In the chariot-contest triumphant. He bringeth
No stain on the mighty name
Of the prowess his sires made glorious
Of old. Well know ye the fame
Which Kleonymus won, as the old lay singeth
How his chariot raced victorious.
By the mother akin to the Labdakid Clan, they walked in the ways of wealth, and they trained
With manifold toil the yoke of four.
But time with its onward-rolling days bringeth change upon change: unscarred, unpained
Are none but the Gods’ seed evermore.