Classic Poem

Fain am I, by the favour of the Graces
Deep-girt, to chant aloud the victory won
By Telesikrates, Kyrene's son,
At Pytho in the brazen-harnessed races.
His fortune fair I sing, and chant the glory
That crowns the city of the flying car,
Kyrene! — Her Apollo, saith the story,
The bright-haired Son of Leto, caught afar
From Pelion's dells with echoing winds enfolden,
And bare her thence upon his chariot golden,
That huntress-maid, to where he made her queen
Of flocks and harvests in her wide demesne,
The third part of the great earth's boundless bosom,
A root of leafage fair and lovely blossom.

Then welcomed Aphrodite silver-footed
Her Delian guest, and touched with fingers light
The car a God had fashioned starry-bright;
And o'er their bridal couch, the rapture-fruited,
The loveliness of shamefastness down-shedding
In bonds of mutual love she linked the twain,
The Archer-god unto the daughter wedding
Of Hypseus wide-dominioned, who did reign
In that day o'er the haughty Lapith nation,
A hero-son of the third generation
Of Ocean's Lord. Him mid the mountain-dells
World-famed where mighty Pindus heavenward swells,
The child of Earth, Kreusa Fountain-maiden,
Bare to Peneius' bed with sweetness laden.

His child Kyrene of the arms of snow
Had little love for pacings to and fro
Before the loom, nor for feast-revelry
With maiden-friends home-keeping young as she;
But warring with bronze darts without surcease,
And with the hunter's knife, that princess slew
Fierce beasts of prey. Ay, wide-spread was the peace
And restful that her father's cattle knew
But little wasted she upon her eyes
Of slumber, restfellow that sweetly lies
On tired ones, when Dawn's feet prepare to climb the skies.

Where gloomed the forest-solitudes around her
She grappled a fierce lion once in fight
Spearless. Then He of the far arrow-flight,
Apollo, God of the wide quiver, found her.
Straightway amazement-stricken did he cry on
Cheiron, whose rocky hall was hard thereby:
" Leave thou thine hallowed cave, O Philyra's scion;
Gaze on the mighty strength with wondering eye
Of yonder woman, how with brow undaunted
She wages conflict grim! Not terror-haunted
Her spirit is in peril's tempest-rush:
Her iron heart no weight of toil can crush!
What sire begat a child so lion-hearted?
From what strong kindred is she exile-parted,

That now in hidden folds she should be dwelling
Of hills dark-shadowed? She puts to the test
Strength limitless! Doth it beseem the Blest
To lay on her his glorious hands all-quelling
Even now, or rather to pluck this sweet flower
Of spousal rites upon a bridal bed?"
Came on the Centaur inspiration's power,
And in the wisdom of his heart he said,
With eyes beneath his kindly brow soft-smiling:
Phoebus, the keys of Suasion heart-beguiling
That ope the portal of love's sanctities
Are from the light withheld. A shame it is
For Gods or men to leap to love's fruition
First in broad day, dishonouring Night's sweet mission

Now even thee, whose tongue hath never lied,
Nor can, thy softened mood hath turned aside
To utter feigned speech. Thou askest, King,
The maiden's lineage! — thou to whom everything
Is known, all issues whereto all things tend,
All paths that lead thereto through all the world:
How many leaves earth up to light doth send
In spring, the number of the sand-grains hurled
Down seas and streams when waves wind-driven rise,
And what shall come to pass and whence — thine eyes
See clearly. Yet, if I must match me against the wise,

I will speak on. To this glade sombre-shady
Thou cam'st to espouse her; yea, and thou shalt bear
Her overseas unto the garden fair
Of Zeus, where thou shalt make her royal lady
Of a new city. Thou shalt gather thither
An isle-folk round its plain-encircled hill
And that land's queen, content to queen it with her,
Libya of broad meads, shall with gracious will
Welcome thy glorious bride in golden bower
And there the lady Libya shall, for dower,
Give her a portion of the land to be
Lawful domain beneath her sovereignty,
Land rich in tribute of all plants fruit-laden
And wildwood-prowlers for thine huntress-maiden.

