The Olympian Odes

7 0 00

The Olympian Odes

Chiefest is water of all things, for streaming

Therefrom all life and existence came;

And all proud treasure of princes the gleaming

Splendour of gold outshines, as the flame

Of a great fire flings through the night its rays.

But, heart of mine, if thou fain wouldst praise

Triumphs in athlete-contests won,

Search not, when day with his glory is glowing,

For a radiant star more life-bestowing

In the whole void sky, than the kingly sun.

Even so shall we find no brighter crown

Than Olympia giveth whereof to sing;

For thence doth the chant of high renown

O’er the spirits of bards its perfume fling,

When, the praise of Kronion in song resounding,

Unto Hiero’s blest hearth wealth-abounding

The hymn of his praise they bring.

Hiero!⁠—yea, for the rod of his power

Is a sceptre of righteousness stretched o’er the land

Of the myriad flocks; and the choice of the flower

Of chivalry ever is plucked by his hand.

Yea, and he also is garlanded

With the blossom of song enstarring his head,

The song that with gladsome voices now

We singers chant, at the banquet meeting

Of the Prince who giveth us friendship’s greeting.

Now, O my Muse, from its rest take thou

The lyre that is strung to the Dorian strain,

If the glory of fleet Pherenikus, he

Who triumphed in Pisa’s Olympian plain,

Haply with rapture of song thrilled thee,

When flashed in the course by Alpheus’ river

His body by lash or by goad touched never,

And wedded to victory

His lord, the ruler of Syracuse-town,

The king who joyeth in gallant steeds.

Flasheth afar his name’s renown,

Flasheth from Sicily far oversea

Where Pelops, the exile from Lydia’s meads,

Founded a hero-colony⁠—

Pelops, beloved of the Earth-enfolder,

Poseidon the strong, when the Fate of the Thread

Drew him resplendent with ivory shoulder

From the undefiled laver, whom men deemed dead.

There be marvels full many; and fables hoary

With inventions manifold broidered o’er

Falsify legend, I wot, with a story

Wherein truth liveth no more.

But the Grace of Beauty, which aye is weaving

All manner of charm round the souls of men,

Taketh these tales unworthy believing,

And arrays them in honour: so cometh it then

That man with unwavering credence clings

To a false-feigned tale of impossible things.

But the after-days are the witnesses

That be wisest. Reverent speech beseemeth

The mortal who uttereth that which he deemeth

Of the Gods⁠—so shall his reproach be less.

O Tantalus’ son, I will speak not as they

Who told thy story in days of old!

But thy father bade thee a guest that day

To a banquet arrayed by the righteous-souled

Upon Sipylus’ loved height⁠—so he tendered

To the Gods requital for boons they had rendered.

On a sudden the chariot of gold

Of the Lord of the Trident gleaming splendid,

Whose soul was with love for thy youth overcome,

Bare thee, as up through the blue ye ascended,

To imperial Zeus’s glory-home,

Whither also came in the after-day

Ganymedes ravished from earth away

In halls celestial the nectar to pour.

But when viewless thus from the earth they had caught thee,

Nor the questers that far and near had sought thee

To the arms of thy mother could thee restore,

Then spake some neighbour in envious spite

A whispered slander of sin and shame,

How that over the boiling water’s might

Which hissed in the bronze that bestrode the flame

Did they carve thy flesh with the knife, and seethe it,

And served at the feast, and⁠—dare lips breathe it?⁠—

That the God-guests ate of the same!

But impossible is it for me to call

Any Blest One man-eater⁠—with loathing and scorn

I recoil! O, the profit is passing small

That the dealer in slander hath ofttimes found.

But if ever a man on the earth was born

Whom the Watchers from Heaven with honour crowned,

That man was Tantalus: yet of their favour

No profit he had, nor of that high bliss.

But the man’s proud stomach was drunk with its savour

And gorged with pride; and by reason of this

He drew on him ruin utter-crushing;

For Zeus hung o’er him a huge black scaur,

And he cowers from it aye on his head down-rushing

From happiness exiled far.

And there unto torment fettered for ever

Living on, living on in eternal despair

He abides with the Three on whom hope dawns never,

He who from the feast of the Gods could dare

To steal the ambrosia and nectar whereby

They had given him immortality,

That the guests of his wine-cup might revel thereon!

But who thinketh to hide his evil doing

From God, he errs to his bitter ruing!

So then the Immortals sent back his son

Exiled to earth from the heavenly home,

Thenceforth with the sons of a day to abide.

But in process of time, when Pelops was come

To the flower-bright season of life’s springtide,

When the soft rose-tint of his cheek ’gan darken,

To the whisper of love did his spirit hearken,

And he dreamed of the world-famed bride

Hippodameia, the glorious daughter

Of the Lord of Pisa, a prize for him

Who could win her. Alone by the surf-white water

Of the sea he stood in the darkness dim.

To the Thunder-voiced he cried o’er the wave,

To the Lord of the Trident mighty to save:

And lo, at his side did the God appear.

And “O Poseidon,” he spake imploring,

“If the gifts of the Cyprian Queen’s outpouring

To thy spirit, O King, be in any wise dear,

His bronze lance let not Oenomaus lift

To mine hurt, but cause me to Elis to ride

On a god-given chariot passing swift:

There throne thou me by victory’s side.

For lovers by that spear merciless-slaying

Have died thirteen, and he still is delaying

To bestow his child as a bride.

In the path doth a mighty peril lie;

To the craven soul no welcome it gives.

But, seeing a man must needs once die,

Wherefore should I unto old age screen

From peril a life that only lives,

Sitting nameless and fameless in darkness unseen,

In the deeds of the valiant never sharing?

Nay, lies at my feet the challenge now:

I will accept it for doing and daring!

Good speed to mine heart’s desire grant thou!”

Not fruitless the cry of his heart’s desiring

Was uttered. The God heard gracious-souled,

And crowned him with honour. Winged steeds untiring

He gave, and a chariot of gold.

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

For those Games’ sake. Yea, the good that unceasing

On man’s lot daily as dew droppeth down

Is that which to each is most well-pleasing.

Now is it my bounden duty to crown

With a strain wherein hoof-beats triumphant ring

In Aeolian mood Sicilia’s King.

And hereof is my spirit assured past doubt

That amidst all men on the wide earth dwelling

There is found no host whom with prouder-swelling

Notes in many a winding bout

Of noble song I may glorify,

Yea, none more learned in honour’s lore,

None who showeth therein more potency.

The God who guardeth thee watcheth o’er

Thine hopes and thine aims, that no evil assail thee;

And if⁠—O nay, but he cannot fail thee!⁠—

I trust ere long once more

To chant a triumph than all more sweet,

Inspiration-wafted, as one that flies

In a chariot, on paths of utterance meet,

Till I win unto Kronos’ Hill sunbright.

O yea, in my Muses’ quiver lies

A song-arrow winged for stronger flight.

By diverse paths men upward aspire:

Earth’s highest summit by kings is attained.

Thou therefore look to attain no higher

Than earth. Be it thine on the height thou hast gained

To pace mid splendour of royal achieving

Thy life through: mine be it no less long

To consort with victors, from Hellas receiving

The world o’er praise for my song.

Songs, lords of the lyre! what God shall we hymn?⁠—what hero’s praises?⁠—

What man’s fame publish afar?

