Archilochus’ chant of the sweet voice singing
The Olympian hymn of victory,
With its threefold measure of triumph outringing,
Sufficed to lead onward the revelry
To the Hill of Kronos, as paced along
Epharmostus amidst of his comrade-throng.
But now with such soul-stirring arrows of song
As in these our days fly fittingly
Shot from the Muses’ bows far-ranging,
Sing praises, my soul, unto Zeus, whose hand
Hurls red-glowing lightnings sin-avenging;
And the holy foreland of Elis-land
Praise thou, the land which long agone
Pelops the hero, Lydia’s son,
With Hippodameia for dowry won,
The glorious clasp of her wedlock-band.
And a sweet feathered shaft on the bowstring laying
Pytho-ward shoot thou: not to the ground
Shall thy words fall, when thy fingers are straying
O’er the quivering strings of the lyre, to sound
The praise of a lord of the wrestling-ring
Who from Opus the famed came journeying;
And the glory of that good town do thou sing
And the praise of her champion triumph-crowned.
’Tis a city that Themis and Safety-bestower,
Her child Fair Governance, won for their own;
And in knightly deeds she blooms as a bower;
For by Castaly’s fountain her praise is known,
And Alpheus murmureth her renown,
Where blow fair flowers for victory’s crown
To shine on the brows of the mother-town
Of Lokris, with trees girt stately-grown.
The light of my song shall fierily blaze
O’er this city so dear unto me,
And swifter than high-mettled steed can race
Or a white-winged galley can flee,
I will speed this story of Opus’ glory
Far, far over land, over sea,
If by Destiny guided my hand essay
To gather fruit and flower
In the Graces’ garden of gardens, for they
All things delightsome shower.
Whether hero or poet one be, he doth owe it
To Heaven’s all-gracious power.
How else could Heracles’ arm have wielded
Mace against Trident in battle-strain?—
When by Poseidon was Pylos shielded,
And the Sea-god pressed on the Hero amain,
When fast did the arrows of Phoebus fly
As the silver bow rang terribly,
Neither Hades refrained him from swinging on high
His staff, till his blows flashed down like rain—
The staff wherewithal through the cavernous portals
Of his mansion he leadeth, that Underworld-king,
The shadowy forms of perished mortals:—
Nay, nay, this slander afar from thee fling,
O mouth of mine! Him who dares impeach
The Gods, him hatefullest wisdom doth teach!
O yea, for untimely bold-mouthed speech
Doth with strains insensate of madness ring.
Babble not thou in witless folly
Of battle and war of Immortals, nor dare
Blaspheme them! Nay, to the city holy
Of Protogeneia thy song-gift bear,
Telling how by His dooming who wields evermore
The flickering lightning, the thunder’s roar,
Deukalion and Pyrrha long of yore
Fixed their first habitation there,
When down from Parnassus they came, and unmated
Of Aphrodite in wedlock-yoke,
Out of the stones of the field created
A race that should be thenceforth one folk;
And from stones were they named, that stone-born race.
Awaken for these thy clear-ringing lays!
O yea, old wine well mayest thou praise;
But ’tis song’s fresh flowers that our praises provoke.
Out of old days cometh a legend which saith
That the great deep’s fountains rained
On the dark earth’s bosom a deluge of death,
Till, by counsels of Zeus restrained,
The flood-tide sinking with waters shrinking
Swiftly was seaward drained.
And this stone-born generation’s sons
Your grey forefathers were,
All valiant bearers of shields of bronze,
Whom Iapetus’ daughters bare
When they made affiance with Kronos’ scions,
And kings of their blood reigned there,
Till the Lord of Olympus, from earth upraising
The daughter of Opus, wafted his bride
To a lone spot meet for a God’s embracing
Mid Mainalus’ ridges, and lay by her side.
Thereafter to Lokrus the childless he brought
That maid, lest the fingers of eld should blot
Out his name, and his line be continued not
If heirless the king of the land should have died.
But the king’s bride bare till her time’s fulfilling
The seed of the Mightiest ’neath her zone;
And the hero rejoiced with a joy heart-thrilling
O’er the fair babe not of his own seed sown;
And he gave him his mother’s father’s name,
And a man pre-eminent he became
In goodlihead and in deeds of fame,
And his sire gave a city to rule for his own.
And there unto him were gathered strangers:
From Argos the horse-land, from Thebes they hied,
And from Pisa, and Arcady’s mountain-rangers;
But of all that came in his land to abide
Was Aegina’s and Aktor’s son honoured most,
Menoitius, whose son with the Atreids’ host
Unto Teuthras’ plain by the Troyland coast
Sailed. There alone by Achilles’ side
Steadfast he stood, when Telephus turning
The valiant Danaans backward in flight,
Of their sea-pacing galleys essayed the burning;
So that all men knew who could deem aright
That a brave soul dwelt in Patroclus’ breast.
And the son of Thetis with earnest request
Exhorted him, yea, with insistent behest:
“Never hereafter in murderous fight
“Do thou range thyself mid the battle-strain
From my man-quelling spear afar!”
O that to fit praise I may attain
Of those that your champions are,
As, bearing my burden of glory’s guerdon,
I speed in the Song-queen’s car!
And may Daring attend me close at my side
And Power all-compassing!
For hither at friendship’s call have I hied,
And at Chivalry’s summons I sing
Of Lampromachus telling in prowess excelling
In the Isthmian athlete-ring.
Yea, in the same day stood victorious
He and his brother in mimic fray;
And at Corinth’s gates was the name twice glorious
Of Epharmostus in athlete-play.
Other wreaths did he win him in Nemea’s vale,
And at Argos again did his prowess prevail,
When in strife with men did he nowise fail,
As he failed not at Athens in boyhood’s day.
And what contest was that, when, waxing bolder,
From the boys’ ranks stealing at Marathon,
He abode the grapple of strong men older
Than he, for the silver cups to be won;
And by ring-craft that shifteth its balance fast
Never falling, he threw them. As tempest-blast
Rang the cheering, as down the arena he passed
In his goodlihead, goodliest deeds who had done.
At the festal assembly of Zeus Lycaean
Wondrous he showed in Parrhasia’s sight,
And again at Pellene’s games Heraean
He won him a warm defence from the spite
Of the blasts of winter, a mantle-vest.
And the sepulchre where Iolaus doth rest,
And Eleusis beside the sea attest
The splendour of all his deeds of might.
The gifts that by Nature’s self be given
Are ever the best; yet many there be
That by learning of teachers have painfully striven
To attain unto honour’s felicity.
But the deed whose achievement no God hath blessed,
That it never be published abroad is best.
Some paths there be that in glory’s quest
Lead farther than others her votary.
One path of endeavour, ye well may deem,
Leads not all men unto fame.
Ah, steep are poesy’s heights supreme;
Yet, Muse, when thou crownest his name
With thy guerdon of singing, with shout high-ringing
Fearlessly then proclaim
Of our champion, that Nature hath dowered him
By the favour of Fate the divine,
With deftness of hand, with litheness of limb,
With valour’s light in his eyne,
And that now victorious hath he made glorious
Oïlean Aias’ shrine.