He whom glad Pythian songs immortalize—
The victor’s guerdon for all pains.
I bat repeat the praises of the wise
In these my triumph-strains.
His mind, his tongue, transcend his spring of life;
In courage as a broad-winged erne
Mid weakling fowl, a tower in athlete-strife
No strength can overturn.
Even from his mother’s knee did he give token
Of wings with my Song-queens to soar:
Of his car-driving skill the praise is spoken
By this the wide world o’er.