Yea, to this day that law of honour holds: the Muses’ car
Speeds on to sound his glory forth who won the gauntlet-fight
In Isthmus’ glade, even Nikokles. Oh, peal his praise afar
Who won the Dorian parsley-crown, who vanquished by his might,
He too, all rivals, hurled them back with leap as of a lion.
Nor him dishonoureth now his father’s noble brother’s scion.
Twine then, ye comrades of the victor, twine the tender greenness
Of myrtle for his brows! Alkathous’ contest hailed his keenness
Of courage with fair fortune. Yea, with welcoming acclaim
The sons of Epidaurus met him. Meet it is the fame
Of such be sung by good men; for he hid not from the light,
As in oblivion’s pit, the splendour of his youthful might.