Victory Odes

but is an installation-ode for Aristagoras of Tenedos, on his election as president of the Council, BC 446(?). He was indeed an athlete, and might have won distinction in the Great Games, had his parents allowed him to compete.

Strophe 1

O Hestia, child of Rhea, who hast city-halls in ward,
Sister of Zeus most high and Hera throned beside her lord,
To thy bower welcome Aristagoras with gracious mien;
His feres to approach thy gleaming sceptre welcome graciously,
Who keep in safety Tenedos the while they honour thee.

Antistrophe 1

Thee oft as chief of Goddesses with spilt wine reverence they,
And oft with reek of sacrifice, while peal out lyre and lay.
At Guest-ward Zeus’ unfailing feast is worshipped Justice’ Queen
So with fair fame and heart unvext may Aristagoras
On to the consummation of his twelve-months’ office pass.

Epode 1

His sire Agesilas I count as blest as man may be
For wondrous goodly form and fearless inborn constancy.
Yet, though a man have wealth and all-surpassing comeliness,
Though he show might pre-eminent in athletes’ conflict-stress,
Let him bethink him⁠—mortal limbs his raiment doth array,
And the last vesture he shall don will be the grave-mound’s clay.

Strophe 2

Yet that his fellow-burghers’ praise acclaim his deeds is meet.
Well may we grace his name in song whose strains ring honey-sweet;
For glorious victories six and ten the peoples dwelling nigh
Crowned Aristagoras and his clan, a clan of peerless fame,
With wreaths for wrestling and the strife Pankratian proud of name.

Antistrophe 2

Yet ah, his parents’ faint-heart fears their stalwart son restrained,
That Pytho’s and Olympia’s crowns were unessayed, ungained;
Else, by the Great Oath’s sanctity I swear that sure am I,
To Castaly and Kronos’ tree-girt hill had he but gone,
He had returned with triumph-crowns from rival champions won,

Epode 2

When he had kept the fifth-year feast ordained of Heracles,
And bound his hair with wreaths that gleamed with light of victories.
But among mortals one is from his blessings’ height down-thrust
By empty-thoughted self-conceit: through overmuch mistrust
Of his own strength another letteth slip the honour due.
Because a timorous spirit caught his hand and backward drew.

Strophe 3

To old Peisander’s Spartan blood hath Aristagoras claim,
Well may ye trow: from Amyklae he with Orestes came,
And hither led Aeolian ranks in brazen battle-gear.
His mother’s brother Melanippus’ blood with his, we know,
Was by Ismenus blent. The might of days of long ago

Antistrophe 3

Will in alternate generations bring strong men to birth,
As harvests spring not every year from tilth of this dark earth,
Nor are our fruit-trees wont as year sweeps round by circling year
To bear in wealth unvarying fruit from odour-breathing flowers,
But rest each second year. And so this mortal race of ours

Epode 3

By Destiny’s breeze is driven. Comes from Zeus no guiding sign;
Yet we embark on many a venturous emprise: yea, we pine
For exploits many: yea, enthralled by hope insatiate are
Our natures. But Fate’s tides from man’s foreknowledge roll afar.
In quest of gain heed measure due. The madness of desire
For unattainable ambitions hotter burns than fire.

The Isthmian Odes

I

For Herodotus of Thebes, on his victory in the chariot-race, BC 458 (?). The poet commences with an apology to Delos for making this ode take precedence of the completion of a paean to Apollo, which he was composing for the island of Keos (Paean IV).

Strophe 1

Mother mine, O Thebe of shield all-golden,
Me shall thy sovran behest embolden,
How full soever mine hands be, to lay
All other service aside for to-day.
O Delos, thou for whose exaltation
Hath my soul been outpoured, have no indignation!
What to a son true-hearted can be
More dear than a mother? Ah, yield to my plea,
Isle of Apollo! By grace of Heaven
Shall coupled fulfilment ere long be given
Unto hymnal-homages twain by me,

Antistrophe 1

When to Him of the hair unshorn I come paying
Due honour with choral dance-arraying
In Keos by sea-waves weltered about⁠—
Strains hailed by her shipmen with jubilant shout⁠—
And honour the Isthmian ridge that doth sunder
Two seas that against its crag-walls thunder.
To Kadmus’ people from Isthmus have gone
Six crowns in her athlete-contests won
To grace with triumphant victory’s glory
My motherland, where, as is told in story,
Of Alkmena was born that aweless son

Epode 1

At whom quaked Geryon’s Hounds, that never had quaked before.
For Herodotus frame I an honour-lay, for his four-horse team,
And the reins that himself swayed, needing none other man’s chariot-lore.
I will sing so that he as a Kastor or lolaus shall seem;
For these of all heroes were mightiest charioteers on earth.
Unto the one Lacedaemon, Thebes to the other gave birth.

Strophe 2

More athlete-contests did these adventure
Than any of champions beside dared enter,
And with brazen tripods their halls they graced,
And with cauldrons and goblets of gold rich-chased;
For they tasted the rapture of strife victorious,
And they bore thence garlands of triumph glorious;
And ever their prowess shone clear and bright,
Alike in the course where in eagle-flight
Raced runners with vestureless limbs white-flashing,
And when with the shields on their shoulders clashing
Men ran arrayed in the harness of fight,

Antistrophe 2

And in all the deeds of their hands⁠—in hurling
The javelin, and when they sped far-whirling
Across the field the discus of stone:⁠—
For as yet was no fivefold contest known;
But each of the several strifes was striven
By itself, and to each was its own prize given.
So, many a time and oft, their hair
Wreathed with the victory-garlands fair,
These twain where Dirke’s fount upleapeth,
Or where Eurotas’ swift flood sweepeth,
Bowed thanking the nurturing waters there,

Epode 2

By Dirke, Iphikles’ son, his descent from the Dragon who drew;
By Eurotas, Tyndareus’ scion, who dwelt the Achaians among,
In his highland home of Therapnae. And now farewell unto you!
O’er Poseidon and holy Isthmus I cast the mantle of song,
And over Onchestus’ shores; and as this man’s honours I tell,
I will sing of the fate to Asopodorus his sire that befell.

Strophe 3

And Orchomenus’ fields in my lay shall be chanted,
Henceforth by his father’s memory haunted,
Who was cast on her strand, a shipwrecked wight,
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