There shall she bear the son whom thou hast given,
Whom glorious Hermes in his hour of birth
Shall from his mother take, and bear to Earth
And to the Hours, the splendour-throned in Heaven.
And while upon their knees thy child is lying
Soft-cradled, these between his lips shall pour
Ambrosia and nectar; so undying,
Even as a God, shall he be evermore,
As Zeus, as holy Apollo: sweetest, dearest
To all his friends, to their hearts ever nearest.
Nomeus, " flock-warder," Agreus, these shall name
Thy son, as Aristaius those acclaim."
His words spurred on the God's heart passion-thrilling
To bring to pass the bridal's sweet fulfilling

Swift are the acts of Gods, and short their ways
Whose purposes to their fulfilment race
That selfsame day saw Love his goal attain;
For in a golden chamber were the twain
Made one, in Libya's bower, whence she looks down
On a fair city famed in athlete-rings.
Karneades' son hath linked Kyrene's town
At Pytho with the fair flower fortune brings.
His victory there hath published wide her name.
The city of fair girls with glad acclaim
Greets him who brings to her from Delphi lovely fame.

Great deeds of prowess lure the bard unwitting
To lengthen out his strain; yet brevity
Grace-clad the wise hear most acceptably
In everything to grasp the season fitting
Crowneth the emprise. Thebe seven-gated
Knew it; nor Iolaus failed to tread
That path. He clave Eurystheus' head all-hated
With the keen sword; but when himself lay dead,
Then Thebe buried him with honour, heaping
His grave-mound where Amphitryon lay sleeping,
Her chariot chief — that tomb wherein did rest
His father's father, he who was the guest
Of the Sown Men, lords of white steeds, who greeted
That hero well in Thebe stately-streeted.

To him and Zeus did royal-souled Alkmena
In love united, in one travail bear
The might of twin sons: conquerors they were
Ever, these twain, in battle's grim arena.
A dullard is the man who never raiseth
His voice to sing the deeds of Herakles,
And Dirke's streams remembereth not nor praiseth
Whose Fountain-maid reared him and Iphikles.
Unto these now will I uplift a chanting
Of triumph-song for that their gracious granting
Of vows' fulfilment. On me may your light,
O Graces ringing-voiced, shine ever bright!
Aegina and Nisus' Hill have heard me singing
Three times ere this, Kyrene's praise outringing.

And so the impotence that is the shame
Of tongue-tied bards do I escape. I claim
That citizens, friends or foes, shall ne'er conceal
Good work accomplished for the common weal,
That jealousy set not at nought the rede
Of that old Sea-god: " Give whole-hearted praise,
If justice claim it, for each noble deed,
Even to a foe — dispraise is thy disgrace!"
Our maids at Pallas' yearly feasts saw thee
Full oft victorious, and prayed silently,
Telesikrates, that such their spouse or son might be.

In Games Olympian thine was fame far-ringing,
And in the lists beside Earth's central stone,
And in the land thou claimest for thine own: —
But lo, as I would quench my thirst for singing,
I hear a voice that speaks of old-time glory
That bids me pay a debt, recall the pride
Of thy forefathers, bids me tell the story
How, for the winning of a Libyan bride,
Hasted to Irasa's city many a lover
Of a fair-haired one famed the wide world over,
Drawn thither for Antaius' daughter's sake,
Whom many a gallant kinsman fain would take
To wife, and many in far countries dwelling;
For wondrous was her beauty, past all telling.

With passionate longing for love's fruit they sought her,
This mortal Hebe of the Golden Crown
Howbeit a marriage of more high renown
Her father purposed for his princess-daughter
For he had heard how Danaus meditated
At Argos how should spousal-rites be won
For eight-and-forty daughters yet unmated,
Ere their life's noontide should have come and gone,
And how he compassed this with no delaying
For at the limits of the lists arraying
The throng of suitors of the maidens sweet,
He bade them by contention of swift feet
Decide which several daughter should be given
To each whose feet had for the guerdon striven.

So would that lord of Libya-land decide
Between those suitors for a princess-bride
He set the maid bedecked with gold and gem
To be the goal and prize, and cried to them
That he should lead her home who foremost sped
And touched her robes. Of all that suitor-band
Alexidamus' swift feet foremost fled,
And his hand clasped the noble maiden's hand,
And led her through the Nomad horse-array.
Leaves many and wreaths upon him showered they,
Ay, many a victory-plume had he won ere that day.