Pisa doth Zeus own; Heracles stablished Olympia’s races

With the regal spoils of his war;

Theron, who honours the guest, whose four steeds raced victorious,

Akragas’ stay, let us chant, full flower of an ancestry glorious,

His city’s saviour-star.

Toils bravely his fathers endured, and a hallowed home by the river

They reared: they were Sicily’s eye.

And to crown their inborn worth, Fair Fortune attended them, giver

Of wealth and of dignity.

Son of Kronos and Rhea, enthroned in Olympus, thou lord of the choicest

Of contests by Alpheus’ ford, guard, since in our song thou rejoicest,

For their sons ever graciously

Their fatherland-soil! When for right or for wrong hath been woven the tissue

Of our deeds, not Time the father of all can reverse the issue.

Yet oblivion may come of the past

With the dawn of a happier day; for overmastered and slain

By the sunlight of happiness oft is memory’s rankling pain,

When broad and high at the last

Prosperity grows by the fiat of God. Yea, of Kadmus’ daughters

This thing I have said proved true:⁠—

Sore anguish they suffered, yet mightier blessings from out the waters

Of affliction the stricken ones drew.

Mid thunder-crash Semele perished, yet lives in the heavenly star-land;

And Pallas and Zeus and her son, who is crowned with the ivy-garland,

Enfold her with love ever new.

With the Sea-maids, the daughters of Nereus, to Ino a life unending

In the deep is ordained for aye.

But to mortals no date is appointed whereon death’s bolt descending

Shall smite; nor can any man say

When one day, child of the sun, shall in calm peace close with unbroken

Blessing. With sorrow and joy run life’s streams, giving no token

How their mutable courses will stray.

So Destiny, she who the line of the fathers of Theron hath guided

To happiness, yet for their god-given bliss hath also provided

In its season a bitter reverse,

Since the hour when met in his journeying Laïus was, and killed

By his doom-driven son, and the word that from Pytho went forth was fulfilled,

The old-time prophecy-curse.

Swift Erinys beheld it, and slew by hands with a brother’s blood gory

His warrior sons. When died

Polyneikes, Thersander was left to win in a new war glory,

The Adrastids’ saviour and pride.

From him these trace their descent; and the son of a prince most meetly

With all praises of song triumphant and lyres outpealing sweetly

This day shall be magnified.

Olympia’s guerdon he won, and at Pytho and Isthmus the Graces,

Who his kindred have evermore blessed,

Brought to his brother the crowns of the twelve-course four-horse races.

Ay, triumph to pain bringeth rest.

Riches with nobleness graced of many things bring fruition,

And they kindle the deep-glowing fire of the huntress of honour, Ambition,

Within their possessor’s breast,

A lodestar that beacons afar, by whose light men steer most surely,

If he who doth hold by it knoweth what shall be⁠—that they which impurely

Here lived, shall when they have died

Suffer the penalty: sins that in Zeus’s realm of light

Were committed shall One judge there in the underworld Kingdom of Night,

And their awful doom shall decide.

But through sunlitten nights and days a life of bliss untoiling

Is ordained for the righteous-souled.

No more for a meagre pittance they labour the land sore moiling,

Nor on stormy seas are they rolled;

But with them that be honoured of Gods, who had pleasure in leal oathkeeping,

They have joy of a tearless life, while the wicked are endlessly reaping

Sin-harvests too dread to behold.

But they that through those three lives have endured, their spirits refraining

From sin upon each side death,

These traverse the pathway of Zeus, to the Tower of Kronos attaining,

Where the breezes of Ocean breathe

Round the Isles of the Blest, where flowers all-golden like flames are glowing,

Which are drooping from trees of splendour, or float on the flood soft-flowing;

And their heads and their hands they enwreathe,

As it standeth by just Rhadamanthus decreed, the eternal assessor

Of Kronos the husband of Rhea, of her who is throned possessor

Of dominion the universe o’er.

And Peleus and Kadmus are numbered amidst the glorified there;

And the heart of Zeus by Thetis’ petition was swayed, that she bare

Achilles to that blest shore,

Him who slew the invincible Hector, and Troy’s strong pillar did shiver,

And of whom was Kyknus slain

And the Dawn-queen’s Aethiop son. Many swift shafts lie in my quiver;

To the wise is their meaning plain;

For the common herd need they interpreters. Who is by nature discerning

Is the poet inspired; but the vehement babblers of other men’s learning

Croak vanity⁠—crows be the twain!⁠—

At the hallowed eagle of Zeus! O my soul, on the bow be thou aiming⁠—

And at whom in all love wilt thou speed

The renown-giving arrow? To Akragas send thou it, boldly proclaiming⁠—

Bidding Truth of thine oath take heed⁠—

That through years five-score no city on earth hath been known to rear on

Her breast any son more kindly in spirit to friends than Theron,

None of more liberal deed.

Yet praise is by spite ever dogged, wherein never is justice abiding,

But from grasping envy it springs; with its slanders it fain would be hiding

In darkness the good deeds done

By the noble of heart. But, as no man can number the great sea’s sands,

So the joys on his fellow-men showered by Theron with lavish hands,

Who telleth the tale of them? None!

Oh Tyndarids, lords of all guest-welcoming,

Oh Helen of the tresses beauty-crowned,

Take pleasure in my praises, when I sing

Akragas far-renowned,

Chanting her son’s Olympian victory,

The glory of his tireless-footed team.

The Muse hath thrilled me with new harmony

Of wedded song and dance, in revelry

Where Dorian sandals gleam.

Garlands of victory twined in Theron’s hair

Exact of me this debt that Heaven ordains

For Ainesidamus’ son in order fair

To blend the varying strains

Of lyres with voice of flutes and ordering

Of chanted words; and Pisa bids proclaim

His glory⁠—Pisa, poesy’s well-spring

Whence, by the Gods inspired, the great songs ring

That give men deathless fame,

Even they about whose hair the silvery-gleaming

Adorning of the olive-leaf is laid

By the Aetolian judge’s righteous deeming

The victor’s brows to shade,

According unto Heracles’ ancient hest.

From Ister’s shadowy springs he brought this tree,

When fared Amphitryon’s son on perilous quest

And gave Olympia’s games this fairest, best

Trophy of victory.

His courteous speech that Norland people swayed⁠—

The folk who serve Apollo⁠—to bestow

To his true-hearted prayer for Zeus’s glade,

Whither all Hellenes go,

A shadowing tree, a universal boon,

A wreath for prowess of the mighty given.

When hallowed were Zeus’ altars, lo, the Moon

Of midmonth flashed her splendour plenilune

Full in the face of Even.

Then for those great Games he ordained for ever

Just judgment and a Five-year Festival

By the steep banks of Alpheus’ hallowed river.

But of fair trees and tall

In Kronian Pelops’ glen, that chosen place,

His garden-close, was as a desert bare.

Him-seemed it lay unscreened beneath the blaze

Of scorching Helios’ arrow-darting rays.

Wherefore he yearned to fare

To Ister’s land, where She of the swift horses,

Queen Leto’s Child, received him graciously

When from the hills and winding watercourses

He came of Arcady,

Sped on Eurystheus’ mission forth to find⁠—

By his sire’s doom, wherefrom is no appeal⁠—

The Orthian Wood-queen’s golden-antlered hind,

Vowed to her by Taÿgete, and signed

With consecration’s seal.

