But himself, at rest from his mighty toils, should thereafter inherit through days unending
Peace ever-during, for sufferings past a recompense all earth-joys transcending,
In the mansions of bliss wherein, united to Hebe blooming in youth eternal,
With Zeus Kronion he sits at the feast in the deep content of a home supernal.
II
For Timodemus of Acharnae in Attica, who had been trained in Salamis, on his victory in the Pancration, BC 485 (?).
As the sons of Homer, the singers of deftly-woven lays,
Ever begin their chants with a prelude in Zeus’s praise,
So in the Grove whose glory is chanted in every nation
This hero-athlete hath laid his achievements’ first foundation
Where in Nemean Zeus’s name are bestowed the victor’s bays.
And if She, who unswerving hath guided his feet, even Destiny,
On the path by his forefathers trodden, hath given this man to be
A glory to mighty Athens, he surely is fated victorious,
This son of Timonous, often to pluck the flower most glorious
Of the Isthmian Games, and at Pytho to win the victory;
For ’tis meet that Orion’s rising should follow exceeding nigh
To the Pleiad Maids of the Mountain. Few can with Salamis vie
As a nurse of warriors mighty: yea. Hector in Troy’s war-leaguer
Heard Aias’ challenge; and thee shall thy prowess contest-eager
In the fivefold grapple, O Timodemus, glorify.
Acharnae, as tell old legends, for hero-sons is renowned;
And in all that pertaineth to contests pre-eminent still hath been found
This Timodemus’ House: in Parnassus imperial-seated
Have they won four victory-wreaths, strong champions aye undefeated.
Yea, also in royal Pelops’ mountain-folds were they crowned
Eight times by the sons of Corinth; in Nemea withal did they gain
Seven triumph-wreaths; and at home, where Olympian Zeus’s fane
Looks down on the contest, garlands whose number passeth the telling.
Let Timodemus, O citizens, hear your acclaim upswelling
Hailing his home-return! Now upraise ye the sweet-ringing strain.
III
For Aristokleides of Aegina, on his victory in the Pancration, BC 475 (?), some years before; written for an anniversary of the victory.
O queenly Muse, our mother, hitherward come, I pray,
When the holy Moon brings round the Nemean festal day,
To Aegina the guest-thronged Dorian isle. Where the ripples are sliding
Of Asopian waves, young craftsmen of songs honey-savoured, abiding
Thy coming, are longing to hear thy voice’s great song-burden!
Sooth, diverse deeds ever thirst for many a diverse guerdon,
But victory in these Games above all things loveth Song
Meetest companion of crowns and of triumphs achieved by the strong.
O Muse, unto me full measure of inspiration accord,
And do thou, his daughter, upraise to the cloud-thronged heaven’s Lord
A noble hymn: I will blend it—its strains as in spousals allying
With the lyre and the voices of singers. Aegina’s glorifying
Shall be a delightsome task; for there did the Myrmidons olden
Dwell: on the place where in ancient days were their gatherings holden
By thy favour no shameful reproach did Aristokleides bring
By weakness in that great strife of the strong in the athlete-ring
Of the fivefold grapple, but there in Nemea’s low-lying plain
Won victory’s healing balm for the blows’ overtasking pain.
But if Aristophanes’ son, in whom is the beauty blended
Of glorious goodlihead and glorious deeds, hath ascended
To the heights of heroic achievement, impossible is it that he
Past Heracles’ Pillars should voyage on o’er a trackless sea,
Pillars the Hero-god set for a world-famed witness to men
Of their voyaging’s limits. Monstrous beasts had he quelled ere then
In the seas, and had tracked to the end the fen-floods sluggishly flowing
Till he came to the uttermost bourne that constrained his homeward going,
And he meted the bounds of earth:—but to what far foreland art bearing
On an alien shore, my soul, thy bark over dim seas faring?
Nay, I bid thee for Aiakus summon the Muse, and for Aiakus’ race;
For the flower of justice adorneth the precept, “The good shall thou praise.”
To cherish hot longings for far-away themes is nowise best:
Search rather at home. A fitting theme is the fruit of thy quest
For sweet song’s gracing. When deeds of the heroes of old thou art telling,
Sing the joy of king Peleus in hewing a lance all lances excelling,
How alone with no war-host he compassed Iolkos’ storming and spoiling,
And made captive and bride the Sea-goddess Thetis by strenuous toiling.
Sing of the world-famed might of Telamon, how with aid
Of Iolaus his war-fellow low was Laomedon laid,
And the Amazon Maids of the brazen bows did he face in the fray
With him; nor the edge of his spirit was ever dulled by dismay
The queller of men. It is inborn valour with peril that copeth;
He whose valour of others is learnt is a man that in darkness gropeth.
His will is a wind ever-veering; his feet are unstable aye;
Ineffectual his purpose is still, though achievements untold he essay.
But Achilles the golden-haired, while in Philyra’s home yet he stayed,
Child though he were, made mighty deeds but his sport: he swayed
The short-headed dart in his hands, and, swift as the wild wind’s pinions,
Death to the lions he dealt whom he tracked through their forest-dominions.
Boars also he slew, and the pulsing bodies of boar and lion
Still would he hale to the cave of the Centaur, Zeus’s scion,
At the first when but six years old, but thereafter through all those days,
So that Artemis, yea, and Athene the dauntless beheld with amaze,
As he slew the deer, unholpen of hounds or the net’s hidden guile;
For by fleetness of foot he outran them. This tale
