hailed her guest by Kastaly’s Spring,
Won for thee with his car a crown of glory—
Thy car all-conquering!
With reins unsnapped through all that hallowed space
Around the courses twelve he swung,
Nor car nor harness brake he in the race,
But dedicate hath hung
On Phoebus’ wall the craftsmen’s masteries
Riding whereon he passed ere then
The hill of Krisa to the plain that lies
In the God’s bosomed glen.
The cypress shrine now hath them in possession
By that self-moulded statue placed
Which Cretan bowmen ’neath the roof Parnassian
Unto the God upraised.
Beseems that with blithe heart thou welcome one
Who hath done thee such service fair.
Splendour ye shed on Alexibius’ son,
O Graces of bright hair!
O happy thou, that after labour sore
Thou hast the praise of noblest song
To keep thy memory green! Mid those twoscore
Drivers, who mid the throng
Were hurled to earth, thou with a heart undaunted
Didst drive unscathed thy chariot on,
And now to Libya from Games glory-haunted
And thy sires’ home hast won.
No man is now, nor shall be, portionless
Of trouble: yet on Battus’ line
Still waits the olden bliss, though happiness
And grief may intertwine.
Kyrene’s warder-tower is this, a light
Of splendour on the stranger shed.
Yea, thunder-throated lions in affright
From Battus’ outcry fled—
That voice from overseas! Your founder Apollo
Thrilled them with dread, that on the word
Of prophecy might sure fulfilment follow
For him, Kyrene’s lord.
’Tis Phoebus gives to men and women skill
To heal all manner of disease;
He gave the lyre, he teacheth whom he will
All Song’s sweet melodies.
Into men’s hearts Fair Governance he brings,
Mother of peace: o’er Pytho’s cell
He broodeth, whence his voice prophetic rings.
In Sparta he made dwell,
In Argos, Pylos’ hallowed town, undaunted
Heracles’ and Aigimius’ line.
Now Sparta’s dear renown must needs be chanted
By her son’s lips, yea, mine.
Thence my forefathers sprang, the Aigeïdae,
Who, by the Gods’ grace destiny-led,
To Thera fared of old, whence also we
That Feast inherited
Of sacrifice wherein all people share,
And in thy feast Karneian, King
Apollo, of Kyrene builded fair
The glorious honour sing,
Where dwell the brazen-harnessed Trojan strangers,
Antenor’s sons, who fled the war
Wherein they saw Troy burnt, and came, sea-rangers,
With Helen from afar.
Kind welcome to that chariot-driving band
With gifts and sacrifice they gave
Whom Aristoteles brought to Libyan land
In swift ships o’er the wave,
Cleaving a deep path through the sea, and made
Greater the temple-groves divine,
And for the festival-processions laid
A paved road’s level line
For trampling steeds, and pilgrims magnifying
Apollo, Helper of our race.
There now in death apart is Battus lying
Hard by the market-place.
Blest was he while with men he found a home:
All reverence him, their hero, yet.
Apart from him is each king’s hallowed tomb
Before the palace set.
To them in Hades wins some echo through—
If such life-music reach the dead—
How prowess is besprent with kindly dew
Of victory-song outshed.
So theirs too is Arkesilas’ triumph-story,
The fame that justice doth award.
While chant the youths, ’tis meet he sing the glory
Of Phoebus Golden-sword,
He whom glad Pythian songs immortalize—
The victor’s guerdon for all pains.
I bat repeat the praises of the wise
In these my triumph-strains.
His mind, his tongue, transcend his spring of life;
In courage as a broad-winged erne
Mid weakling fowl, a tower in athlete-strife
No strength can overturn.
Even from his mother’s knee did he give token
Of wings with my Song-queens to soar:
Of his car-driving skill the praise is spoken
By this the wide world o’er.
And all paths that exalt his Libyan home
Hath he essayed. Now graciously
God perfecteth his powers. Through years to come,
Blest Kronos’ Sons, do ye
Vouchsafe to him alike with hand and mind
Still to excel. May his work stay,
Wrecked by no blast of devastating wind
In his life’s autumn-day.
The mighty mind of Zeus is ever guiding
Their destiny whom he loveth well.
To Battus’ seed may he grant fame abiding
Also in Pisa’s dell.
VI
For Xenocrates of Akragas, in Sicily, on the victory in the chariot-race won by his son, Thrasybulus, 490 BC.
Hear! for our ploughshare is sundering
The glebe-furrows of starry-eyed
Aphrodite, where Graces guide
Our feet drawing nigh to the shrine
At the navel of earth hollow-thundering,
Where for Emmenus’ heaven-blest line
And for Akragas’ city enfolden
By her river, and, more than all,
For Xenocrates, riseth the hall
Of a treasure-house song-upholden
In Apollo’s glen of the golden
Gifts gracing his temple-wall.
That treasure no rain-storm, hurling
Its pitiless hosts from the cloud
Amid thunders crashing loud
Shall sweep to abysses of sea
By the storm-wind with shingle-drift swirling;
But the porch of our treasury
In brightness unsullied shall flame, it
Shall publish the triumph afar,
Thrasybulus, won by thy car
In Krisa; and men shall acclaim it
For thy sire and thy kindred, shall name it
Their glory, their splendour-star.
At thy right hand thou settest him ever,
And so by the charge dost thou hold
Which of yore mid the hills, it is told.
To Achilles the child left lone
Did Philyra’s son deliver,
Unto Peleus’ mighty son:
“First of Abiders in Heaven
Kronion do thou adore
Lord of the thunder’s roar,
And be reverence alway given
Unto thy parents, even
To the end, till life be o’er.”
This selfsame spirit aforetime
Did mighty Antilochus bear:
For his father’s sake did he dare
That Aethiop chief’s death-stroke
When Memnon prevailed in the war-time.
For trammelled was Nestor’s yoke
By the steed on the red earth lying
By the arrow of Paris shot.
Ever nearer was havoc wrought
By the lance that Memnon was plying;
And the sire to his son spake, crying
For help, being terror-distraught.
That cry on the air was not wasted;
But withstanding a mightier alone,
His father’s life with his own
That godlike son redeemed,
And death’s cup of glory he tasted.
So in after days he seemed
To the sons of each new generation
In those old times bygone
Ever the noblest son
In filial love’s consecration.
Now—by none out of any nation
Is Thrasybulus outdone
