Olympian VI

'Neath our song's forecourt-rooftree pillars goldenWill we uprear; a palace shall it seem.'Tis meet the forefront shine out far-beholdenOf work that hath such splendour-flashing theme.The victor at Olympia, who withalIs treasurer of Zeus's oracle-altar,Who is co-founder of the glorious wallOf Syracuse—shall his song-praises falter?Share not the joy his fellow-burghers all?

Such sandal—let the son of Sostratus know it—Gleams on his foot. Deeds without peril broughtTo pass on land or sea win from no poetHonour; but of each high achievement wroughtWith hard toil, many the recorders are.Thy deeds, Agesias, that same praise hath followedWhich justly Adrastus spake and published farOf Amphiaraus, when the earth had swallowedOikleus' son and his bright battle-car.

When on the seven great pyres the dead lay burning,Before Thebes' gates the son of Talaos cried:'For one that is not here mine heart is yearning,Eye of mine host, good seer and warrior tried!'And this same praise in song processionalTo Syracuse' son is rendered with all fitness.I, who hate strife and disputation's gall,With a great oath to him I bear my witness:The sweet-voiced Muses sanction it withal.

Phintis, thy mighty mule-team harness straightway,That we may speed along a clear highwayThe car, that I may reach the ancestral gatewayWhence came his race. None know so well as theyTo find the track, who at Olympia wonCrowns: wherefore unto them it well beseemethThat wide the doors of song should now be thrown.For Pitane-ward, to where Eurotas gleamethMust I in season due this day begone.

Now Pitane bare, by Lord Poseidon fathered,Evadne of the violet hair, men say,But hid her shame 'neath vesture-folds upgathered,Till she might send her maidens thence away,Bidding them bear her babe to Eilatus' sonWho at Phaisane ruled in hill-girt placesArcadian, and his lot by Alpheus won.There was Evadne nurtured: in the embracesOf Phoebus her love's story was begun.

She could not for her full time hide the blossomOf a God's love from Aipytus: keen dreadAnd wrath no words might utter racked his bosom.For light in darkness Pytho-ward he sped.She laid the while her girdle crimson-twined'Neath boughs dark-shadowing, and her silver ewer.And there she bore a boy of godlike mind;For golden-haired Apollo drew unto herThe Fates, and Eileithyia travail-kind.

So from her womb in painless birth outleapingIamus came. Grief-stricken on the groundShe left him. Came two bright-eyed serpents creepingBy the Gods' counsel; softly coiling roundThey fed him with the sweet dews of the bee.But when the king from rocky Pytho ridingCame, he asked all his household eagerly:' Where is the babe Evadne bare in hiding?For fathered of Apollo's self is he;

A prophet shall he be all men excellingTo this folk: nevermore shall fail his race.'But they, ' Of him have we heard no man telling,Nor seen him '—yet the babe was born five days!But in a pathless reed-brake, oversprayedWith gold and purple splendours was he lying,Which pansy-petals on his soft flesh rayed.' So shall he,' spake his mother prophesying,'Bear this name that through all time shall not fade.'

Now when to fruitage of youth golden-pinionedHe won, to Alpheus' mid-stream he strode'Neath the night-stars, and on the wide-dominioned,His grandsire, called, and Delos' Archer-god,Praying, ' Let honour nation-fostering restUpon mine head!' And answer made his fatherWith voice infallible to his request:' Arise, and to that place where all men gatherFollow, my son, obeying my behest.'

So reached they Kronion's steep rock sunward-soaring.There prophecy's twin treasure gave his sire—To hear his voice unswerving truth outpouringFirst: then, when Herakles, that soul of fire,Should come, when he, the Alkaïds' seed renowned,Should found his God-sire's Feast thronged by all nations,Of all world-games with chiefest honour crowned,Then high on Zeus's altar of oblationsA second oracle he bade him found.

Thereafter through all Hellas famed in storyWere Iamus' sons, and prospered. High empriseThey honour; so they tread the path of glory.The achievement proves the man: but envious eyesOf slanderers follow still him on whose headThe Grace rains beauty, who before all otherHis chariot round the twelvefold course hath sped.Agesias, if the forbears of thy mother,Who 'neath Kyllene had their old homestead,

With prayer and sacrifice ceased not adoringHeaven's herald Hermes, him in whom begunBe Games and ended, who is honour pouringOn Arcady's hero-land—He, Sostratus' son,With his deep-thundering Sire, thy bliss fulfils.My tongue is poesy's whetstone shrilly-sounding!That fancy all my willing spirit thrillsWith breathings beauty-rippling. Flower-aboundingMetope in Stymphalus ringed of hills,

My ancestress, bare Thebe chariot-glorious.Ill sip her dear springs, and for warriors twineA song-wreath rainbow-hued. Thy choir victorious,O Aeneas, teach to chant the Maid divineHera, and know that none in after daysWith scoffed ' Boeotian swine!' our ear abuses!A messenger thou art whose faith all praise,O cryptic herald-staff of bright-haired Muses,Sweet mixing-bowl of royal-ringing lays!

Bid Syracuse and Ortygia's praise be chanted,By Hiero with righteous sceptre swayedWho honours Her whose feet on furrows plantedMake red the corn, the great Feast of the MaidOf the White Steeds, and Zeus throned on the heightOf Etna honours. Lyre and song sweet-pealingKnow Hiero well. His fortune may the flightOf time not wreck! With welcome love-revealing,King, greet this song that chants Agesias' might,

Which from Stymphalus' mother-town comes winging,From home to home—Sicilia, Arcady!'Tis good the ship on anchors twain be swingingIn night of storm. May Heaven propitiouslyGrant either folk high glory without stain.In thy protection, Sea-lord King, enfoldenStraight onward may he sail: guard him from bane,Spouse of the Sea-queen of the distaff golden,And bless the gladsome flower of this my strain.