Classic Poem

O Hesita, 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.

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.

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.

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.

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,

When he had kept the fifth-year feast ordained of Herakles,
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.

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.

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.

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.