eye can see
For your noble achievements: they pass to southward beyond Nile’s fountains,
And away to the land lying north of where Boreas leaps from his mountains.
No city there is so uncouth of speech, but hath heard the story
Of the blest one, spouse of a Goddess, of hero Peleus’ glory,
And hath heard of Aias Telamon’s scion, and Aias’ sire.
Him did Alkmena’s son, to requite Laomedon’s lie,
Lead with his warriors of Tiryns, an ally whose soul was afire
For the joy of the harness of battle, in galleys led him to Troy,
To the land of heroes’ travail. So Pergamus-city was laid
In the dust by Heracles’ might. Thereafter, with Telamon’s aid,
The tribes of the Meropes slew he, against him in battle arrayed,
And the herdman huge as a mountain, Alkyoneus, whom he found
In Phlegra, and spared not his bowstring’s thunder-clanging rebound.
But when Heracles came to bid to the voyaging Aiakus’ son,
Him with his company feasting he found, and as there he stood
In the lion-skin, Telamon called on the son of Amphitryon
The first libation to pour of the cluster’s nectar-blood;
And the chalice rough with the gold embossed with the word did he place
Wine-brimming in Heracles’ hands. Thereupon did the hero raise
His hands, the invincible hands, in prayer to the firmament’s space;
And he lifted his voice: “If ever, O Zeus Allfather, thou
Hast hearkened with willing soul unto prayer of mine, O now
“With heavenward-soaring prayers unto thee do I make my petition
To perfect in Eriboia’s womb for the man at my side
A valiant son, who shall aye be my friend by Fate’s decision,
One of thews invincibly stalwart, hard as the lion’s hide
That at Nemea, first of my labours, I slew, this fell enfolding
My shoulders, and may his courage be worthy his frame’s strong moulding!”
He spake, and a mighty eagle the God sent down from his heaven,
Monarch of birds; and with rapture thrilled for the omen given
Heracles lifted his voice, and he spake as speaketh a seer:
“Lo, thou shalt have the son thou desirest, Telamon;
And after the name of the bird that thou sawest but now appear,
So shalt thou name him, Aias, a world-famed mighty one,
In the battle-toils of thy people a warrior deadly strong.”
So spake he, and sat him down. But for me it were all too long
Of all their achievements to tell. I came, O Queen of Song,
For Phylakidas, Pytheas, Euthymenes, the march to array
Of the triumph-procession, and brief, after Argive wont, be the lay.
In Isthmian pankration victories three did they win by their might,
And from leaf-shadowed Nemea yet more triumphs, those glorious boys,
And their mother’s brother. How fair a portion of song to the light
Did they bring! And with brightest dews of refreshing did they rejoice
The Clan of the Psalychidae; and now have they raised to renown
By their prowess the House of Themistius; yea, and in this good town
Do they dwell, whereon the Gods with loving eyes look down.
And, honouring Hesiod’s words—“Whatsoever he findeth to do,”
That Lampon “doth with his might,” and exhorteth his sons thereto.
So he brings to his city glory, the weal of the whole state serving.
He is loved for his kindness to strangers: the golden mean alway
In purpose, the golden mean in action he follows unswerving.
His tongue is at one with his thoughts. Amid athletes he is, thou canst say,
As the Naxian stone that in grinding of bronze all other excelleth.
I will give him to drink of Dirke’s taintless spring that upwelleth
By the stately-rampired gates of the city of Kadmus, whose waters
Were caused to leap to the light by Memory’s deep-zoned daughters.
VII
For Strepsiades of Thebes, on his victory in the Pankration, BC 456 (?). The victor’s uncle had recently been killed in battle.
In which of the old-time glories that made thy land renowned
Hath thy spirit, O happy Thebe, delighted most of all?
When thou sawest the birth of the God of the tresses that toss unbound,
Dionysus, enthroned by Demeter to whom clashed cymbals call?
Or when thou didst welcome the chief of the Gods at the midnight hour,
What time he descended to earth in a golden-snowing shower,
When he stood at Amphitryon’s portal, and went in unto the bride
Of Amphitryon, whence sprang god-begotten Heracles?
Was it when Teiresias’ counsels inspired were thy joy and thy pride?
Was it when thou didst see Iolaus’ chariot-masteries,
Or the Sown Men’s tireless spears? Or when from thy fierce war-shout
Thou sentest Adrastus fleeing, bereft of the battle-rout
Of his countless comrades, back unto Argos the war-steed land?
Or when thou didst set the feet of the Dorian Spartans again
Firm in the ancient home, and when by a warrior-band,
Even thy sons of the Aegeid House, was Amyklae ta’en
Because they obeyed the Pythian oracle’s command?
But alas! it sleepeth, the olden glory,
And mortals forget the heroic story,
Save only that which attains unto poesy’s perfect flower
By reason that it hath been wedded to far-ringing streams of song.
For Strepsiades then lead forth the procession in this glad hour
With strains sweet-rippling. He brings the pankratian meed of the strong
From Isthmus. In strength is he wondrous, and goodly withal to behold;
Nor his stature is shamed by his valour, his spirit aweless-bold.
Glows on him a splendour breathed by the flower-tressed Muses’ breath.
A share in his crown to his namesake mother’s brother he gave,
For whom Ares the brazen-bucklered mingled the wine of death.
Yet a recompense of renown is laid up in store for the brave;
For let him be assured—whosoe’er, overgloomed by the cloud of war,
Beats back the hailstorm of blood from his dear land’s heart afar,
By hurling death through the ranks of the host of his fatherland’s foe—
Be assured that he maketh his nation’s glory to shine more bright,
Yea, whether he live, or whether the hero in death lie low.
But thou, O scion of Diodotus, in that last fight
With strong Meleager didst vie—yea, as his did thy battle-fire glow!—
And with Hector and Amphiaraus vying
Didst breathe out youth’s fair bloom in thy dying
