Nemean IV

When conflict's bitter strain to its decisionAt last attaineth, then the best physicianIs mirth, to close the overtasking day.And song, the Muses' child inspired, can layOn the heart's wounds her magic hands of healing.Not steaming baths so softly charm awayThe ache of toil, as words of praise outpealingIn unison with the lyre. Man's speech shall longOutlast his deeds, what words soe'er the tongueHath drawn up, by the Graces' kind control,From wells of inspiration in the soul.

Now be it mine to make such song-oblation,To Zeus Kronion tendering dedicationThereof, and Nemea. This my prelude beTo Timasarchus' wrestling. Be it of theeWelcomed, O Aiakids' stronghold goodly-towered,Beacon of justice, aliens' sanctuary!O were thy sire Timokritus yet doweredWith life's heat by the sun all-quickening,Oft bending o'er the changeful cithern-stringWould he have waked his music for his son,And hymned the glorious triumph he hath won,

Who from Kleonae brought a perfume-streamingFestoon of wreaths, and one from marble-gleamingRenownèd Athens; and again besideAmphitryon's sepulchre fame-glorifiedOld Kadmus' sons in Thebe seven-gatedRained on him flowers with welcome kindly-eyedIn whose love is Aegina consecrated;For thither as a friend to friends he hied,As doth a ship into a haven glide,Came to that burg which welcomes aye the guest,Came to the Hall of Herakles heaven-blest,

With whom went stalwart Telamon for the smitingOf Troy, and met the Meropes grim-fighting,And Alkyoneus the giant did they slay,A warrior terrible in battle-play;Yet slew him not till rocks like slingstones whirlingFrom his hands crushed in shattered disarrayTwelve cars, and hero-riders deathward hurlingTwice twelve he strewed amid that wreck of cars.Wholly unversed is he in lore of warsTo whose ears never that old saying came,' Who doeth violence must endure the same?

But not for me is legend's full unfolding,Who see the law of song mine hand withholding:Yea, and the hasting hours brook no delay.A strong spell draws me on to sing the dayOf the New Moon that on those Games was shining.Though round thee breast-high plash the deep-sea spray,Stand firm! Strive on 'gainst treacherous foes' designing!O'er foes triumphant shall we win the portIn clear day! One of less heroic sort,With envy evil-eyed, in darkness schemes;But fruitless to the ground shall fall his dreams.

But one thing certainly mine heart divineth,That, whatso excellence Lord Fate designethFor me, Time's onward-stealing feet will bringTo its ordained perfection that same thing.Weave on, O winsome Lyre, make speed in weavingThy web of song that shall accordant ringWith Lydian harmony, song-vesture cleavingLovingly round Oenone and Cyprus, where,Far from the ancient home constrained to fare,An island-king Telamonian Teucer is,While Aias rules ancestral Salamis;

And in the Euxine Sea a sunbright islandAchilles rules; and in the Phthian highlandStill Thetis queens it; in the pastures greenOf broad Epirus, where long forelands leanFrom oakwoods of Dodona downward trendingTo the Ionian sea-gulf's rippling sheen,Neoptolemus rules a people cattle-tending.But the land under Pelion capt with cloud,Iolkos, was of old to thraldom bowedWhen Peleus turned thereon a warring hand,And to Haimonians gave the traitor's land;

Because Akastus, son of Pelias, hearkenedUnto Hippolyte's counsels treachery-darkened,From Peleus stole the sword that Daedalus wrought,And by the ambush of the man-brutes soughtTo murder him: howbeit righteous CheironRescued him, and that destiny he broughtTo pass which Fate had framed with hand of iron.So Peleus quenched the violence of fire,And quelled the keen claws and the furious ireOf lions dauntless-hearted, and the grimEdge of the terrible teeth that threatened him,

And won to wife the Child of Nereus hoary,Thetis the bright-throned, saw the enringing gloryOf seats whereon the Lords of sky and seaWere throned, their bridal gifts of sovrantyTo him and his seed after him revealing,Even the mighty kingdoms that should be.But past Gadeira and the gloom concealingThe outsea none press. Turn the sail againOf the ship backward unto Europe's main.The whole tale of the sons of Aiakus' lineTo tell throughout transcends all powers of mine.

I with the Clan Theandrid covenantedTo be their herald: lo, my lips have chantedTheir prowess! Of those contests is my songWhich make the thews of champions passing strong.Olympia, Isthmus, Nemea,—wheresoeverThey prove their might amid the athlete-throng,Without renown for fruit they turn back neverHome, Timasarchus, where thy clan, 'tis told,In victory-crowns pre-eminence doth hold.If thou wouldst bid me rear, besides all these,Unto thy mother's brother Kallikles

A pillar more than Parian marble splendid—As gold when the refiner's work is endedShows all its brightness forth, so by the layThat chants great deeds in war or athlete-playA man is raised to heights of bliss excellingThe pomp of kings-let him then, though to-dayOn Acheron's shore thy Kallikles be dwelling,Yet catch the sound of this my voice that singsOn earth his praise who in the athlete-ringsOf the great Trident-wielder thunder-voicedWith brows at Corinth garland-crowned rejoiced.

His praise did Euphanes thy grandsire hoarySing, fain to tell, my son, his prowess' story.Hymned by the old bards men of old have been;But, whatsoe'er each singer's self hath seen,That trusteth he that best of all he singeth.So he that chants Melesias' praise, I ween,Would be as one who every rival flingethTo earth, with words like wrestlers' limbs that twine;In grapple of speech yields never his mighty line—A courteous conqueror of a noble foe,He deals the churl relentless overthrow.