Late though it come. Most swift is the eagle of all winged things,
Who suddenly grips in his talons with far-flying swoop of his wings
His blood-stained quarry. But chattering daws o’er the low grounds hover.
On thee, whom the favour of Klio the splendour-throned doth cover
With glory, because of thy spirit, the athlete-champion’s mind,
From Nemea and Megara light, and from Epidaurus, hath shined.