Olympian X

Read ye to me his name—upon mine inmost heart 'tis writ—Archestratus' son, he who won the Olympian victory:I owe him a sweet triumph-song—I had forgotten it!At last, O Muse, and thou, O Truth, the child of Zeus most high,Do ye with your atoning hands make of the offence an end:Blot out the stain of broken troth, the sin against a friend!

From far hath come accusing Time with wings that slowly trailYet surely, crying shame on me for my deep debt unpaid.Yet if with usury I pay it now, this may availTo lift the burden, hush the lips that faithlessness upbraid.My song shall swell as rolling surge that sweeps the shingle down,Shall pay the wronged one friendship's debt, shall chant his land's renown.

Unswerving Honour's home is there beside the western seas,The Lokrians' burg. They reverence the Queen of Epic SongAnd Ares bronze-arrayed. Yea, even mighty HeraklesMust needs before your Kyknus flee, a foeman over-strong.To Ilas let the Olympian victor render thanks this day,Who trained Agesidamus' hands for that grim gauntlet-play;As oft Patroclus thanked Achilles, saith the old-time story.The man for high achievement born shall win yet higher gloryIf one with God's help whet his spirit's edge to each essay.

The joy of triumph few have won without hard toil, I ween,The joy that is a light of life that makes the toil seem naught.Statutes of Zeus have kindled me to sing the peerless queenOf contests, which beside the tomb of Pelops ancient-wroughtDid Herakles with altars six found in that haunted dellWhen Kteatus, Poseidon's flawless son, before him fell;

And Eurytus he slew withal, to wrest his hire therebyFor service wrought, which Augeas the tyrant grudged to pay.Couched in a copse 'neath Kleonae in ambush did he lie,And as they came, leapt forth and fought and slew them in the way;For Molos' haughty sons had slaughtered his Tirynthian menErewhile by treachery, as they lay encamped in Elis' glen.

And verily it was not long ere that Epeian lordGuest-faithless saw his wealth-abounding land and his own townBeneath the fire's remorseless breath and iron stroke of swordInto the dark unfathomed gulf of ruin sinking down.Ay, when a man hath rushed into contention, hard it isTo win forth thence, and loose the grip of mightier foes, I wis.Yea, Augeas' self, brought by his redeless counsel to confusion,Was captive taken at the last, nor 'scaped sin's retribution,Hurled down to death, as one who falls from some sheer precipice.

Then Zeus's mighty son assembled all his battle-bandAnd all the spoil of war: a sacred precinct did he traceIn Pisa for his sire supreme, and fenced on every handThe Altis, and the bounds thereof in a clear open spaceHe marked out, and for rest and feasting all the plain aroundOrdained; and so was Alpheus' stream by him with honour crowned,

With the twelve Royal Gods; and on the height therein bestowedThe name of Kronos' Hill; for when Oenomaus was kingNameless it was, a crest by clouds of winter oversnowed.And while men bowed them in that rite primeval worshipping,The Fates were there unseen, yet close they stood beside him then,And Time was there, who of the truth alone convinceth men.

For, journeying onward, clearly Time hath told truth manifestHow Herakles took battle's gifts, how he divided all,And to those Gods apportioned out of all the spoils the best,And with due sacrifice ordained that fifth-year festival,That first Olympiad whose fame has pealed the ages down.And who were they, the first that won that new-appointed crownWith battling hands, with racing feet, with chariot swiftly flying,Who in their hearts the vision saw of glory's wreath undying,And by their deeds of prowess won unperishing renown?

Adown the straight course of the racing-track Likymnius' sonOionus sped: fast did his feet before all rivals bound:From Midea's gates in Argolis he led his war-host on.And by his wrestling Echemus made Tegea renowned.The gauntlet-fighters' guerdon from the lists Doryklus boreWho dwelt in Tiryns. In the chariot-race of horses four

Samos of Mantinea, Halirhothius' son, sped fastBeyond the rest; and Phrastus' lance with aim unerring flew;And Nikeus past all rival marks the huge stone discus cast,The weight that whirling round with circling sweep of hand he threw.Then thundered forth the mighty cheer from all his war-mates there.And lo, the fair-faced moon's sweet light lit up the evening air.

Then rang the close with songs, as music rings through banquet-hall.So voices still the victor sing, and feet the revel tread.Now, as the grey beginnings of those contests we recall,We too, in song named after Victory stately-charioted,Will chant the thunder's praise, the fiery-handed flames that flyIn crimson-flickering bolts of Him who wakes the thunder's cry,And sendeth down upon the earth his lurid-gleaming levinWhich sealeth every victory with Zeus's sign from heaven.And consonant with flutes shall ring my song's rich melody,

Which here by Dirke's stream renowned hath come to light at last.As welcome to that father comes a son in wedlock bornWhose feet unto the further slope of young life's hill have passed,And lights a love-flame in the heart that was of joy forlorn,—For to a dying man is death a thing to hate yet moreIf alien heirs like sheep shall herd his wealth of garnered store;—

Even so, Agesidamus, when from emprise nobly wroughtA man descendeth all unsung to mansions of the deadScant pleasure all his toil hath won, his breath was spent for nought.But upon thee the sweet-voiced lyre and dulcet flute have shedThe grace of all their winsomeness: like some wide-spreading treeBy those Zeus-born Pierian Maids thy fame shall fostered be.

And I, their earnest fellow-worker, to mine heart enfoldThis glorious race of Lokrians. Song's honey-dew I showerOn that burg of heroic men. Thy praises have I told,Archestratus' all-comely son, whose victory in that hourAchieved by prowess of thine hand by mine own eyes was seen.Beside the altar crowned in that Olympian demesneI saw him! Goodly was his presence, strength and beauty blendedWith that spring-bloom which glowed on Ganymede when he ascendedHeaven-high above death's ruthless clutch, by favour of Love's Queen.