And in that chase he looked upon the land

That sheltered lies behind the North-wind cold,

And saw its olive-trees. There did he stand

And marvelled to behold,

And dearly yearned to enring with those same trees

The goal round which twelve times swift horses strain.

Graciously still to these festivities

He comes: with him be godlike presences,

Even Leda’s scions twain.

These charged he with the Great Games’ ordering

Ere hence he passed to heavenly halls afar,

The struggle of strong men, the sweep and swing

Of the swift-rushing car.

“The Emmenids and Theron Fame hath crowned

This day!” my soul constraineth me to cry,

“Fame given by Tyndareus’ Sons the steed-renowned,

Since unto these of all men most they abound

In hospitality,

“With hearts of reverence rendering due measure

Of service to the Gods for ever blest.”

As water chiefest is, and of all treasure

Gold is held goodliest,

So Glory’s pinnacle doth Theron gain

By his high prowess: yea, his fame hath won

To Heracles’ pillars! Farther to attain

Wise and unwise all fruitlessly should strain,

Nor press I vainly on.

Zeus, hurler of thunderbolts tireless-winging,

Most Highest, returneth thy Feast-tide fair

To send me to wed with the lyre subtle-ringing

My song: of the chiefest of all Games singing

To the victor’s triumph my witness I bear.

Yea, the hearts of the good are with joy ever leaping

When friends a harvest of triumph are reaping.

O Kronos’ Son, whose dominion is o’er

Etna, the wind-scourged burden laid

On Typho the demon of heads five-score,

Receive thou this revel-procession arrayed

For a victorv won by the Graces’ aid.

For its chant is a record for ever abiding

Of wide-prevailing achievement’s renown,

On-ushering olive-crowned Psaumis, as riding

His chariot he hasteth, aglow for dividing

His fame with his own Camarina-town.

May our prayers be graciously heard in heaven

As we supplicate blessings yet to be given

Unto him who is strenuous ever to train

The steed, who with wide arms welcomes the guest,

The pure-hearted patriot who strives to attain

Peace⁠—truth do I speak from an unfeigned breast!

Of man is the trial the one proof-test.

By such trial it was that Klymenus’ son

Silenced the Lemnian women’s taunting

Who mocked at his tresses grey;

For the foot-race in armour of bronze he won.

To Hypsipyle then with no vain vaunting,

As he passed to be crowned, did he say:

“Lo there, my fleetness of foot have ye seen!

And mine hands be as strong, and mine heart as keen.

Ay, and not seldom silver-hoary

Show the tresses of young men, long ere the story

Hath been told of their life’s spring-day.”

O Camarina, bright daughter of Ocean, with glad spirit greet

Him who the crown of Olympian achievement and glory most sweet

Brings for his gifts to thee won by his car-team’s unwearying feet,

Psaumis! O nurse of a nation, to magnify thee hath he raised

Altars, twin altars twice three, where at feasts of the Blessèd Ones blazed

Steers that were slain; and for five days the goals of the race-course they grazed,

Chariots of horses and mules, and swift coursers. To thee consecrated

All his proud glory was, and to his sire and the burg new-created.

Back from Oenomaus’ home and from Pelops’ dear dwelling he brings

Songs unto Pallas Protectress of Cities; her precinct he sings,

Sings of thy river Oanis, the mere that thine highland enrings.

Hallowèd Hipparis sings he that quencheth thy citizens’ thirst,

Floating down fast for rebuilding thee trees in his hill-cradle nursed,

So that from darkness the light of new life on thy commonwealth burst.

Labour and cost for all noble achievement in one must be blended:

Veiled is the issue in risk; but success is for wisdom commended.

Cloud-hidden Saviour, O Zeus who art throned on the Kronian hill-crest,

Honourest Alpheus’ flood and the cave under Ida’s green breast,

Suppliant I come to thee, voicing through Lydian flutes my request:

O let this city with chivalry’s glory be aye magnified!

Thou too, Olympian victor, whose god-nurtured steeds are thy pride,

Unto a peaceful old age mayst thou win with thy sons at thy side.

If as a well-watered garden thy bliss be, and if thou desire not

More, with thy wealth and thine honours content⁠—unto godhead aspire not!

’Neath our song’s forecourt-rooftree pillars golden

Will we uprear; a palace shall it seem.

’Tis meet the forefront shine out far-beholden

Of work that hath such splendour-flashing theme.

The victor at Olympia, who withal

Is treasurer of Zeus’s oracle-altar,

Who is co-founder of the glorious wall

Of Syracuse⁠—shall his song-praises falter?

Share not the joy his fellow-burghers all?

Such sandal⁠—let the son of Sostratus know it⁠—

Gleams on his foot. Deeds without peril brought

To pass on land or sea win from no poet

Honour; but of each high achievement wrought

With hard toil, many the recorders are.

Thy deeds, Agesias, that same praise hath followed

Which justly Adrastus spake and published far

Of Amphiaraus, when the earth had swallowed

Oïkleus’ son and his bright battle-car.

When on the seven great pyres the dead lay burning,

Before Thebes’ gates the son of Talaos cried:

“For one that is not here mine heart is yearning,

Eye of mine host, good seer and warrior tried!”

And this same praise in song processional

To Syracuse’ son is rendered with all fitness.

I, who hate strife and disputation’s gall,

With a great oath to him I bear my witness:

The sweet-voiced Muses sanction it withal.

Phintis, thy mighty mule-team harness straightway,

That we may speed along a clear highway

The car, that I may reach the ancestral gateway

Whence came his race. None know so well as they

To find the track, who at Olympia won

Crowns: wherefore unto them it well beseemeth

That wide the doors of song should now be thrown.

For Pitane-ward, to where Eurotas gleameth

Must I in season due this day begone.

Now Pitane bare, by Lord Poseidon fathered,

Evadne of the violet hair, men say,

But hid her shame ’neath vesture-folds upgathered,

Till she might send her maidens thence away,

Bidding them bear her babe to Eilatus’ son

Who at Phaisane ruled in hill-girt places

Arcadian, and his lot by Alpheus won.

There was Evadne nurtured: in the embraces

Of Phoebus her love’s story was begun.

She could not for her full time hide the blossom

Of a God’s love from Aipytus: keen dread

And wrath no words might utter racked his bosom.

For light in darkness Pytho-ward he sped.

She laid the while her girdle crimson-twined

’Neath boughs dark-shadowing, and her silver ewer.

And there she bore a boy of godlike mind;

For golden-haired Apollo drew unto her

The Fates, and Eileithyia travail-kind.

So from her womb in painless birth outleaping

Iamus came. Grief-stricken on the ground

She left him. Came two bright-eyed serpents creeping

By the Gods’ counsel; softly coiling round

They fed him with the sweet dews of the bee.

But when the king from rocky Pytho riding

Came, he asked all his household eagerly:

“Where is the babe Evadne bare in hiding?

For fathered of Apollo’s self is he;

“A prophet shall he be all men excelling

To this folk: nevermore shall fail his race,”

But they, “Of him have we heard no man telling,

Nor seen him”⁠—yet the babe was born five days!

But in a pathless reed-brake, oversprayed

With gold and purple splendours was he lying,

Which pansy-petals on his soft flesh rayed.

