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.