For he dwells in a city where cannot perish
Delight in song, where rule spear-clashing
Aiakids: eager are they to cherish
A spirit in strife of the Games well-tried.
If a man by achievements be glorified,
He hath dropped on the Muses’ rills sun-flashing
Honey-sweet matter for song-delight.
For shrouded in gloom of oblivion’s night
Are mighty deeds that be left unsung.
One mirror alone do we know that hath flung
Their reflection afar to endure for long,
If by grace of the Lady of Memory
Of the shining coronal, these may see
Their requital for toils in ringing song.