“So shall he,” spake his mother prophesying,

“Bear this name that through all time shall not fade.”

Now when to fruitage of youth golden-pinioned

He won, to Alpheus’ mid-stream he strode

’Neath the night-stars, and on the wide-dominioned,

His grandsire, called, and Delos’ Archer-god,

Praying, “Let honour nation-fostering rest

Upon mine head!” And answer made his father

With voice infallible to his request:

“Arise, and to that place where all men gather

Follow, my son, obeying my behest.”

So reached they Kronion’s steep rock sunward-soaring.

There prophecy’s twin treasure gave his sire⁠—

To hear his voice unswerving truth outpouring

First: then, when Heracles, that soul of fire,

Should come, when he, the Alkaïds’ seed renowned,

Should found his God-sire’s Feast thronged by all nations,

Of all world-games with chiefest honour crowned,

Then high on Zeus’s altar of oblations

A second oracle he bade him found.

Thereafter through all Hellas famed in story

Were Iamus’ sons, and prospered. High emprise

They honour; so they tread the path of glory.

The achievement proves the man: but envious eyes

Of slanderers follow still him on whose head

The Grace rains beauty, who before all other

His chariot round the twelvefold course hath sped.

Agesias, if the forbears of thy mother,

Who ’neath Kyllene had their old homestead,

With prayer and sacrifice ceased not adoring

Heaven’s herald Hermes, him in whom begun

Be Games and ended, who is honour pouring

On Arcady’s hero-land⁠—He, Sostratus’ son,

With his deep-thundering Sire, thy bliss fulfils.

My tongue is poesy’s whetstone shrilly-sounding!

That fancy all my willing spirit thrills

With breathings beauty-rippling. Flower-abounding

Metope in Stymphalus ringed of hills,

My ancestress, bare Thebe chariot-glorious.

I’ll sip her dear springs, and for warriors twine

A song-wreath rainbow-hued. Thy choir victorious,

O Aeneas, teach to chant the Maid divine

Hera, and know that none in after days

With scoffed “Boeotian swine!” our ear abuses!

A messenger thou art whose faith all praise,

O cryptic herald-staff of bright-haired Muses,

Sweet mixing-bowl of royal-ringing lays!

Bid Syracuse and Ortygia’s praise be chanted,

By Hiero with righteous sceptre swayed

Who honours Her whose feet on furrows planted

Make red the com, the great Feast of the Maid

Of the White Steeds, and Zeus throned on the height

Of Etna honours. Lyre and song sweet-pealing

Know Hiero well. His fortune may the flight

Of time not wreck! With welcome love-revealing,

King, greet this song that chants Agesias’ might,

Which from Stymphalus’ mother-town comes winging,

From home to home⁠—Sicilia, Arcady!

’Tis good the ship on anchors twain be swinging

In night of storm. May Heaven propitiously

Grant either folk high glory without stain.

In thy protection, Sea-lord King, enfolden

Straight onward may he sail: guard him from bane,

Spouse of the Sea-queen of the distaff golden,

And bless the gladsome flower of this my strain.

As a father with wealth-laden hand uplifteth a cup

With the flashing dew of the joy-giving wine brimmed up,

And pledgeth therein the youth who hath won for a bride

His daughter, and therewith giveth to him, to bear

From the old home unto the new, that golden pride

Of his treasures, and maketh the fair feast yet more fair,

And his kinsman envied of all friends banqueting there

For the marriage that joins hearts, one evermore to abide;

So send I the Song-queens’ gift, the nectar outpoured

From my spirit, its vintage of sweetness, a chant to record

The triumph of guerdon-winners, their victory

At Olympia and Pytho gained in the athlete-strife.

Whom praiseful report companioneth, happy is he!

Now on one, now another the Grace that enricheth life

Propitiously looks, and with manifold music of fife

And of lyre sweet-echoing breathes on him melody.

To the sound of the lyre and the pipe on-sailing

Homeward I come with Diagoras hailing

Aphrodite’s Daughter, the Bride of the Sun,

Sea-girdled Rhodes, to a man fair-fighting

And strong giving glory, whose clenched hand smiting

By Alpheus and Castaly garlands hath won.

And his father I praise, who in justice excelleth,

And in Rhodes triple-citied mid warriors dwelleth

Nigh Asia’s foreland that seaward doth run.

From their line’s first father beginning, I fain would upraise,

From Tlepolemus, this mine herald-song of praise,

The common right this of Heracles’ puissant race;

For these be descended from Zeus on the father’s side⁠—

Ay, this is their boast!⁠—on the mother’s their blood they trace

To Amyntor through Astydameia Tlepolemus’ bride.

Thick clouds of delusion the truth from men’s hearts hide:

This thing would we find, yet aye it eludes our chase,

What is best for a man to attain both now and at last.

For the founder of this land smote in his passionate haste

Alkmena’s base-born brother a deadly blow

With his olive-wood staff, as forth Likymnius came

From Midea’s bower; for his spirit with wrath was aglow.

In the city of Tiryns befell that sin and shame.

Yea, the feet of the wise be misled when the soul is aflame

With wrath. To the oracle fratricide-stained did he go.

And the Golden-haired spake from his shrine sweet-breathing:

“Thou must voyage afar o’er a sea surf-seething,

From the shore of Lerna in exile sped,

To a sea-ringed land of pasture, where showered

By the King of the Gods omnipotent-powered

Was a golden snow, when forth of the head

Of Zeus by the axe of Hephaistus sundered

Athena leapt, and her shout far thundered,

That Heaven and Earth-mother quaked with dread.”

Hyperion’s Son, the God who bringeth the day,

Commanded his children: “See that your debt ye repay.

Of all men be ye first to uprear in your isle in my sight

To the Goddess an altar: her godhead do ye revere

With offerings holy, filling the souls with delight

Of Allfather and Her of the thunderous-crashing spear.”

It is Reverence, Forethought’s daughter, that maketh dear

To the spirits of men high courage and joy of the fight.

Yet there cometh Oblivion’s wildering mist, to misguide

The hearts of men, and to cause them to swerve aside

From the deed’s straight path; and so it befell that these

Not bearing the seed of flame to the altar drew nigh.

So with fireless rites did they plant those hallowed trees

On their citadel’s height. Yet Zeus drew over their sky

A fire-hued cloud whence rained gold plenteously,

And the Grey-eyed made them in all craft-mysteries

Unrivalled; for on their highways were gleaming

Things living and moving to outward seeming,

So that great was their glory. Yea, craft that doth show

No semblance of false pretence excelleth

In the eyes of the wise. Now a legend telleth

How that Zeus and the Deathless drew lots to know

How shared should the earth be. Rhodes was unrisen

From the wide sea’s breast, but in darkling prison

Of abysses of brine lay far below.

But since in the place where they gathered the Sun-god was not,

None for that stainless Divine One had drawn a lot;

And so, when he spake of it, Zeus was minded again

To cast the lots; but Helios would not: he said

That he saw deep under the face of the hoary main

A land upgrowing fast from its rocky bed,

A land that for myriad dwellers should bring forth bread,

Should rejoice in its sheep-flocks whitening hill and plain.

