Classic Poem

Far-reaching power has wealth for him to whom
It comes, a gift that Destiny sends
With stainless honour linked: so leads he home
A charm that wins him friends.
Thou, O Arkesilas the heaven-blest,
Since from its first steps glory crowned
Thy life, hast held that boon of Heaven in quest,
Hast sought fair fame, and found,
With aid of Kastor of the chariot golden,
Who bade the wintry tempest cease,
And sheds upon thine hearthstone bliss-enfolden
Sunlight of skies of peace.

Whoso are noble bear with fairest grace
Such power as God bestows on thee;
And thou on paths of righteousness dost pace
Crowned with prosperity;
For over mighty cities king thou art;
And thy discernment eagle-eyed,
Inborn with thee, hath wedded to thine heart
Honour as to a bride
And this day crowns thy bliss with triumph glorious
In Pythian Games by fleet steeds won.
Now hast thou welcomed home the chant victorious
As sweeps the revel on,

Phoebus' delight. So, when the song they raise
Around Kyrene's garden fair
Of Aphrodite, to give God the praise
For all, have thou a care,
And hold Karrhotus dearest friend, who brought
Not back, to cloak disaster's shame,
Excuse, the child of late-wise Afterthought,
When to the halls he came
Of Battus' sons, whose just rule lives in story;
But, hailed her guest by Kastaly's Spring,
Won for thee with his car a crown of glory—
Thy car all-conquering!

With reins unsnapped through all that hallowed space
Around the courses twelve he swung,
Nor car nor harness brake he in the race,
But dedicate hath hung
On Phoebus' wall the craftsmen's masteries
Riding whereon he passed ere then
The hill of Krisa to the plain that lies
In the God's bosomed glen.
The cypress shrine now hath them in possession
By that self-moulded statue placed
Which Cretan bowmen 'neath the roof Parnassian
Unto the God upraised.

Beseems that with blithe heart thou welcome one
Who hath done thee such service fair.
Splendour ye shed on Alexibius' son,
O Graces of bright hair!
O happy thou, that after labour sore
Thou hast the praise of noblest song
To keep thy memory green! Mid those twoscore
Drivers, who mid the throng
Were hurled to earth, thou with a heart undaunted
Didst drive unscathed thy chariot on,
And now to Libya from Games glory-haunted
And thy sires' home hast won.

No man is now, nor shall be, portionless
Of trouble: yet on Battus' line
Still waits the olden bliss, though happiness
And grief may intertwine.
Kyrene's warder-tower is this, a light
Of splendour on the stranger shed.
Yea, thunder-throated lions in affright
From Battus' outcry fled—
That voice from overseas! Your founder Apollo
Thrilled them with dread, that on the word
Of prophecy might sure fulfilment follow
For him, Kyrene's lord.

'Tis Phoebus gives to men and women skill
To heal all manner of disease;
He gave the lyre, he teacheth whom he will
All Song's sweet melodies.
Into men's hearts Fair Governance he brings,
Mother of peace: o'er Pytho's cell
He broodeth, whence his voice prophetic rings.
In Sparta he made dwell,
In Argos, Pylos' hallowed town, undaunted
Herakles' and Aigimius' line.
Now Sparta's dear renown must needs be chanted
By her son's lips, yea, mine.

Thence my forefathers sprang, the Aigeidae,
Who, by the Gods' grace destiny-led,
To Thera fared of old, whence also we
That Feast inherited
Of sacrifice wherein all people share,
And in thy feast Karneian, King
Apollo, of Kyrene builded fair
The glorious honour sing,
Where dwell the brazen-harnessed Trojan strangers,
Antenor's sons, who fled the war
Wherein they saw Troy burnt, and came, sea-rangers,
With Helen from afar.

Kind welcome to that chariot-driving band
With gifts and sacrifice they gave
Whom Aristoteles brought to Libyan land
In swift ships o'er the wave,
Cleaving a deep path through the sea, and made
Greater the temple-groves divine,
And for the festival-processions laid
A paved road's level line
For trampling steeds, and pilgrims magnifying
Apollo, Helper of our race.
There now in death apart is Battus lying
Hard by the market-place.

Blest was he while with men he found a home:
All reverence him, their hero, yet.
Apart from him is each king's hallowed tomb
Before the palace set.
To them in Hades wins some echo through—
If such life-music reach the dead—
How prowess is besprent with kindly dew
Of victory-song outshed
So theirs too is Arkesilas' triumph-story,
The fame that justice doth award.
While chant the youths, 'tis meet he sing the glory
Of Phoebus Golden-sword,

He whom glad Pythian songs immortalize—
The victor's guerdon for all pains
I but repeat the praises of the wise
In these my triumph-strains.

His mind, his tongue, transcend his spring of life;
In courage as a broad-winged erne
Mid weakling fowl, a tower in athlete-strife
No strength can overturn.
Even from his mother's knee did he give token
Of wings with my Song-queens to soar:
Of his car-driving skill the praise is spoken
By this the wide world o'er.

And all paths that exalt his Libyan home
Hath he essayed. Now graciously
God perfecteth his powers. Through years to come,
Blest Kronos' Sons, do ye
Vouchsafe to him alike with hand and mind
Still to excel. May his work stay,
Wrecked by no blast of devastating wind
In his life's autumn-day.
The mighty mind of Zeus is ever guiding
Their destiny whom he loveth well.
To Battus' seed may he grant fame abiding
Also in Pisa's dell.