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.