowest his heart’s desire, for in thine hands rest
All issues of deeds. He prayeth thy grace with a toil-strong heart, with a dauntless breast.
All that I sing is known unto him and to whoso striveth to win the crown
Of that which of athlete-contests is chief—yea, Pisa beareth the highest renown
In Heracles’ ordinance;—yet was it sweet, that strain for his victory ringing,
When mid sacred Athenian rites he twice heard voices the prelude singing
Of processional chants, and the limpid fruit of the olive to Hera’s city came
In shrines fire-hardened, in pictured vases, unto the folk of heroic fame.
Full often, Theaius, the glory of contests triumphant attendeth the far-famed race
Of thy mother’s sires by the Graces’ favour, and by the Tyndarid heroes’ grace.
Were I unto Thrasyklus kinsman, and Antias, then with assurance unfailing
I would claim in Argos proudly to walk, the light of mine eyes never veiling.
For with how many victories hath this city of fleet steeds blossomed, this Proitus’ town!
Four times in Corinthian glens and from hands of Kleonae’s sons she received the crown;
And from Sikyon home with silver laden they came, with cups for the blood of the vine;
And they fared from Pellene with shoulders mantled with woof of the fleece soft-woven fine.
But the countless prizes of works of bronze, their tale can we nowise measure—
For the time would fail us to reckon their number, too brief were all our leisure—
Which Kleitor and Tegea-town, and the burgs Achaian each on her mountain-throne,
And the Hill Lykaian by Zeus’ course, offered, by prowess of feet and of hands to be won.
Since Kastor and Polydeukes his brother came for guest-welcome to Pamphaes,
No marvel it is that ever thereafter it should be inborn in the race of these
To be mighty men in the athlete-lists, for these twain, warders abiding
Of the wide-spreading dancing-lawns of Sparta, still unseen are presiding
Along with Hermes and Heracles, and mete out all fair governance due;
And to righteous men they have great regard, for the race of the Gods is faithful and true.
Now these twin brethren with lives interchanging pass with their father Zeus one day;
Through the next in the crypts of the underworld where the gorge of Therapnae yawns must they stay;
And so fulfil they an equal lot, for, when the choice was given,
Thus Polydeukes willed to live, and not to abide in Heaven
Alway and wholly a brotherless God, when Kastor his brother perished in fight:
For him did Idas, wroth for the raided kine, with the point of his bronze spear smite.
For down from Taÿgetus Lynkeus gazing afar, in an oak’s hollow trunk had espied
These twain in ambush; for he of all men dwelling on earth was keenest-eyed.
And straightway thither did Idas and Lynkeus hasten with feet swift-flying,
And suddenly compassed an awful deed when low lay Kastor dying.
Yet they suffered, those sons of Aphareus, dread retribution at Zeus’ hands. Came straightway
Leda’s son Polydeukes in chase: by the tomb of their father they turned to bay.
Thence did they wrench the carven stone which graceth the dead who in Hades lie,
And hurled it against Polydeukes’ breast; howbeit they crushed him not thereby,
Nor drave him backward; but onward he rushed with his lance as the lightning flashing,
And sped against Lynkeus the brazen point thereof through the ribs of him crashing.
And Zeus against Idas hurled a smouldering thunderbolt of fiery glow.
So together unmourned were the twain consumed. Hard is it to strive with a mightier foe.
Thence to his mighty brother Kastor Tyndareus’ son returned straightway,
And not yet dead he found him, but drawing his breath in shuddering gasps he lay.
Then from his eyes the hot tears burst, and broken with groanings panted
His wild cry forth, “O Father Kronion, shall no release be granted
From anguish? With this my brother, O King, command thou that death take also me!
From a man bereaved of friends is the glory departed; in suffering few there be
“That will loyally share with a man his trouble!” So cried he; and Zeus before him stood
And in this wise spake: “Mine own son thou art, but he that lieth here in his blood
Was after thee gotten of mortal seed by the hero-lord of thy mother.
But nathless choices twain do I grant unto thee; choose one or other:
If thy will be from death to escape and from grey old age that all men hate and fear,
And to dwell in Olympus with me and Athene and Ares of darkness-shrouded spear,
“This lot is thine to take; but if for thy brother thou strivest so earnestly
That steadfastly minded thou art that he shall in all things equally share with thee,
Then for the half of thy time shalt thou breathe with the underworld-gloom enfolden,
And for half thy time shall thy dwelling be in Heaven’s palaces golden.”
So spake the Father, and not for a moment doubted the son as touching his choice.
And the death-smitten eyes of bronze-mailed Kastor did Zeus unseal, and unchained his voice.
O Hestia, child of Rhea, who hast city-halls in ward,
Sister of Zeus most high and Hera throned beside her lord,
To thy bower welcome Aristagoras with gracious mien;
His feres to approach thy gleaming sceptre welcome graciously,
Who keep in safety Tenedos the while they honour thee.
Thee oft as chief of Goddesses with spilt wine reverence they,
And oft with reek of sacrifice, while peal out lyre and lay.
At Guest-ward Zeus’ unfailing feast is worshipped Justice’ Queen
So with fair fame and heart unvext may Aristagoras
On to the consummation of his twelve-months’ office pass.
His sire Agesilas I count as blest as man may be
For wondrous goodly form and fearless inborn constancy.
Yet, though a man have wealth and all-surpassing comeliness,
Though he show might pre-eminent in athletes’ conflict-stress,
Let him bethink him—mortal limbs his raiment doth array,
And the last vesture he shall don will be the grave-mound’s clay.
Yet that his fellow-burghers’ praise acclaim his deeds is meet.
Well may we grace his name in song whose strains ring honey-sweet;
For glorious victories six and ten the peoples dwelling nigh
Crowned Aristagoras and his clan, a clan of peerless fame,
With wreaths for wrestling and the strife Pankratian proud of name.
Yet ah, his parents’ faint-heart fears their stalwart son restrained,
That Pytho’s and Olympia’s crowns were unessayed, ungained;
Else, by the Great Oath’s sanctity I swear that sure am I,
To Castaly and Kronos’ tree-girt hill had he but gone,
He had returned with triumph-crowns from rival champions won,
When he had kept the fifth-year feast ordained of Heracles,
And bound his hair with wreaths that gleamed with light of victories.
But among mortals one is from his blessings’ height down-thrust
By empty-thoughted self-conceit: through overmuch mistrust
Of his own strength another letteth slip the honour due.
Because a timorous spirit caught his hand and backward drew.
To old Peisander’s Spartan blood hath Aristagoras claim,
Well may ye trow: from Amyklae he with Orestes came,
And hither led Aeolian ranks in brazen battle-gear.
His mother’s brother Melanippus’ blood with his, we know,
Was by Ismenus blent. The might of days of long ago
Will in alternate generations bring strong men to birth,
As harvests spring not every year from tilth of this dark earth,
Nor are our fruit-trees wont as year sweeps round by circling year
To bear in wealth unvarying fruit from odour-breathing flowers,
But rest each second year. And so this mortal race of ours
By Destiny’s breeze is driven. Comes from Zeus no guiding sign;
Yet we embark on many a venturous emprise: yea, we pine
For exploits many: yea, enthralled by hope insatiate are
Our natures. But Fate’s tides from man’s foreknowledge roll afar.
In quest of gain heed measure due. The madness of desire
For unattainable ambitions hotter burns than fire.