Classic Poem

No fairer prelude of the minstrel's victory-chant can be
Than praise of Athens' mighty town,
When he would hymn the far-prevailing Alkmaionidae,
And their swift steeds' renown.
Yea, for what fatherland, what habitation,
O singer, canst thou name
That doth transcend, through all the Hellene nation,
Fair Athens' fame?

There is no city but therethrough doth that proud story ring
Of King Erechtheus' burghers told,
Who made thy shrine in hallowed Pytho, Phoebus Harper-King,
A marvel to behold.
In Isthmian contests five were ye victorious
Inspiring the bard's strain;
At Zeus' Olympian Feast one prize most glorious,
At Kirrha twain,

Thou and thy sires, O Megakles, achieved.
In your fair fortune I delight,
Yet for the recompense my soul is grieved
That envy doth requite
Your noble deeds withal. Yet long-enduring
Prosperity still brings, they say,
Evil with good; for there is no assuring
That bliss shall stay.