Classic Poem

Mother of contests golden-crowned, O Queen
Of truth, Olympia, where from sacrifice
Diviners seek the will of Zeus to glean,
Who hurls white-flickering lightnings through the skies,
To wot if he hath any word of grace
For men whose hearts yearn hotly to attain
To high achievement, and a breathing-space
From toil to gain.

This he vouchsafes to reverent prayer and vow.
O Pisan precinct fair with olive-lines,
Welcome this victory-procession thou,
And the crown-bearing! Bright his glory shines
Whom splendour of thy guerdon shall attend!
Ay, diverse boons to diverse men be given,
And many paths to happiness ascend
By grace of Heaven.

Timosthenes, to Zeus, who hath in keeping
Thine house, thee and thy brother Destiny
Allotted: He at Nemea honoured thee,
And Kronos' Hill saw glory's harvest-reaping,
Alkimedon's Olympian victory.
Goodly of presence, not by deeds he shamed
His beauty! He, in wrestling-bout victorious,
Aegina of far-sweeping oars proclaimed
His home. There Saviour Themis, throned all-glorious
With Guest-ward Zeus, is most with honour named.

Far-reaching issues, whose decision still
Shifteth, with mind unwarped to judge of these
Fairly, is hard: yet sure the Immortals' will
Ordained this island rampired by the seas
To be for strangers out of every clime
A god-reared pillar of strength, land of the free—
Oh may the years in this work through all time
Toil tirelessly!—

This isle committed unto Dorian hands
To be Heaven's stewards, since, in Aiakus' days,
When Phoebus and the Girder of all lands
A tower-coronal for Troy would raise,
And as their fellow-builder bade him come
To rear that wall, which should, when wars awoke,
Breathe out, when battle brought her day of doom,
Wild-billowing smoke

Scarce was it built, when, with eyes lurid-glaring,
Three dragons leapt to scale its ramparts high
Now twain of these fell back, and suddenly
Died, writhing as in impotent despairing:
But the third leapt in with fierce battle-cry.
That portent Phoebus pondered; then spake he:
‘Aiakus, where thine hands reared this stone wonder,
There breached and taken Pergamus shall be,
As this sign sent down by the Lord of Thunder,
Zeus, Kronos' Son, revealeth unto me.

This shall thine house accomplish. Troy shall fall
Stormed by thy son and thy fourth in descent.’
So plainly spake the God, and therewithal
To Xanthus and the fleet-horsed Amazons went,
And unto Ister speeding fast his car.
With golden team the Trident-wielder fares
To Isthmus oversea, and Aiakus far
To Aegina bears

Thence, to behold his glorious festival,
To Corinth's mountain-ridge he bore him on
No praise of song is sweet alike to all:
If I retrace all fame Melesias won
Through boys, no stone at me let envy fling!
I sing of honours no less high attained
At Nemea, and of crowns pankratian sing
By his men gained.

To teach is no hard task for him who knoweth;
But who unlearned would teach, a fool is he,
For wit untrained hath no stability.
But this Melesias best of all men showeth
How with the strong to strive victoriously,
Teacheth what training shall to triumph guide
Our champion to repeat the oft-told story,
In those great Games, of longed-for victory's pride.
Now hath Alkimedon achieved that glory—
Melesias' thirtieth triumph published wide!

By God's grace, and by his own prowess he
Hath vanquished striplings four. Ha! not for him,
But them, to steal back home shamefacedly
Shrinking from taunting tongues through bypaths dim!
His victory hath thrilled his old grandsire
With strength that o'er eld's frailty triumpheth.
For he that hath attained his heart's desire
Forgetteth death.

I must awaken Memory, I wis,
To tell the glory of old champions' might,
The Blepsiads' conquering sons: the sixth crown this
That wreathes their brows from those games garland-dight.
Yea, their dead fathers have their share therein,
When due memorial rites are not forgot.
The grace of honour living kinsmen win
The dust hides not.

The song by Hermes' child, Glad-tidings, chanted
Shall Iphion hear, his bright Olympic fame,
And to Kallimachus shall tell the same,
The glory Zeus to this old House hath granted.
With triumph on triumph may he crown their name,
And aye avert affliction's bitter blow!
And, for the glory in their lot, may never
God's jealousy make Nemesis their foe.
May he exalt them and their country, ever
Vouchsafing them a life unvexed of woe.