Classic Poem

O ye who your lot by Kephisus have found,
Ye who dwell in the land where the swift horse races,
O bright Orchomenus' queens, ye Graces
Who compass the ancient Minyans round
With your guardian arms, O song-renowned,
Now hearken my prayer! By your bounty all pleasure,
All sweet things on menfolk descend in full measure,
All wisdom, all beauty, all fame with its splendour.
'Tis with help that the Graces, the worshipful, render
That the Gods' own dancings and feastings be holden;
Yea, these be dispensers of all things in Heaven.
By the side of the Lord of the bow all-golden,
Pythian Apollo, be thrones to them given;
The Olympian Sire are they ever adoring,
And his majesty's fountain for aye outpouring.

O Daughters of Zeus of the Gods most high,
Euphrosyne lover of song, and Aglaia,
And thou who dost joy in the chant, Thalia,
Hearken ye now to our suppliant cry!
Look down as our triumphing troop sweeps by,
As onward with lightsome foot it is pacing
The victor's fortune of happiness gracing
I come hither the praise of Asopichus singing,
In Lydian measure my chant outringing,
For that now is the Minyan House victorious
By your grace at Olympia. Fly, Echo, telling
Unto old Kleodamus the tidings glorious
That shall brighten Persephone's dark-walled dwelling,
How his son in the Vale far-famous in story
Hath enwreathed his tresses with garlands of glory.