Eftsoons unto Lachesis golden-tired spake he:

“Uplift thou thine hands, and swear in sincerity

The Gods’ great Oath, and pledge thee with Kronos’ Son

That the isle that shall be sent up into heaven’s light

Shall be mine head’s guerdon of honour while time shall run.”

And the word of truth that from Lachesis’ lips took flight

Was fulfilled in the end. Grew up, as a flower blooms bright,

That isle from the roUing darkness of water won.

He possesseth it. Sire of the sun-arrows gleaming,

The breath of whose steeds is a flame outstreaming.

With Rhodos the Isle-nymph there he lay:

Seven sons he begat, who in years forgotten

Were wisest of men; and of one were begotten

Ialysus, Lindus, Kameirus; and they

Of their father’s land made threefold division,

Neither any transgressed that righteous partition;

And after them named be their homes to this day.

There standeth an altar, a sweet recompense for the grief

Of his fall before Troy, to Tlepolemus battle-chief

Of Tirynthians: as to a God do they sacrifice

Victims, the reek of whose burning floats far round.

And at athlete-strife in his name is awarded the prize.

There twice were Diagoras’ brows with flower-wreaths bound.

And at Isthmus the famed four times, and at Nemea crowned

Once and again, and at crag-built Athens twice.

At Argos the victors’ bronze shield knoweth him well;

Memorials in Thebes and Arcadia his glory tell;

At Pellene in games Boeotian the prize did he gain;

Six times in Aegina he conquered; in Megara

The column of stone doth chant none other strain.

O Father Zeus, who holdest omnipotent sway

Over wild Atabyrium’s ridges, honour this day

The victory-hymn that use and wont ordain!

And the hero whose hands have so gallantly striven,

Unto him be all worshipful honour given

Alike of the stranger and citizen.

For he treadeth the path that from insolence turneth:

Great lessons bequeathed by his fathers he learneth

By his true heart taught. Thou, hide not from men

His fame who from Kallianax’ blood springeth.

With the Eratids’ joy lo, all Rhodes ringeth!

Yet the winds in an hour may be veering again.

Mother of contests golden-crowned, O Queen

Of truth, Olympia, where from sacrifice

Diviners seek the will of Zeus to glean,

Who hurls white-flickering lightnings through the skies,

To wot if he hath any word of grace

For men whose hearts yearn hotly to attain

To high achievement, and a breathing-space

From toil to gain.

This he vouchsafes to reverent prayer and vow.

O Pisan precinct fair with olive-lines,

Welcome this victory-procession thou,

And the crown-bearing! Bright his glory shines

Whom splendour of thy guerdon shall attend!

Ay, diverse boons to diverse men be given,

And many paths to happiness ascend

By grace of Heaven.

Timosthenes, to Zeus, who hath in keeping

Thine house, thee and thy brother Destiny

Allotted: He at Nemea honoured thee,

And Kronos’ Hill saw glory’s harvest-reaping,

Alkimedon’s Olympian victory.

Goodly of presence, not by deeds he shamed

His beauty! He, in wresthng-bout victorious,

Aegina of far-sweeping oars proclaimed

His home. There Saviour Themis, throned all-glorious

With Guest-ward Zeus, is most with honour named.

Far-reaching issues, whose decision still

Shifteth, with mind unwarped to judge of these

Fairly, is hard: yet sure the Immortals’ will

Ordained this island rampired by the seas

To be for strangers out of every clime

A god-reared pillar of strength, land of the free⁠—

Oh may the years in this work through all time

Toil tirelessly!⁠—

This isle committed unto Dorian hands

To be Heaven’s stewards, since, in Aiakus’ days,

When Phoebus and the Girder of all lands

A tower-coronal for Troy would raise,

And as their fellow-builder bade him come

To rear that wall, which should, when wars awoke,

Breathe out, when battle brought her day of doom,

Wild-billowing smoke.

Scarce was it built, when, with eyes lurid-glaring,

Three dragons leapt to scale its ramparts high.

Now twain of these fell back, and suddenly

Died, writhing as in impotent despairing:

But the third leapt in with fierce battle-cry.

That portent Phoebus pondered; then spake he:

“Aiakus, where thine hands reared this stone wonder,

There breached and taken Pergamus shall be,

As this sign sent down by the Lord of Thunder,

Zeus, Kronos’ Son, revealeth unto me.

“This shall thine house accomplish. Troy shall fall

Stormed by thy son and thy fourth in descent.”

So plainly spake the God, and therewithal

To Xanthus and the fleet-horsed Amazons went,

And unto Ister speeding fast his car.

With golden team the Trident-wielder fares

To Isthmus oversea, and Aiakus far

To Aegina bears.

Thence, to behold his glorious festival,

To Corinth’s mountain-ridge he bore him on.

No praise of song is sweet alike to all:

If I retrace all fame Melesias won

Through boys, no stone at me let envy fling!

I sing of honours no less high attained

At Nemea, and of crowns pankratian sing

By his men gained.

To teach is no hard task for him who knoweth;

But who unlearned would teach, a fool is he,

For wit untrained hath no stability.

But this Melesias best of all men showeth

How with the strong to strive victoriously,

Teacheth what training shall to triumph guide

Our champion to repeat the oft-told story,

In those great Games, of longed-for victory’s pride.

Now hath Alkimedon achieved that glory⁠—

Melesias’ thirtieth triumph published wide!

By God’s grace, and by his own prowess he

Hath vanquished striplings four. Ha! not for him,

But them, to steal back home shamefacedly

Shrinking from taunting tongues through bypaths dim!

His victory hath thrilled his old grandsire

With strength that o’er eld’s frailty triumpheth.

For he that hath attained his heart’s desire

Forgetteth death.

I must awaken Memory, I wis,

To tell the glory of old champions’ might,

The Blepsiads’ conquering sons: the sixth crown this

That wreathes their brows from those games garland-dight.

Yea, their dead fathers have their share therein,

When due memorial rites are not forgot.

The grace of honour living kinsmen win

The dust hides not.

The song by Hermes’ child, Glad-tidings, chanted

Shall Iphion hear, his bright Olympic fame,

And to Kallimachus shall tell the same,

The glory Zeus to this old House hath granted.

With triumph on triumph may he crown their name,

And aye avert affliction’s bitter blow!

And, for the glory in their lot, may never

God’s jealousy make Nemesis their foe.

May he exalt them and their country, ever

Vouchsafing them a life unvexed of woe.

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.

And a sweet feathered shaft on the bowstring laying

Pytho-ward shoot thou: not to the ground

Shall thy words fall, when thy fingers are straying

O’er the quivering strings of the lyre, to sound

The praise of a lord of the wrestling-ring

Who from Opus the famed came journeying;

And the glory of that good town do thou sing

And the praise of her champion triumph-crowned.

’Tis a city that Themis and Safety-bestower,

Her child Fair Governance, won for their own;

And in knightly deeds she blooms as a bower;

For by Castaly’s fountain her praise is known,

And Alpheus murmureth her renown,

Where blow fair flowers for victory’s crown

To shine on the brows of the mother-town

Of Lokris, with trees girt stately-grown.

The light of my song shall fierily blaze

O’er this city so dear unto me,

And swifter than high-mettled steed can race

Or a white-winged galley can flee,

I will speed this story of Opus’ glory

Far, far over land, over sea,

If by Destiny guided my hand essay

To gather fruit and flower

In the Graces’ garden of gardens, for they

All things delightsome shower.

