Nemean VI

One is the race of men, and one the race of Gods; but theyAnd we alike are children of the same Earth-mother's womb.Yet some Power wholly diverse sunders us: we fade awayTo nought, but evermore abides their heaven's brazen dome,Through all the years, the eternal years, their never-shaken home.Yet have we something in us like the Gods, the everlasting—It may be this our mighty mind, our nature it may be—Yet know we not what course by day, or 'neath night's wings on-hastingIs marked out, for our feet to run therein, by Destiny.

Now, now Alkimidas hath proved, plain for all eyes to see,That this his House is like the fields that flame with golden grain,Which, in the alternating years, now yield abundantlyTo toiling men the bread of life that loads the laughing plain,And in the year thereafter rest, to gather strength again.Lo, now Aegina's athlete-son, from where in Nemea holdenAre those heart-gladdening contests, cometh home, who, followingThe course whose chart was by the destiny of Zeus unfolden,Hath proved no baffled glory-hunter in the wrestling-ring.

His feet along the footprints of Praxidamas have raced,Even those by one of his own blood, his father's father, traced,Who, in Olympia victor, first brought home the olive-sprayFor Aiakus' princely line's renown,Five times at Isthmus won the crown,At Nemea thrice, and wiped Sokleides' deedless stain away,Of sons of Agesimachus the eldest—yet ungraced.

Howbeit he saw the crown of prowess won by athletes three,His sons, who dared the trial, and achieved. By Heaven's aid,There is none other house beside that is by victoryProclaimed the holder of more crowns in that stern strife essayedAt Hellas' inmost heart with gauntlets in the olive-glade.Straight flew mine arrow to the mark, though I have told their storyIn vaunting strain; yet none the less true rang my bowstring then.Come, O my Muse, unto this victor waft thy gale of glory,The breath of song! For when from earth have passed her mighty men,

Then rescued from oblivion are their noble deeds by layAnd legend. Oh, the Bassid Clan hath little lack of these,That house of ancient fame! A freight of triumph-song bear they—'Tis all their own. Well may their stately march of victoriesInspire the bards who till the fields of the PieridesWith plenteous theme for song! 'Neath Phoebus' temple's holy shadowOne of the blood of this same clan, his strong hands gauntlet-bound,Kallias, won his house a victory in Pytho's meadow,Who erst with Golden-distaff Leto's children favour found.

And brightly blazed at eventide his name by Castaly,When rang the Graces' chant. The Bridge 'twixt sea and tireless seaGave honour to Kreontidas at that feast where the bloodOf bulls in third-year feasts is pouredForth in the close of the Sea-lord.Brow-shadowed by the Lion's herb of Nemea once he stoodVictor 'neath Phlius' ancient hill dark-draped with many a tree.

For bards who tell the tale of old-time legend, broad and fairOn every hand stretch out the avenues that open lieTo glorify this world-famed isle: to her folk the Aiakids thereBy their example gave of mighty deeds high destiny.Across the land, across the sea, their name's renown flies high.Yea, even to the Aethiop folk, who saw not home returningAlive their chieftain Memnon, leapt that terrible renownWhat time Achilles hurled on them grim conflict, vengeance-burningFor Nestor's son, and from his car to Troy's red plain sprang down,

And when the point of that wrath-gleaming spear laid low the sonOf splendour-glowing Dawn. This was the track oft trod before,A chariot-highway, where the bards of olden time rode on.And I too follow in their path, inspired by legend-lore.Yet still the wave that nighest rolls unto the steering-oarDisquiets most the shipman's heart; so, twofold burden bearing,Alkimidas, on willing shoulders, to thy land I speed,A messenger to tell that thou, thy new-won glory sharingWith thy far-famous house, this five-and-twentieth triumph-meed

Hast gained in those proud conflict-lists which men name ' Games Divine.Yea also, and the hope of Polytimidas, and thineOf garlands twain in Kronius' close were snatched, my son, from theeBy chance of lots. None can surpassIn training-lore Melesias:He guides, like cunning charioteer, athletes to victory,Teaching a swiftness fleet as dolphin dashing through the brine.