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,