Whether hero or poet one be, he doth owe it

To Heaven’s all-gracious power.

How else could Heracles’ arm have wielded

Mace against Trident in battle-strain?⁠—

When by Poseidon was Pylos shielded,

And the Sea-god pressed on the Hero amain,

When fast did the arrows of Phoebus fly

As the silver bow rang terribly,

Neither Hades refrained him from swinging on high

His staff, till his blows flashed down like rain⁠—

The staff wherewithal through the cavernous portals

Of his mansion he leadeth, that Underworld-king,

The shadowy forms of perished mortals:⁠—

Nay, nay, this slander afar from thee fling,

O mouth of mine! Him who dares impeach

The Gods, him hatefullest wisdom doth teach!

O yea, for untimely bold-mouthed speech

Doth with strains insensate of madness ring.

Babble not thou in witless folly

Of battle and war of Immortals, nor dare

Blaspheme them! Nay, to the city holy

Of Protogeneia thy song-gift bear,

Telling how by His dooming who wields evermore

The flickering lightning, the thunder’s roar,

Deukalion and Pyrrha long of yore

Fixed their first habitation there,

When down from Parnassus they came, and unmated

Of Aphrodite in wedlock-yoke,

Out of the stones of the field created

A race that should be thenceforth one folk;

And from stones were they named, that stone-born race.

Awaken for these thy clear-ringing lays!

O yea, old wine well mayest thou praise;

But ’tis song’s fresh flowers that our praises provoke.

Out of old days cometh a legend which saith

That the great deep’s fountains rained

On the dark earth’s bosom a deluge of death,

Till, by counsels of Zeus restrained,

The flood-tide sinking with waters shrinking

Swiftly was seaward drained.

And this stone-born generation’s sons

Your grey forefathers were,

All valiant bearers of shields of bronze,

Whom Iapetus’ daughters bare

When they made affiance with Kronos’ scions,

And kings of their blood reigned there,

Till the Lord of Olympus, from earth upraising

The daughter of Opus, wafted his bride

To a lone spot meet for a God’s embracing

Mid Mainalus’ ridges, and lay by her side.

Thereafter to Lokrus the childless he brought

That maid, lest the fingers of eld should blot

Out his name, and his line be continued not

If heirless the king of the land should have died.

But the king’s bride bare till her time’s fulfilling

The seed of the Mightiest ’neath her zone;

And the hero rejoiced with a joy heart-thrilling

O’er the fair babe not of his own seed sown;

And he gave him his mother’s father’s name,

And a man pre-eminent he became

In goodlihead and in deeds of fame,

And his sire gave a city to rule for his own.

And there unto him were gathered strangers:

From Argos the horse-land, from Thebes they hied,

And from Pisa, and Arcady’s mountain-rangers;

But of all that came in his land to abide

Was Aegina’s and Aktor’s son honoured most,

Menoitius, whose son with the Atreids’ host

Unto Teuthras’ plain by the Troyland coast

Sailed. There alone by Achilles’ side

Steadfast he stood, when Telephus turning

The valiant Danaans backward in flight,

Of their sea-pacing galleys essayed the burning;

So that all men knew who could deem aright

That a brave soul dwelt in Patroclus’ breast.

And the son of Thetis with earnest request

Exhorted him, yea, with insistent behest:

“Never hereafter in murderous fight

“Do thou range thyself mid the battle-strain

From my man-quelling spear afar!”

O that to fit praise I may attain

Of those that your champions are,

As, bearing my burden of glory’s guerdon,

I speed in the Song-queen’s car!

And may Daring attend me close at my side

And Power all-compassing!

For hither at friendship’s call have I hied,

And at Chivalry’s summons I sing

Of Lampromachus telling in prowess excelling

In the Isthmian athlete-ring.

Yea, in the same day stood victorious

He and his brother in mimic fray;

And at Corinth’s gates was the name twice glorious

Of Epharmostus in athlete-play.

Other wreaths did he win him in Nemea’s vale,

And at Argos again did his prowess prevail,

When in strife with men did he nowise fail,

As he failed not at Athens in boyhood’s day.

And what contest was that, when, waxing bolder,

From the boys’ ranks stealing at Marathon,

He abode the grapple of strong men older

Than he, for the silver cups to be won;

And by ring-craft that shifteth its balance fast

Never falling, he threw them. As tempest-blast

Rang the cheering, as down the arena he passed

In his goodlihead, goodliest deeds who had done.

At the festal assembly of Zeus Lycaean

Wondrous he showed in Parrhasia’s sight,

And again at Pellene’s games Heraean

He won him a warm defence from the spite

Of the blasts of winter, a mantle-vest.

And the sepulchre where Iolaus doth rest,

And Eleusis beside the sea attest

The splendour of all his deeds of might.

The gifts that by Nature’s self be given

Are ever the best; yet many there be

That by learning of teachers have painfully striven

To attain unto honour’s felicity.

But the deed whose achievement no God hath blessed,

That it never be published abroad is best.

Some paths there be that in glory’s quest

Lead farther than others her votary.

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.

Read ye to me his name⁠—upon mine inmost heart ’tis writ⁠—

Archestratus’ son, he who won the Olympian victory:

I owe him a sweet triumph-song⁠—I had forgotten it!

At last, O Muse, and thou, O Truth, the child of Zeus most high,

Do ye with your atoning hands make of the offence an end:

Blot out the stain of broken troth, the sin against a friend!

From far hath come accusing Time with wings that slowly trail

Yet surely, crying shame on me for my deep debt unpaid.

Yet if with usury I pay it now, this may avail

To lift the burden, hush the lips that faithlessness upbraid.

My song shall swell as rolling surge that sweeps the shingle down,

Shall pay the wronged one friendship’s debt, shall chant his land’s renown.

Unswerving Honour’s home is there beside the western seas.

The Lokrians’ burg. They reverence the Queen of Epic Song

And Ares bronze-arrayed. Yea, even mighty Heracles

Must needs before your Kyknus flee, a foeman over-strong.

To Has let the Olympian victor render thanks this day,

Who trained Agesidamus’ hands for that grim gauntlet-play;

As oft Patroclus thanked Achilles, saith the old-time story.

The man for high achievement born shall win yet higher glory

If one with God’s help whet his spirit’s edge to each essay.

The joy of triumph few have won without hard toil, I ween,

The joy that is a light of life that makes the toil seem naught.

Statutes of Zeus have kindled me to sing the peerless queen

Of contests, which beside the tomb of Pelops ancient-wrought

Did Heracles with altars six found in that haunted dell

When Kteatus, Poseidon’s flawless son, before him fell;

And Eurytus he slew withal, to wrest his hire thereby

For service wrought, which Augeas the tyrant grudged to pay.

Couched in a copse ’neath Kleonae in ambush did he lie,

And as they came, leapt forth and fought and slew them in the way;

For Molos’ haughty sons had slaughtered his Tirynthian men

Erewhile by treachery, as they lay encamped in Elis’ glen.

And verily it was not long ere that Epeian lord

Guest-faithless saw his wealth-abounding land and his own town

Beneath the fire’s remorseless breath and iron stroke of sword

Into the dark unfathomed gulf of ruin sinking down.

Ay, when a man hath rushed into contention, hard it is

To win forth thence, and loose the grip of mightier foes, I wis.

