Chapter_257

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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.