Chapter_286

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Fain am I, by the favour of the Graces

Deep-girt, to chant aloud the victory won

By Telesikrates, Kyrene’s son,

At Pytho in the brazen-harnessed races.

His fortune fair I sing, and chant the glory

That crowns the city of the flying car,

Kyrene!⁠—Her Apollo, saith the story,

The bright-haired Son of Leto, caught afar

From Pelion’s dells with echoing winds enfolden,

And bare her thence upon his chariot golden,

That huntress-maid, to where he made her queen

Of flocks and harvests in her wide demesne,

The third part of the great earth’s boundless bosom,

A root of leafage fair and lovely blossom.

Then welcomed Aphrodite silver-footed

Her Delian guest, and touched with fingers light

The car a God had fashioned starry-bright;

And o’er their bridal couch, the rapture-fruited,

The loveliness of shamefastness down-shedding

In bonds of mutual love she linked the twain,

The Archer-god unto the daughter wedding

Of Hypseus wide-dominioned, who did reign

In that day o’er the haughty Lapith nation,

A hero-son of the third generation

Of Ocean’s Lord. Him mid the mountain-dells

World-famed where mighty Pindus heavenward swells,

The child of Earth, Kreusa Fountain-maiden,

Bare to Peneius’ bed with sweetness laden.

His child Kjnrene of the arms of snow

Had little love for pacings to and fro

Before the loom, nor for feast-revelry

With maiden-friends home-keeping young as she;

But warring with bronze darts without surcease,

And with the hunter’s knife, that princess slew

Fierce beasts of prey. Ay, wide-spread was the peace

And restful that her father’s cattle knew.

But little wasted she upon her eyes

Of slumber, restfellow that sweetly lies

On tired ones, when Dawn’s feet prepare to climb the skies.

Where gloomed the forest-solitudes around her

She grappled a fierce lion once in fight

Spearless. Then He of the far arrow-flight,

Apollo, God of the wide quiver, found her.

Straightway amazement-stricken did he cry on

Cheiron, whose rocky hall was hard thereby:

“Leave thou thine hallowed cave, O Philyra’s scion;

Gaze on the mighty strength with wondering eye

Of yonder woman, how with brow undaunted

She wages conflict grim! Not terror-haunted

Her spirit is in peril’s tempest-rush:

Her iron heart no weight of toil can crush!

What sire begat a child so lion-hearted?

From what strong kindred is she exile-parted,

“That now in hidden folds she should be dwelling

Of hills dark-shadowed? She puts to the test

Strength limitless! Doth it beseem the Blest

To lay on her his glorious hands all-quelling

Even now, or rather to pluck this sweet flower

Of spousal rites upon a bridal bed?”

Came on the Centaur inspiration’s power,

And in the wisdom of his heart he said,

“With eyes beneath his kindly brow soft-smiling:

Phoebus, the keys of Suasion heart-beguiling

That ope the portal of love’s sanctities

Are from the light withheld. A shame it is

For Gods or men to leap to love’s fruition

First in broad day, dishonouring Night’s sweet mission.

“Now even thee, whose tongue hath never lied,

Nor can, thy softened mood hath turned aside

To utter feignèd speech. Thou askest, King,

The maiden’s lineage!⁠—thou to whom everything

Is known, all issues whereto all things tend,

All paths that lead thereto through all the world:

How many leaves earth up to light doth send

In spring, the number of the sand-grains hurled

Down seas and streams when waves wind-driven rise,

And what shall come to pass and whence⁠—thine eyes

See clearly. Yet, if I must match me against the wise,

“I will speak on. To this glade sombre-shady

Thou cam’st to espouse her; yea, and thou shalt bear

Her overseas unto the garden fair

Of Zeus, where thou shalt make her royal lady

Of a new city. Thou shalt gather thither

An isle-folk round its plain-encircled hill.

And that land’s queen, content to queen it with her,

Libya of broad meads, shall with gracious will

Welcome thy glorious bride in golden bower.

And there the lady Libya shall, for dower,

Give her a portion of the land to be

Lawful domain beneath her sovereignty,

Land rich in tribute of all plants fruit-laden

And wildwood-prowlers for thine huntress-maiden.

“There shall she bear the son whom thou hast given,

Whom glorious Hermes in his hour of birth

Shall from his mother take, and bear to Earth

And to the Hours, the splendour-throned in Heaven.

