Classic Poem

Queen of the beauty of youth, thou herald of Aphrodite's celestial yearning,
Who on eyelids of boys and of maidens enthroned, in hands spell-weaving for ever art turning
Our destinies to and fro, unto this man allotting joy, and to that man grief,
Sweet is it for one who hath transgressed never in aught that he doeth the right's due measure
To be suffered to grasp the fulfilment of life's most noble aims, of his heart's dream-treasure.

Such spirits were they who dispensed the Cyprian's gifts in the hour of the love-communion
Of Olympian Zeus and the Nymph Aegina, and born was Oenone's king of their union,
One peerless in prowess and counsel; and many a time men prayed to behold that chief;
For of all the heroes that dwelt around him exceeding fain were their goodliest flower,
Unchallenged of any, to bow in subjection before him, obeying his sovran power,

Alike the heroes that marshalled the host in Athens' crag-built town,
And they that in Sparta traced their long descent from Pelops down.
Lo, I come as a suppliant clasping the holy knees of Aiakus, bringing
For his city and people a Lydian crown fair-woven, with sweet song ringing,
For the foot-race victories Deinias and Megas his father at Nemea won;
For longest enduring mid men is prosperity sown with the blessing of God thereon;

So of old were riches on Kinyras heaped in Cyprus ringed with the sea-crests hoary.
Lo, upon light-poised feet do I stand, drawing breath till again I take up the story;
For in manifold wise many tales have been told; but to coin new thoughts and to put to assay
Of the touchstone—this is perilous all. A dainty morsel are heroes' praises
For envy's fang: she leaps on the great, but against the mean not a hand she raises.

By her was Telamon's son devoured, by whose hand through his side was his own sword driven
For the tongue-tied, how stout soever of heart, when the bitter strife of words is striven,
Is oblivion's thrall; but shiftful lying beareth the goodliest guerdons away
For by fraudful voting the Danaans showed to Odysseus favour, for truth uncaring;
And Aias, robbed of the golden armour, wrestled with death in his mad despairing.

Ha, diverse the wounds were they tore in the quivering flesh of foes, these twain,
When under the onset of storming spears men reeled in the battle-strain
Now o'er the fresh-stricken corse of Achilles, anon in the conflict-travail
Of days wide-ruining! Ay, for of old the hate of malignant cavil
Consorted with cunning speech, and imagined deceit and the venomous sneer. Ah yes,
The bright names still it assails, and exalts the abjects' fame which is rottenness.

Never in me be such spirit as this, O Father Zeus! May I still be cleaving
To the paths of a life of innocency, and so unto death may I pass down, leaving
To my sons no name of evil repute! Some pray for gold, and others for land
Without limit: be I to my fellow-men well-pleasing, ever extolling the lover
Of righteousness, ever rebuking the doer of wrong, till the earth my limbs shall cover.

Ever groweth the fame of a noble life, as a tree that is quickened by dews down-drifted:
Yea, so by poets inspired and righteous high as the heavens its glory is lifted.
Of manifold sort be the uses of friends; but the chiefest of all is the helping hand
In trouble. Yet also doth happiness crave some certain assurance of bliss to inherit.
It is nowise within my power, O Megas, to call back again into life thy spirit:

Nay, vain is the end of baseless hopes! Yet for thee and thy Chariad line
I lightly may rear a pillar of song for feet of fair omen, thine
And thy son's. With gladness unfeigned am I now the exultant praise outpealing
That befitteth your deeds. By the spell of song hath the singer oft brought healing
To the faintness of toil: yea, victory-chants processional rang in the olden days,
Long ere the flame of the feud 'twixt Kadmus' sons and Adrastus began to blaze.