Chapter_246

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Far-reaching power has wealth for him to whom

It comes, a gift that Destiny sends

With stainless honour linked: so leads he home

A charm that wins him friends.

Thon, O Arkesilas the heaven-blest,

Since from its first steps glory crowned

Thy life, hast held that boon of Heaven in quest,

Hast sought fair fame, and found,

With aid of Kastor of the chariot golden,

Who bade the wintry tempest cease,

And sheds upon thine hearthstone bliss-enfolden

Sunlight of skies of peace.

Whoso are noble bear with fairest grace

Such power as God bestows on thee;

And thou on paths of righteousness dost pace

Crowned with prosperity;

For over mighty cities king thou art;

And thy discernment eagle-eyed,

Inborn with thee, hath wedded to thine heart

Honour as to a bride.

And this day crowns thy bliss with triumph glorious

In Pythian Games by fleet steeds won.

Now hast thou welcomed home the chant victorious

As sweeps the revel on,

Phoebus’ delight. So, when the song they raise

Around Kyrene’s garden fair

Of Aphrodite, to give God the praise

For all, have thou a care.

And hold Karrhotus dearest friend, who brought

Not back, to cloak disaster’s shame,

Excuse, the child of late-wise Afterthought,

When to the halls he came

Of Battus’ sons, whose just rule lives in story;

But, hailed her guest by Kastaly’s Spring,

Won for thee with his car a crown of glory⁠—

Thy car all-conquering!

With reins unsnapped through all that hallowed space

Around the courses twelve he swung,

Nor car nor harness brake he in the race,

But dedicate hath hung

On Phoebus’ wall the craftsmen’s masteries

Riding whereon he passed ere then

The hill of Krisa to the plain that lies

In the God’s bosomed glen.

The cypress shrine now hath them in possession

By that self-moulded statue placed

Which Cretan bowmen ’neath the roof Parnassian

Unto the God upraised.

Beseems that with blithe heart thou welcome one

Who hath done thee such service fair.

Splendour ye shed on Alexibius’ son,

O Graces of bright hair!

O happy thou, that after labour sore

Thou hast the praise of noblest song

To keep thy memory green! Mid those twoscore

Drivers, who mid the throng

Were hurled to earth, thou with a heart undaunted

Didst drive unscathed thy chariot on,

And now to Libya from Games glory-haunted

And thy sires’ home hast won.

No man is now, nor shall be, portionless

Of trouble: yet on Battus’ line

Still waits the olden bliss, though happiness

And grief may intertwine.

Kyrene’s warder-tower is this, a light

Of splendour on the stranger shed.

Yea, thunder-throated lions in affright

From Battus’ outcry fled⁠—

That voice from overseas! Your founder Apollo

Thrilled them with dread, that on the word

Of prophecy might sure fulfilment follow

For him, Kyrene’s lord.

’Tis Phoebus gives to men and women skill

To heal all manner of disease;

He gave the lyre, he teacheth whom he will

All Song’s sweet melodies.

Into men’s hearts Fair Governance he brings,

Mother of peace: o’er Pytho’s cell

He broodeth, whence his voice prophetic rings.

In Sparta he made dwell,

In Argos, Pylos’ hallowed town, undaunted

Heracles’ and Aigimius’ line.

Now Sparta’s dear renown must needs be chanted

By her son’s lips, yea, mine.

Thence my forefathers sprang, the Aigeïdae,

Who, by the Gods’ grace destiny-led,

To Thera fared of old, whence also we

That Feast inherited

Of sacrifice wherein all people share,

And in thy feast Karneian, King

Apollo, of Kyrene builded fair

The glorious honour sing,

Where dwell the brazen-harnessed Trojan strangers,

Antenor’s sons, who fled the war

Wherein they saw Troy burnt, and came, sea-rangers,

With Helen from afar.

Kind welcome to that chariot-driving band

With gifts and sacrifice they gave

Whom Aristoteles brought to Libyan land

In swift ships o’er the wave,

Cleaving a deep path through the sea, and made

Greater the temple-groves divine,

And for the festival-processions laid

A paved road’s level line

For trampling steeds, and pilgrims magnifying

Apollo, Helper of our race.

There now in death apart is Battus lying

Hard by the market-place.

Blest was he while with men he found a home:

All reverence him, their hero, yet.

Apart from him is each king’s hallowed tomb

Before the palace set.

To them in Hades wins some echo through⁠—

If such life-music reach the dead⁠—

How prowess is besprent with kindly dew

Of victory-song outshed.

So theirs too is Arkesilas’ triumph-story,

The fame that justice doth award.

While chant the youths, ’tis meet he sing the glory

Of Phoebus Golden-sword,

He whom glad Pythian songs immortalize⁠—

The victor’s guerdon for all pains.

I bat repeat the praises of the wise

In these my triumph-strains.

His mind, his tongue, transcend his spring of life;

In courage as a broad-winged erne

Mid weakling fowl, a tower in athlete-strife

No strength can overturn.

Even from his mother’s knee did he give token

Of wings with my Song-queens to soar:

Of his car-driving skill the praise is spoken

By this the wide world o’er.

And all paths that exalt his Libyan home

Hath he essayed. Now graciously

God perfecteth his powers. Through years to come,

Blest Kronos’ Sons, do ye

Vouchsafe to him alike with hand and mind

Still to excel. May his work stay,

Wrecked by no blast of devastating wind

In his life’s autumn-day.

The mighty mind of Zeus is ever guiding

Their destiny whom he loveth well.

To Battus’ seed may he grant fame abiding

Also in Pisa’s dell.