O Eileithyia enthroned for ever
By the Destinies deeply-brooding, hearken,
Thou Daughter of Hera the mighty, O giver
Of birth unto babes! Unholpen of thee
Never a child of man may see
The day-dawn break or the even darken;
Nor ever thy sister may we behold,
Young Hebe with limbs of glorious mould.
We receive not our breath for a like life all,
But to each doth his several destiny fall.
We are fettered by Fate. By thy grace alone
Chanted to-day are the glorious feats
Wrought in the contest of pentathletes
By Sogenes, son of Thearion.
For he dwells in a city where cannot perish
Delight in song, where rule spear-clashing
Aiakids: eager are they to cherish
A spirit in strife of the Games well-tried.
If a man by achievements be glorified,
He hath dropped on the Muses’ rills sun-flashing
Honey-sweet matter for song-delight.
For shrouded in gloom of oblivion’s night
Are mighty deeds that be left unsung.
One mirror alone do we know that hath flung
Their reflection afar to endure for long,
If by grace of the Lady of Memory
Of the shining coronal, these may see
Their requital for toils in ringing song.
Wise shipmen know, though the fair wind tarry,
It will blow on the third day; therefore they wait
Patiently, letting not gain-lust carry
Their freight to destruction. The small and the great
Alike to the bourne of death pass down.
But I deem that Odysseus inherits renown
Far, far surpassing his sufferings,
Through the sweet-voiced lay that Homer sings.
For over his winged poet-craft and its feigning
Hath some strange glamour of majesty brooded;
And beguiled by his inspiration’s constraining
Through his realm of faery lost we stray.
Ah, the general throng of mortals aye
Are blinded of heart! Were their eyes not hooded
From discerning the truth, never Aias the strong,
For the armour wroth, as is told in song,
Had thrust through his heart the sword smooth-bright—
Aias, the mightiest man in fight,
Save Achilles, of all that to Ilium fared
By the west-wind wafted over the tide
With breath unswerving, to rescue the bride
Of Menelaus the golden-haired.
Over all men alike the dark surge sweepeth
Of Hades, on fameless heads hath descended
And on men of renown: but honour keepeth
Their memories green whose after-fame
God causeth to wax ever fairer, the name
Of battle-helpers whose days are ended,
Even such as in old time journeyed on
Unto wide-bosomed earth’s great navel-stone.
So buried ’neath Pytho’s floor doth lie
Neoptolemus, there foredoomed to die
When Priam’s town had been sacked by his hand,
Where also the Danaans travailed sore.
But he missed on the home-voyage Skyros’ shore;
So wandering came they to Ephyre-land.
Short time in Molossia the mighty-hearted
Reigned; but the honour was borne evermore
By the hero’s posterity. Thence he departed
To the shrine of Apollo, and thitherward bore
Rich treasure, the choicest of all the prey
That was gathered from Troy. But there, in a fray
Embroiled touching sacrifice-meats, by the knife
Was he slain of a treacherous lover of strife.
But the Delphians were stricken with grief heart-thrilling—
Guest-welcomers they:—howbeit so dying
His fate foredoomed was he but fulfilling;
For in that most ancient hallowed place
Was it destined that one of the royal race
Of the Aiakids should through the ages be lying
By Apollo’s mansion of fair-walled pride,
And should over the hero-processions preside,
That Justice’s fair name none may despise.
And, touching the issue, three words shall suffice:
No false witness is he, who there
Sitteth umpire o’er deeds by the mighty wrought.
Aegina, I fear not to utter my thought
Of the children whom thou unto Zeus didst bear,
Even this—they have trodden a highway of glory
By inheritance theirs; through deeds most mighty
Have they won it—yet needs not to dwell on their story.
Sweetly doth rest after labour come:
Even honey may cloy, and the flowers that bloom
Delightsome in gardens of Aphrodite.
Diversely all men’s natures be wrought,
And each man draweth his several lot
In life; but if any man think to attain
Unto bliss all-perfect, his hope is vain.
None know I to whom I can say that Fate
This consummation hath granted, to be
Inalienable. Thearion, thee
In season she bringeth to happy state;
Thou hast shown aforetime a spirit daring
In gallant deeds: Fate suffereth not
That thy wisdom now know any impairing.
Thy guest-friend I, I abhor the thought
Of slander stealing in darkness to stain
The man that I love; nay, praise will I rain
Upon him, and crown him with glory; this
For the noble of heart meet guerdon is.
Nay, if any Achaian of those abiding
Beside the Ionian sea be near me,
He shall nowise blame me: I rest confiding
On my friendship-tie: mid the folk of my land
With clear gaze meeting their eyes I stand.
Of the charge of presumptuous dealing I clear me;
All violence thrust I, a hater of strife,
From my feet. May the residue of my life
Flow blithesomely! He shall testify
Who knoweth me, whether with slander and lie
I jangle the music of life as I go.
Sogenes, son of the Eupatrid Clan,
The mark-line never I overran
When I shot swift speech—as one that should throw
The bronze-headed dart with a cast that delivers
Neck and sinew from wrestling with sweat down-pouring
Ere the limbs strain hard where the sunglare quivers—
Never, I swear it! If toil there hath been,
The delight that succeedeth is yet more keen.
Nay, forgive, if my song over-loudly was soaring
For old times’ glory! In these my lays
No niggard am I of the victor’s praise.
Easy it is flower-garlands to twine;
Nay, but tarry a space till this Muse of mine
Shall have knit the gold to the ivory
And the lily-like blossom of stone that she drew
From the depths where it lurked beneath spray-dew
That falls on the face of the slumbrous sea.
But bethink thee of Zeus the while thou raisest
For Nemean triumph the far-ringing song
Soft-swelling. ’Tis meet that the while thou praisest
Him who sitteth enthroned the Immortals among,
Such praise be chanted in this your land
With reverent voice by the chorus-band,
For that here of his seed begotten, ’tis sung,
Of an Isle-nymph mother hath Aiakus sprung
To be for the fair-famed land of his mother
A ruler of cities, in all thy labour
To be ever a loyal friend and brother,
O Heracles! If a man may prove
Of his fellow-man any fruition of love,
Then well may we say that neighbour to neighbour
Is a joy that is worth all else beside
If with steadfast heart in his love he abide.
Now if also a God will sanction this,
By thy favour, O queller of giants, it is
That, rendering aye love-homage meet
To his father, fain would Sogenes
Dwell mid ancestral memories
In the stately-builded sacred street
Where his home ’twixt thy temples doth stand, which face him
At his goings forth, as with blessing laden:
Like a chariot’s twin yokes, so they embrace him.
And thee, O Heracles ever-blest,
It beseemeth to win to grant his request
Hera’s Lord and the grey-eyed Maiden.
For oft upon mortals canst thou bestow
Help in the hour of the bitter woe
Of hopelessly tangled perplexities.
Oh wouldst thou but link with the life of these
All steadfast strength, through youth’s glad day
Weaving its web of happiness still
Till an easeful eld thy task fulfil!
May their children’s children possess for aye
The honour that now is theirs, and ever
Win greater glory in days to be!
But with all my soul I protest that never
Hath Neoptolemus’ name by me
Been befouled by slander dishonouring!—
Yet thrice, four times to repeat this thing
Is folly like his of whom children tire
As he babbles “Corinth hath Zeus for sire.”