And while upon their knees thy child is lying

Soft-cradled, these between his lips shall pour

Ambrosia and nectar; so undying,

Even as a God, shall he be evermore,

As Zeus, as holy Apollo: sweetest, dearest

To all his friends, to their hearts ever nearest.

Nomeus, ‘flock-warder,’ Agreus, these shall name

Thy son, as Aristaius those acclaim.”

His words spurred on the God’s heart passion-thrilling

To bring to pass the bridal’s sweet fulfilling.

Swift are the acts of Gods, and short their ways

Whose purposes to their fulfilment race.

That selfsame day saw Love his goal attain;

For in a golden chamber were the twain

Made one, in Libya’s bower, whence she looks down

On a fair city famed in athlete-rings.

Kameades’ son hath linked Kyrene’s town

At Pytho with the fair flower fortune brings.

His victory there hath published wide her name.

The city of fair girls with glad acclaim

Greets him who brings to her from Delphi lovely fame.

Great deeds of prowess lure the bard unwitting

To lengthen out his strain; yet brevity

Grace-clad the wise hear most acceptably.

In everything to grasp the season fitting

Crowneth the emprise. Thebe seven-gated

Knew it; nor Iolaus failed to tread

That path. He clave Eurystheus’ head all-hated

With the keen sword; but when himself lay dead,

Then Thebe buried him with honour, heaping

His grave-mound where Amphitryon lay sleeping,

Her chariot-chief⁠—that tomb wherein did rest

His father’s father, he who was the guest

Of the Sown Men, lords of white steeds, who greeted

That hero well in Thebe stately-streeted.

To him and Zeus did royal-souled Alkmena

In love united, in one travail bear

The might of twin sons: conquerors they were

Ever, these twain, in battle’s grim arena.

A dullard is the man who never raiseth

His voice to sing the deeds of Heracles,

And Dirke’s streams remembereth not nor praiseth

Whose Fountain-maid reared him and Iphikles.

Unto these now will I uplift a chanting

Of triumph-song for that their gracious granting

Of vows’ fulfilment. On me may your light,

O Graces ringing-voiced, shine ever bright!

Aegina and Nisus’ Hill have heard me singing

Three times ere this, Kyrene’s praise outringing.

And so the impotence that is the shame

Of tongue-tied bards do I escape. I claim

That citizens, friends or foes, shall ne’er conceal

Good work accomplished for the common weal,

That jealousy set not at nought the rede

Of that old Sea-god: “Give whole-hearted praise,

If justice claim it, for each noble deed,

Even to a foe⁠—dispraise is thy disgrace!”

Our maids at Pallas’ yearly feasts saw thee

Full oft victorious, and prayed silently,

Telesikrates, that such their spouse or son might be.

In Games Olympian thine was fame far-ringing,

And in the lists beside Earth’s central stone,

And in the land thou claimest for thine own:⁠—

But lo, as I would quench my thirst for singing,

I hear a voice that speaks of old-time glory

That bids me pay a debt, recall the pride

Of thy forefathers, bids me tell the story

How, for the winning of a Libyan bride,

Hasted to Irasa’s city many a lover

Of a fair-haired one famed the wide world over,

Drawn thither for Antaius’ daughter’s sake,

Whom many a gallant kinsman fain would take

To wife, and many in far countries dwelling;

For wondrous was her beauty, past all telling.

With passionate longing for love’s fruit they sought her,

This mortal Hebe of the Golden Crown.

Howbeit a marriage of more high renown

Her father purposed for his princess-daughter.

For he had heard how Danaus meditated

At Argos how should spousal-rites be won

For eight-and-forty daughters yet unmated,

Ere their life’s noontide should have come and gone,

And how he compassed this with no delaying.

For at the limits of the lists arraying

The throng of suitors of the maidens sweet,

He bade them by contention of swift feet

Decide which several daughter should be given

To each whose feet had for the guerdon striven.

So would that lord of Libya-land decide

Between those suitors for a princess-bride.

He set the maid bedecked with gold and gem

To be the goal and prize, and cried to them

That he should lead her home who foremost sped

And touched her robes. Of all that suitor-band

Alexidamus’ swift feet foremost fled,

And his hand clasped the noble maiden’s hand,

And led her through the Nomad horse-array.

Leaves many and wreaths upon him showered they,

Ay, many a victory-plume had he won ere that day.