Yea, Augeas’ self, brought by his redeless counsel to confusion,

Was captive taken at the last, nor ’scaped sin’s retribution,

Hurled down to death, as one who falls from some sheer precipice.

Then Zeus’s mighty son assembled all his battle-band

And all the spoil of war: a sacred precinct did he trace

In Pisa for his sire supreme, and fenced on every hand

The Altis, and the bounds thereof in a clear open space

He marked out, and for rest and feasting all the plain around

Ordained; and so was Alpheus’ stream by him with honour crowned,

With the twelve Royal Gods; and on the height therein bestowed

The name of Kronos’ Hill; for when Oenomaus was king

Nameless it was, a crest by clouds of winter oversnowed.

And while men bowed them in that rite primeval worshipping,

The Fates were there unseen, yet close they stood beside him then,

And Time was there, who of the truth alone convinceth men.

For, journeying onward, clearly Time hath told truth manifest

How Heracles took battle’s gifts, how he divided all,

And to those Gods apportioned out of all the spoils the best,

And with due sacrifice ordained that fifth-year festival,

That first Olympiad whose fame has pealed the ages down.

And who were they, the first that won that new-appointed crown

With battling hands, with racing feet, with chariot swiftly flying,

Who in their hearts the vision saw of glory’s wreath undying,

And by their deeds of prowess won unperishing renown?

Adown the straight course of the racing-track Likyminius’ son

Oionus sped: fast did his feet before all rivals bound:

From Midea’s gates in Argolis he led his war-host on.

And by his wrestling Echemus made Tegea renowned.

The gauntlet-fighters’ guerdon from the lists Doryklus bore

Who dwelt in Tiryns. In the chariot-race of horses four

Samos of Mantinea, Halirhothius’ son, sped fast

Beyond the rest; and Phrastus’ lance with aim unerring flew;

And Nikeus past all rival marks the huge stone discus cast,

The weight that whirling round with circling sweep of hand he threw.

Then thundered forth the mighty cheer from all his war-mates there.

And lo, the fair-faced moon’s sweet light lit up the evening air.

Then rang the close with songs, as music rings through banquet-hall.

So voices still the victor sing, and feet the revel tread.

Now, as the grey beginnings of those contests we recall,

We too, in song named after Victory stately-charioted,

Will chant the thunder’s praise, the fiery-handed flames that fly

In crimson-flickering bolts of Him who wakes the thunder’s cry,

And sendeth down upon the earth his lurid-gleaming levin

Which sealeth every victory with Zeus’s sign from heaven.

And consonant with flutes shall ring my song’s rich melody,

Which here by Dirke’s stream renowned hath come to light at last.

As welcome to that father comes a son in wedlock born

Whose feet unto the further slope of young life’s hill have passed,

And lights a love-flame in the heart that was of joy forlorn⁠—

For to a dying man is death a thing to hate yet more

If alien heirs like sheep shall herd his wealth of garnered store;⁠—

Even so, Agesidamus, when from emprise nobly wrought

A man descendeth all unsung to mansions of the dead,

Scant pleasure all his toil hath won, his breath was spent for nought.

But upon thee the sweet-voiced lyre and dulcet flute have shed

The grace of all their winsomeness: like some wide-spreading tree

By those Zeus-born Pierian Maids thy fame shall fostered be.

And I, their earnest fellow-worker, to mine heart enfold

This glorious race of Lokrians. Song’s honey-dew I shower

On that burg of heroic men. Thy praises have I told,

Archestratus’ all-comely son, whose victory in that hour

Achieved by prowess of thine hand by mine own eyes was seen.

Beside the altar crowned in that Olympian demesne

I saw him! Goodly was his presence, strength and beauty blended

With that spring-bloom which glowed on Ganymede when he ascended

Heaven-high above death’s ruthless clutch, by favour of Love’s Queen.

Sometimes the wind-battalions shouting loud

Do men most service, now again

The rains of heaven, the children of the cloud,

Bring blessing in their train.

But when by toil one winneth victory,

The singer’s honey-throated lays

Upringing, plant for fame that yet shall be

A sure foundation, are a prophecy

Of exploits worthy praise.

Far beyond envy are the praises stored

For victors at Olympia crowned.

Songs are my sheep; I, as some shepherd-lord,

Find them fair pasture-ground.

By God’s gift inspiration bloometh aye

In the bard’s heart unfadingly.

Son of Archestratus, know thou this day,

Agesidamus, that my victory-lay

Shall sweetly sound for thee,

Shall for the triumph of thy ring-craft grace

With splendour thy bright olive-wreath,

And honour therewithal the Lokrian race

Fanned by the West-wind’s breath.

O Song-queens, hither speed your festal feet!

I pledge me in sincerity

No guest-repelling folk ye there shall meet,

Nor in fair chivalry

Unschooled: nay, over wisdom’s heights they range,

They with the spear were valiant ever.

That these be like their sires is nowise strange:

Red fox and thunder-throated lion change

Their inborn nature never.

Hear, O thou Daughter of Zeus the Deliverer, Fortune the Saver

From peril! Keep watch and ward, I implore,

Over Himera, burg of the far-stretching might; for ’tis by thy favour

That ships be steered to their haven-shore

Over the sea; and torrent-like wars, and council-decisions

Be guided on land. Tossed high, whelmed low

Be the hopes of men, as over a sea of delusive visions

Cleaving the treacherous waves they go.

But through all the years never any of men on the earth abiding

Hath found sure tokens from God to reveal

How he shall fare in the days to come, but in darkness hiding

Are the future’s warnings of woe or weal.

Many chances to men have befallen, yea, past all expectation:

Some plunge from joy into sorrow’s abyss;

And some, who have battled with troublous surges, by sudden mutation

Their anguish have changed for the height of bliss.

O son of Philanor, verily even thy swift feet’s glory

Had as dead leaves faded, unmarked, uncrowned,

There by the hearth of thy fathers: thy name had been heard not in story;

As a home-fighting cock hadst thou been unrenowned,

Had contention in Knossus of burgher with burgher in conflict gory

In the homeland not left thee no foot of ground.

But now at Olympia, Ergoteles, winning a victory-garland

And at Isthmus, at Pytho, twain⁠—by these

Thou exaltest to honour the steaming Baths of the Nymphs in a far land,

On thine own lands dwelling in stormless peace.

Now, while I laud a house that thrice can vaunt

Olympian victory, gracious to the guest,

To fellow-burghers courteous, I will chant

With theirs the praise of Corinth heaven-blest.

Here Isthmian Poseidon fixed his portals,

This city glorious⁠—noble sons are hers!

Here hath Fair Governance her home mid mortals,

Here dwell her sisters, city-stablishers,

Justice, and Peace her fellow-fosterling:

God’s stewards of true wealth to men they be,

Themis’s golden daughters, they who bring

Wise counsels from the Queen of Equity;

And resolute are they afar to scare

Insolence, glutted greed’s tongue-shameless dam.

Fair witness of them it is mine to bear;

By forthright boldness spurred to speak I am.

None can suppress our nature’s inborn powers,

Hide them can none. On you, Aletes’ seed,

Oftentimes have the Seasons crowned with flowers

Bestowed the splendour of the victor’s meed

As upon men with hero-prowess fired,

Men in the sacred Games with victory wreathed;

And oft into men’s souls have they inspired

Devices wise by them of old bequeathed.

