Chapter_45

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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.”