Victory Odes

the boundless waters, in evil plight;
But with welcoming kindness that land embraced him.
Yet his house’s fortune hath now upraised him
To behold once more the unclouded ray
Of prosperity’s sun of the former day.
Yea, he who hath suffered sore tribulation
Wins forethought for pain’s one compensation.
And bears it thenceforth in his heart for aye.

Antistrophe 3

If a man seek noble achievement’s attaining,
With his soul’s full energies upward straining,
Unsparing alike of cost and pains,
Meet is it that when at the last he gains
The prize, our ennobling praise he inherit
Lavished on him with ungrudging spirit.
For easy it is for the bard inspired,
When by hard toil won is the goal desired,
To acclaim his endeavours with glad laudation,
And, along with the man, that the fame of his nation
Be set on high to be world-admired.

Epode 3

Sweet unto diverse men is the meed that from labour they reap,
To the shepherd, the ploughman, the fowler, to him who is fed from the sea.
Yet of these each strives but the wolf of hunger at bay to keep;
But who wins in the Games renown, or in battle victory,
When all men extol his achievement, receiveth the highest gain,
For praises as flowers on his head do strangers and citizens rain.

Strophe 4

O, well it beseemeth our lips, the awaking
Of thanksgiving-praise to the King earth-shaking,
Who is also our neighbour, Kronos’ son,
He who sped of his kindness our chariots on,
Who is God of the swift steed goalward racing.
Meet is it withal that our song be praising,
Amphitryon, those great sons of thine,
And the Minyan valley’s recess divine,
And Eleusis’ Grove world-celebrated
To the Goddess Demeter consecrated,
And Euboea’s course’s curving line.

Antistrophe 4

And with these I acclaim, as in holy paean,
Thy sacred precinct by heroes Achaean
Reared, Protesilaus, in Phylake.
But to tell over every victory
Which Hermes the Lord of the Games hath given
To the steeds that in many a race have striven
To win for Herodotus triumph’s bay,
The narrowing limits of this my lay
Take from me. Yea, and often the keeping
Of silence bringeth a richer reaping
Of joy, seeing Envy is balked of her prey.

Epode 4

Upborne on the shining wings of the sweet-voiced Muses nine,
With garlands from Pytho, with choicest wreaths from Alpheus’ flood
And Olympia’s contests won, may he his hands entwine
For the honour of Thebes seven-gated. But if one secretly brood
Over hoarded wealth, and at other men mouth, he considereth not
That to death he is rendering up his soul⁠—and his name shall rot.

II

For Xenokrates of Akragas, and his son Thrasybulus, on the victory in the chariot-race won by their charioteer Nikomachus, BC 472 (?). The ode was composed after the death of Xenokrates, and hence is addressed to his son.

Strophe 1

The singers of old, Thrasybulus, who mounted the car of the Queens of Song,
The golden-tired, giving voice to the ringing lyre and the tuneful tongue,
Shot lightly the arrows of honey-sweet strains in the fair one’s praise,
Whosoever by bright summer-bloom of lovely form and face
Stirred hearts to dream upon splendour-throned Aphrodite’s grace.

Antistrophe 1

For then was the Muse not yet a lover of gain, nor a hireling was she.
Nor then honey-throated Terpsichore sold the melting melody
Of her lays, nor with faces silver-masked did they tread the stage.
But now she biddeth us heed the word of the Argive sage
Which cometh all too near to the truth in this our age:

Epode 1

“ ’Tis money, ’tis money that maketh the man!” he said,
When his friends forsook him so soon as his wealth had fled.
But enough⁠—thou art wise. O, famous afar
Is the Isthmian victory won by the car
Thy swift steeds drew, that I sing.
For Poseidon gave to thy sire renown,
And the Dorian garland, the parsley crown
O’er Xenokrates’ hair did he fling.

Strophe 2

And so did he honour the lord of the goodly chariot, Akragas’ star.
And at Krisa looked down on him graciously Apollo prevailing afar,
And gave to him glory. In gleaming Athens did he attain
Mid the sons of Erechtheus the grace of triumph; nor might he complain 20
Of the skill of the hands that lashed his horses and swayed the rein,

Antistrophe 2

Nikomachus’ hands, that gave to his steeds full rein at the moment due,
He whom the truce-bearing heralds Elean of Zeus Kronion knew,
Who publish the Season of Games; for his hospitality well
They remembered; and sweetly their voices proclaimed o’er the hallowed dell
His triumph, when he on the lap of golden Victory fell

Epode 2

In their land, which they name the Grove of Olympus’ Lord,
Where the sons of Aenesidamus gained the award
Of honours whose memory aye is enscroUed.
For, O Thrasybulus, known from of old
To the halls of thine ancient line
Is the winsome charm of the song that leaps
From the lips, as on the procession sweeps
In triumph for victory⁠—thine!

Strophe 3

For not uphillward nor steep is the path, if the bard is fain to guide
The feet of the praises of Helicon’s Maids with famous men to abide.
May song’s shaft sped from mine hand as far past all else fly
As in sweetness of spirit unto Xenokrates none came nigh.
Amidst of his townsmen ever a prince of courtesy,

Antistrophe 3

After the wont of the Panhellenes horse-rearing he fostered still:
He was constant at every feast of the Gods: no wind’s breath blew so chill
On his guest-fain board as to make him furl his canvas-spread;
But far as the Phasis in summertide’s gales the fame of him sped.
And in wintertide anchored his guest-renown in broad Nile’s bed.26

Epode 3

What though the cravings of envy like veils bedim
The vision of many men’s souls?⁠—ah, never let him
Hush into coward silence the praise
Of his father’s prowess, nor these my lays!
Not statue-like idly to stand
Did I fashion them! Nikesippus, bear
This, to my loyal friend to declare,
When thou comest to that far land.

III

For