II
For Hiero of Syracuse, on his victory in a chariot-race, not at Pytho, but at Thebes, BC 475 (?).
Strophe 1
O Syracuse, city in greatness excelling,
Precinct of Ares through gulfs of war
Who plungeth, O nurse of the warrior and steed
That in clash of the steel of battle-weed
Exult, from radiant Thebes do I speed
Bearing a song of the great race, telling
Of the swift earth-shaking four-horsed car,
The race wherein Hiero triumphward riding
Flashed down the course with his glorious team,
And crowned with garlands that glowed far-seen
Ortygia, the haunt of the River-queen
Artemis—aided of her, I ween,
His hands as with spells of enchantment were guiding
Those steeds with a bridle of rainbow-gleam;
Antistrophe 1
For she, the arrow-triumphant Maiden,
And Hermes the Ruler of Contests, bring—
Yea, the gifts of the Gods’ linked hands they are—
These harness-adornings that glitter afar
When he yokes strong steeds to his shining car
And its wheels rein-piloted, victory-laden,
Invoking the wide-ruling Trident-king.
The prowess-guerdon of song sweet-ringing
From the lips of many a bard shall swell
To the feet of lords that o’er far lands reign;
As the Cyprian bards in triumphant strain
Chant Kinyras’ praises once and again,
Aphrodite’s priestly minion singing
Whom Apollo the golden-haired loved well;
Epode 1
For their gratitude’s praise for his kindness is gushing
From the hearts in loving reverence bowed.
O Deinomenes’ son, the Lokrian maid19
In the far west sings at her door unafraid
The delivering might of thine arm, that stayed
War’s march of afflictions spirit-crushing,
That her eyes no longer are terror-cowed.
In old-time legend it stands recorded
That Ixion, the while on the fire-winged wheel
By the sentence of Gods he is endlessly whirled,
Ever shrieketh his warning, a cry that is hurled
Unto men’s ears up from the underworld—
“Be the kindness of thy benefactors rewarded
With all the love that thine heart can reveal!”
Strophe 2
That lesson he learned in uttermost measure;
For, though he received a life of bliss
Mid the Children of Kronos, the gracious-souled,
He contented him not with its joys untold,
But for Hera he lusted frenzy-bold,
Of Zeus’s couch the inviolate treasure;
For presumption drave him on into this
His overweening infatuation.
But swiftly he reaped meet harvest of sin
To suffer of all hell’s torments the worst:
For his twofold transgression earned the Accurst
That vengeance—the one, that he was the first
Who stained mankind with contamination
Of the treacherous spilling of blood of kin;
Antistrophe 2
The other, that in the recesses most holy
Of the bride-bower of Zeus did he make essay
Of the Queen of Heaven! Meet is it to know
Our mortality’s limits, meet to forego
The lawless loves that their victim throw
Into gulfs of destruction. Such was his folly;
For with nought but a cloud it was that he lay,
Unknowing all, to his own confusion
Lured on by a sweetly-beckoning lie;
For the cloud-wrought image the semblance bare
Of Kronos’ Child, Heaven’s fairest fair;
For the hands of Zeus had fashioned the snare,
The beautiful bane, for his soul’s delusion.
So he compassed his own dire doom thereby,
Epode 2
Outstretched on the wheel’s arms crucifying,
Tangled in bonds whence escape is none,
Shrieking that warning the whole world o’er.
And his cloud-mate, unblessed of the Graces, bore
A monstrous child—such dam never more
Nor such offspring shall be, ’neath a black curse lying
Of menfolk, of godfolk—a thing to shun!
And the cloud-mother reared that evil abortion
And named Kentaurus. By Pelion’s foot
In Magnesia he mated with many a mare;
And a horde of monsters was born of them there
Wondrous to see, for the likeness they bare
Of either parent; the upper portion
As man was shapen, the nether as brute.
Strophe 3
What purpose soever God conceiveth
He accomplisheth; none his intent may defy—
God, who o’ertaketh the eagle’s wing,
Who outstrippeth the dolphin, o’er waves though it spring,
And the pride of man to the dust can bring,
While unto the lowly one glory he giveth
That waxeth not old as the years fleet by.
But for me is it well that I lack not discretion
From slander’s viper-fangs to refrain.
Ay, venomous-tongued Archilochus’ fate
Have I known from of old, and his low estate
Who with rancorous speech fed fat his hate.
Of all things that Fortune can give in possession
Riches with wisdom are best to attain.
Antistrophe 3
These blessings be thine, may all see plainly;
And this thou showest, O liberal-souled,
O princely ruler of many a street
Fair-circled with towers where thy squadrons meet;
And such riches and honour thy weal complete
That in fantasy’s folly he striveth vainly
Who saith that any surpassed thee of old
Among Hellene lords that be famed in story.
On the prow of my galley with flowers hung round
Will I take my stand as the praises I sing
Of thy prowess. Young hearts win strengthening
From courage when trumpets for onset ring.
Yea, thou, I proclaim it, hast won thee glory
Therefrom, a glory that knows no bound,
Epode 3
Now warring mid horsemen battleward racing,
And now mid warriors afoot that fight.
And thy wisdom now when thy locks
