Olympian VII

As a father with wealth-laden hand uplifteth a cupWith the flashing dew of the joy-giving wine brimmed up,And pledgeth therein the youth who hath won for a brideHis daughter, and therewith giveth to him, to bearFrom the old home unto the new, that golden prideOf his treasures, and maketh the fair feast yet more fair,And his kinsman envied of all friends banqueting thereFor the marriage that joins hearts, one evermore to abide;

So send I the Song-queens' gift, the nectar outpouredFrom my spirit, its vintage of sweetness, a chant to recordThe triumph of guerdon-winners, their victoryAt Olympia and Pytho gained in the athlete-strife.Whom praiseful report companioneth, happy is he!Now on one, now another the Grace that enricheth lifePropitiously looks, and with manifold music of fifeAnd of lyre sweet-echoing breathes on him melody.

To the sound of the lyre and the pipe on-sailingHomeward I come with Diagoras hailingAphrodite's Daughter, the Bride of the Sun,Sea-girdled Rhodes, to a man fair-fightingAnd strong giving glory, whose clenched hand smitingBy Alpheus and Castaly garlands hath won.And his father I praise, who in justice excelleth,And in Rhodes triple-citied mid warriors dwellethNigh Asia's foreland that seaward doth run.

From their line's first father beginning, I fain would upraise,From Tlepolemus, this mine herald-song of praise,The common right this of Herakles' puissant race;For these be descended from Zeus on the father's side,—Ay, this is their boast!—on the mother's their blood they traceTo Amyntor through Astydameia Tlepolemus' bride.Thick clouds of delusion the truth from men's hearts hide:This thing would we find, yet aye it eludes our chase,

What is best for a man to attain both now and at last.For the founder of this land smote in his passionate hasteAlkmena's base-born brother a deadly blowWith his olive-wood staff, as forth Likymnius cameFrom Midea's bower; for his spirit with wrath was aglow.In the city of Tiryns befell that sin and shame.Yea, the feet of the wise be misled when the soul is aflameWith wrath. To the oracle fratricide-stained did he go.

And the Golden-haired spake from his shrine sweet-breathing:' Thou must voyage afar o'er a sea surf-seething,From the shore of Lerna in exile sped,To a sea-ringed land of pasture, where showeredBy the King of the Gods omnipotent-poweredWas a golden snow, when forth of the headOf Zeus by the axe of Hephaistus sunderedAthena leapt, and her shout far thundered,That Heaven and Earth-mother quaked with dread.'

Hyperion's Son, the God who bringeth the day,Commanded his children: ' See that your debt ye repay.Of all men be ye first to uprear in your isle in my sightTo the Goddess an altar: her godhead do ye revereWith offerings holy, filling the souls with delightOf Allfather and Her of the thunderous-crashing spear.'It is Reverence, Forethought's daughter, that maketh dearTo the spirits of men high courage and joy of the fight.

Yet there cometh Oblivion's wildering mist, to misguideThe hearts of men, and to cause them to swerve asideFrom the deed's straight path; and so it befell that theseNot bearing the seed of flame to the altar drew nigh.So with fireless rites did they plant those hallowed treesOn their citadel's height. Yet Zeus drew over their skyA fire-hued cloud whence rained gold plenteously,And the Grey-eyed made them in all craft-mysteries

Unrivalled; for on their highways were gleamingThings living and moving to outward seeming,So that great was their glory. Yea, craft that doth showNo semblance of false pretence excellethIn the eyes of the wise. Now a legend tellethHow that Zeus and the Deathless drew lots to knowHow shared should the earth be. Rhodes was unrisenFrom the wide sea's breast, but in darkling prisonOf abysses of brine lay far below.

But since in the place where they gathered the Sun-god was not,None for that stainless Divine One had drawn a lot;And so, when he spake of it, Zeus was minded againTo cast the lots; but Helios would not: he saidThat he saw deep under the face of the hoary mainA land upgrowing fast from its rocky bed,A land that for myriad dwellers should bring forth bread,Should rejoice in its sheep-flocks whitening hill and plain.

Eftsoons unto Lachesis golden-tired spake he:'Uplift thou thine hands, and swear in sincerityThe Gods' great Oath, and pledge thee with Kronos' SonThat the isle that shall be sent up into heaven's lightShall be mine head's guerdon of honour while time shall run.'And the word of truth that from Lachesis' lips took flightWas fulfilled in the end. Grew up, as a flower blooms bright,That isle from the rolling darkness of water won.

He possesseth it, Sire of the sun-arrows gleaming,The breath of whose steeds is a flame outstreaming.With Rhodos the Isle-nymph there he lay:Seven sons he begat, who in years forgottenWere wisest of men; and of one were begottenIalysus, Lindus, Kameirus; and theyOf their father's land made threefold division,Neither any transgressed that righteous partition;And after them named be their homes to this day.

There standeth an altar, a sweet recompense for the griefOf his fall before Troy, to Tlepolemus battle-chiefOf Tirynthians: as to a God do they sacrificeVictims, the reek of whose burning floats far round.And at athlete-strife in his name is awarded the prize.There twice were Diagoras' brows with flower-wreaths bound,And at Isthmus the famed four times, and at Nemea crownedOnce and again, and at crag-built Athens twice.

At Argos the victors' bronze shield knoweth him well;Memorials in Thebes and Arcadia his glory tell;At Pellene in games Boeotian the prize did he gain;Six times in Aegina he conquered; in MegaraThe column of stone doth chant none other strain.O Father Zeus, who holdest omnipotent swayOver wild Atabyrium's ridges, honour this dayThe victory-hymn that use and wont ordain!

And the hero whose hands have so gallantly striven,Unto him be all worshipful honour givenAlike of the stranger and citizen.For he treadeth the path that from insolence turneth:Great lessons bequeathed by his fathers he learnethBy his true heart taught. Thou, hide not from menHis fame who from Kallianax' blood springeth.With the Eratids' joy lo, all Rhodes ringeth!Yet the winds in an hour may be veering again.