To him of whom first each invention came

Is all the honour due. Who caused to appear

Dionysus’ graces, with the dithyramb

That wins the ox? Who unto horses’ gear

Added the rein? On temples god-enshrining

Who set the twofold image of the king

Of birds? Flower-fragrant there the Muse is shining,

And Ares spear-girt by a warrior-ring.

Olympian Lord most high, who far and wide

Reignest, grudge not fulfilment of my prayer

Through all time! May this city’s folk abide

In safety! May the breeze of fortune fair

That breathes on Xenophon, blow constant ever!

The due procession singing home his crown

Accept thou, as from Pisa’s plain and river

He leads it onward to his native town.

For victor in the Contests Five is he

And in the foot-race: so hath he attained

Such glory multiplied of victory

As mortal never yet before hath gained.

And shadowed was his head by garlands twain

When Isthmus saw him win the parsley-meed:

Kindness no less from Nemea did he gain

The record of his father’s lightning speed

Is treasured still where Alpheus softly paces.

Yea, and at Pytho by his feet were won

The crowns of honour in the twofold races,

Single and double, under one day’s sun.

In that same month at rocky Athens-town

A day fulfilled of glorious victory

Set on his hair crown after victor’s crown

Whose flying feet had won him races three.

Seven times Hellotia crowned him. ’Twere too long

To tell how with their father Ptoiadore

Did Terpsias and Eritimus strong

Triumph in games beside the Sea-god’s shore;

How oft at Delphi ye, and in the Lion’s

Dark glen stood first⁠—though my song-treasury

Outrival all bards, their tale bids defiance

To reckoning; countless as the sands they be.

But to each thing pertaineth measure meet,

And best of all it is to know aright

The fit time. I, who sail in your great fleet,

Yet choose mine own course, sing the battle-might

And wisdom of old days, and in the telling

Lie not⁠—of heroism’s highways trod

By Corinth, and of Sisyphus excelling

In cunning counsels even as some God,

And of Medea, her who dared defy

Her father, chose at her own heart’s behest

A bridegroom, and the saviour was thereby

Of Argo and the Heroes of the Quest.

Again of old when dashed the war’s red seas

Against Troy’s walls, ’twas ever Corinth’s sons

That swayed to either side war’s balance, these

Helping Atreides and his mighty ones

To win back Helen, those to make resistance

Unto the uttermost, when Danaans quailed

Before strong Glaukus, who from the far distance

Of Lycia’s highlands flashed on them bronze-mailed,

And vaunted of his father’s empery

Over the city of Peirene there,

And of his heritage of deep-loamed lea,

And of his stately palace royal-fair,

That sire who sorely suffered by the spring

Where he would fain bind snake-haired Gorgon’s son

Pegasus. Dreaming, he saw Pallas bring

The bridle that with golden frontlet shone:⁠—

And lo, ’twas no dream! “Aiolid prince, awake thee!”

She cried⁠—“Receive this spell to charm yon steed.

To thine horse-taming Sire with this betake thee;

There let a white bull on his altar bleed.”

Thus as he slumbered in the gloom of night,

The Maid of the Dark Aegis seemed to say.

Upleaping, on his feet he stood upright,

And seized the marvel that beside him lay.

Then joyously to Corinth’s seer he wended,

And to the son of Koiranus he showed

How that strange venture of the night had ended,

How, trusting all the prophet did forebode,

He laid him down to sleep all through the night

Upon the altar in Athene’s fane;

How she, the Child of Him whose lance of light

Is levin, with her own hands did she deign

To bring to him the spirit-taming gold.

The seer bade haste that vision to obey;

To the Wide-ruler who doth earth enfold

The bull, the mighty-footed beast, to slay;

And then to rear to Pallas chariot-reining

An altar. Ah, by power of Gods is brought

To pass a thing transcending prayers’ attaining,

Transcending all hope⁠—effortlessly wrought!

So was it now; for strong Bellerophon

With haste impetuous hied him forth to quell

That winged steed⁠—lo, the victory was won

When touched his jaws the fury-stilling spell!

He sprang on Pegasus’ back; in brazen mail

Arrayed to play the play of swords he sped;

And riding on that steed did he assail

From the chill cloudland’s folds untenanted

The Amazon host, the maids that bear the quiver;

Fire-breath’d Chimaera slew and Solymi.

That steed in Zeus’s stalls abideth ever:⁠—

His rider’s doom I pass in silence by.

But, as I hurl the whizzing casting-spear,

My shaft beside the mark I may not speed.

To Song-queens splendour-throned with joy draws near

Their champion, and to Oligaithus’ seed.

How oft at Nemea these have shone victorious

And at the Isthmus, all will I comprise

In few words: of the record passing-glorious

My tale a truthful witness ratifies⁠—

Ay, under oath⁠—that noble herald’s tongue

Which published threescore victories in the names

Of this House⁠—welcome-sweet his accents rung!⁠—

When Nemea and the Isthmus held their games.

Touching their victories at Olympia won,

Meseems, the tale already hath been told;

And of the great deeds that shall yet be done,

Their tale hereafter shall my song unfold

Clearly. I hope now: with God lies the issue;

But, if this House’s fortune speed, I trow,

Zeus and the War-god’s hands shall weave the tissue

Of that bright future. ’Neath Parnassus’ brow

Six triumphs won they: all at Argos gained

And Thebes, and where by that Lykaian height

The altar royal unto Zeus ordained

Shall witness in Arcadia’s people’s sight,

And in Pellene, Megara, Sikyon,

And in the Aiakids’ close fair-walled around,

And at Eleusis, shining Marathon,

And towns by Etna’s huge mass overfrowned,

Euboea⁠—nay, all Hellas through, thy questing

Shall prove them countless. Zeus, who answerest prayer,

Light let their feet glide on! Be honour resting

On these, all bliss be theirs and fortune fair!

O ye who your lot by Kephisus have found,

Ye who dwell in the land where the swift horse races,

O bright Orchomenus’ queens, ye Graces

Who compass the ancient Minyans round

With your guardian arms, O song-renowned,

Now hearken my prayer! By your bounty all pleasure,

All sweet things on menfolk descend in full measure,

All wisdom, all beauty, all fame with its splendour.

’Tis with help that the Graces, the worshipful, render

That the Gods’ own dancings and feastings be holden;

Yea, these be dispensers of all things in Heaven.

By the side of the Lord of the bow all-golden,

Pythian Apollo, be thrones to them given;

The Olympian Sire are they ever adoring,

And his majesty’s fountain for aye outpouring.

O Daughters of Zeus of the Gods most high,

Euphrosyne lover of song, and Aglaia,

And thou who dost joy in the chant, Thalia,

Hearken ye now to our suppliant cry!

Look down as our triumphing troop sweeps by,

As onward with lightsome foot it is pacing

The victor’s fortune of happiness gracing.

I come hither the praise of Asopichus singing,

In Lydian measure my chant outringing,

For that now is the Minyan House victorious

By your grace at Olympia. Fly, Echo, telling

Unto old Kleodamus the tidings glorious

That shall brighten Persephone’s dark-walled dwelling,

How his son in the Vale far-famous in story

Hath enwreathed his tresses with garlands of glory.