lure the bard unwitting
To lengthen out his strain; yet brevity
Grace-clad the wise hear most acceptably.
In everything to grasp the season fitting
Crowneth the emprise. Thebe seven-gated
Knew it; nor Iolaus failed to tread
That path. He clave Eurystheus’ head all-hated
With the keen sword; but when himself lay dead,
Then Thebe buried him with honour, heaping
His grave-mound where Amphitryon lay sleeping,
Her chariot-chief—that tomb wherein did rest
His father’s father, he who was the guest
Of the Sown Men, lords of white steeds, who greeted
That hero well in Thebe stately-streeted.
To him and Zeus did royal-souled Alkmena
In love united, in one travail bear
The might of twin sons: conquerors they were
Ever, these twain, in battle’s grim arena.
A dullard is the man who never raiseth
His voice to sing the deeds of Heracles,
And Dirke’s streams remembereth not nor praiseth
Whose Fountain-maid reared him and Iphikles.
Unto these now will I uplift a chanting
Of triumph-song for that their gracious granting
Of vows’ fulfilment. On me may your light,
O Graces ringing-voiced, shine ever bright!
Aegina and Nisus’ Hill have heard me singing
Three times ere this, Kyrene’s praise outringing.
And so the impotence that is the shame
Of tongue-tied bards do I escape. I claim
That citizens, friends or foes, shall ne’er conceal
Good work accomplished for the common weal,
That jealousy set not at nought the rede
Of that old Sea-god: “Give whole-hearted praise,
If justice claim it, for each noble deed,
Even to a foe—dispraise is thy disgrace!”
Our maids at Pallas’ yearly feasts saw thee
Full oft victorious, and prayed silently,
Telesikrates, that such their spouse or son might be.
In Games Olympian thine was fame far-ringing,
And in the lists beside Earth’s central stone,
And in the land thou claimest for thine own:—
But lo, as I would quench my thirst for singing,
I hear a voice that speaks of old-time glory
That bids me pay a debt, recall the pride
Of thy forefathers, bids me tell the story
How, for the winning of a Libyan bride,
Hasted to Irasa’s city many a lover
Of a fair-haired one famed the wide world over,
Drawn thither for Antaius’ daughter’s sake,
Whom many a gallant kinsman fain would take
To wife, and many in far countries dwelling;
For wondrous was her beauty, past all telling.
With passionate longing for love’s fruit they sought her,
This mortal Hebe of the Golden Crown.
Howbeit a marriage of more high renown
Her father purposed for his princess-daughter.
For he had heard how Danaus meditated
At Argos how should spousal-rites be won
For eight-and-forty daughters yet unmated,
Ere their life’s noontide should have come and gone,
And how he compassed this with no delaying.
For at the limits of the lists arraying
The throng of suitors of the maidens sweet,
He bade them by contention of swift feet
Decide which several daughter should be given
To each whose feet had for the guerdon striven.
So would that lord of Libya-land decide
Between those suitors for a princess-bride.
He set the maid bedecked with gold and gem
To be the goal and prize, and cried to them
That he should lead her home who foremost sped
And touched her robes. Of all that suitor-band
Alexidamus’ swift feet foremost fled,
And his hand clasped the noble maiden’s hand,
And led her through the Nomad horse-array.
Leaves many and wreaths upon him showered they,
Ay, many a victory-plume had he won ere that day.
X
For Hippokleas of Thessaly, on his victory in the quarter-mile race for boys, 498 BC. The expenses of the composition and performance of this ode since the winner’s family were not in a position to meet them) were, for the honour of his country, borne by Thorax, head of the Aleuadae Clan, the aristocratic rulers of Larissa. These claimed descent from Perseus, through Heracles.
Happy is Sparta, and blessed is Thessaly, seeing there reigneth
In one and the other a race descended from Heracles.
Is not the vaunt out of season? O nay, for a summons constraineth
Me from Pelinna and Pytho and sons of Aleuas, for these
Would bring to Hippokleas chanting of victory-choruses.
He hath tasted the joy of the athlete: the gorge of Parnassus hath hailed him
To the host of the dwellers around as first in the boys’ double-race.
Sweet, O Apollo, man’s work is when God’s strong help hath availed him,
Sweet in beginning and end; and this he achieved by thy grace;
And his prowess inborn in the print of the feet of his father doth pace.
For twice in Olympia’s contests in armour of battle-biding
Ares did Phrikias run: in the mead under Kirrha’s rock hiding
Were the feet of the father winged with the might of victory.
So ever may fortune fair follow these in the days to be!
So may their splendour of wealth ever bloom as the flower-starred lea.
Of the blessings delightsome of Hellas may these win no small measure!
No jealous repen tings of Gods turn ever to darkness their light!
Sooth, a God’s heart only is painless; yet he winneth happiness’ treasure,
And is hymned of the singers, whose prowess of hands or of feet to the height
Of athlete-triumph hath climbed by his courage and bodily might,
And he who hath lived to behold a son by Fate’s favour attaining
The Pythian crown. Heaven’s towers are for mortals unscaleable aye;
Yet all havens of splendour a mortal may sail to are his for the gaining
But neither the journeying foot nor the galley, quest as they may,
To the Rest-land Auroral shall find the mvstery-hidden way.
Yet did Perseus the war-chief feast in their halls, and their sacrificing
Behold, as from altars he saw the smoke of ass-hecatombs rising
Unto Apollo; yea, and the God hath delight evermore
In the festival-banquets of these, and their chants that heavenward soar;
And he laugheth beholding the beasts as they wanton with ramp and roar.
Yea, and the Muse from their lives is not exiled, but circlewise winding
Dances of maidens sweep, and the voice of the lyre rings clear,
And the notes of the pipe, and their tresses with golden
