So he won for his bride that maiden peerless;
For her terrible father he overcame.
And she bare to him six sons battle-fearless,
Captains of war-hosts, thirsting for fame.
And his portion assured hath Pelops still
Where the priests the blood of the sacrifice spill;
And unto his tomb resorteth the throng
Of strangers from far who have heard his story.
From his grave-mound his spirit beholdeth the glory
Of the mighty Olympian strife of the strong
In the course that from Pelops its name hath ta’en,
Wherein be contending the swift to run
And the thews that be mighty in wrestling-strain.
And whoso therein hath the victory won,
Thereafter on through his life-days ever
Sweetly his peace shall flow as a river
Blissfully gliding on