Pythian XI

Daughters of Kadmus!—Semele borne mid flameTo Olympus' streets—White Goddess whose earth-nameWas Ino, who dost share the hyaline cavesOf Nereus' daughters, maidens of the waves;Come with the mother of that mighty sonHerakles: pace to Melia's temple on.Come to the treasure-house of tripods goldenWhich Loxias hath in chiefest honour holden,

And named the Shrine Ismenian, the homeOf truthful oracles. Ye children comeBorn of Harmonia! Lo, he doth commandThe host of goddess-heroines of the landTo gather to his temple, that at fallOf eventide ye may with one voice allOf holy Themis sing, of Pytho's visions,And of Earth's Heart that giveth just decisions.

Of seven-gated Thebes the glory sing,And of the strife in Kirrha's athlete-ringWherein hath Thrasydaius made renownedHis sire's hearth, for the third time garland-crownedIn those rich fields where Pylades the loyalWelcomed the heir to Sparta's sceptre royal,

Orestes: him his nurse ArsinoeRescued from the fierce hands, the treacheryMost foul of Klytaemnestra, when she laidThe young child's father dead with murderous blade,And when with the pale-gleaming bronze she spedTo Acheron's shadowy margent of the deadKassandra, Dardanid Priam's prophet-daughterWith Agamemnon's soul, in one red slaughter

Wrought by a ruthless woman. Was she stungBy heavy-handed wrath, to life that sprungWhen on the altar Iphigeneia layBeside Euripus' sea-gorge, far awayFrom her own land? Or was she adultery's thrallPassion-seduced to sin beneath night's pall?—For brides new-wedded hatefullest transgression,Not to be hidden, made the world's possession

By scandal-gloating neighbours' tongues: for spiteOf jealousy clings cloudlike to the heightOf royal station. Of the common herdThe sins and follies pass unmarked, unheard.So, after ten long years returned, to die onHis own hearth-stone in Amyklae, Atreus' scion,

And drew to death with him the prophetess-maid,When he, avenging Helen's rape, had laidLow all Troy's homes delectable in flame.But that child-head, his son Orestes, cameSafe to old Strophius, his father's guest,Who in the vale dwelt 'neath Parnassus' crest.And the years watched that murderess, till they brought herA son to join with hers her paramour's slaughter.

Surely, O friends, where brancheth into twainOne track, in wilderment have I in vainSought the straight path I travelled hitherto!Was it some wind that from the right course blewMe, as a boat drifts chartless o'er the sea?Nay, Muse, 'tis thine, if thou for silver feeDidst covenant to uplift thy voice in singing,To send it this way now, now that way ringing,

Now to the father's wreath at Pytho won,To Thrasydaius now, his victor son.Gladness and glory ever shine on these:Erewhile they won proud chariot-victoriesWhen down Olympus' world-famed course went dashingTheir horses' splendour of swiftness sunlike-flashing.

Last, mid disvestured runners forth they cameIn Pytho's athlete-lists, and put to shameA host of Hellene rivals by their speed.God grant that I may crave such prowess-meedAs fits with honour, while life's tree is greenMay seek things possible. Still have I seen,In all states, happiest is the middle station,But despotism hath my condemnation.

The general good I seek with my whole might.So baffled is infatuate envy's spite,When he who hath climbed high holds his spirit's reins,And the brute pride of arrogance restrains.So, when his feet draw nigh the last long home,More bright and fair to him shall dark death come,Who to his nearest and his dearest leavethA good name—costlier treasure none receiveth.

'Tis this hath raised above the common throngIolaus Iphikles' son renowned in song;So Kastor's might lives on in poesy's strain,And thine, King Polydeukes, god-born twain,Who in the tomb lie through one day of sorrow,On whom Heaven's glory shineth on each morrow.