Classic Poem

What man soever hath prospered in winning prizes of high renown
In the Games, or is mighty in wealth, who yet in his spirit crusheth down
Pestilent arrogance, worthy is he to be graced with his townsmen's praise;
For of thee, O Zeus, all excellence cometh that mortal men doth upraise;
And longer abideth their bliss who reverence thee: with the froward-hearted
Through life it abides not, but lo, as a suddenly vanishing dream hath departed.

It beseems that in guerdon of glorious achievement the deeds of the valiant we sing;
It beseems that mid triumph-procession with grace of loving welcoming
Should our praises conspire to exalt him! In contests twain hath fortune fair
Favoured Melissus, to turn his heart to delightsome joy from care.
In the glens of the Isthmus he won for him crowns: where the thunder-throated lion
Prowled through the cavernous Nemean dell, he proclaimed him Thebe's scion
In the chariot-contest triumphant. He bringeth
No stain on the mighty name
Of the prowess his sires made glorious
Of old. Well know ye the fame
Which Kleonymus won, as the old lay singeth
How his chariot raced victorious.
By the mother akin to the Labdakid Clan, they walked in the ways of wealth, and they trained
With manifold toil the yoke of four.
But time with its onward-rolling days bringeth change upon change: unscarred, unpained
Are none but the Gods' seed evermore.