Pythian IX

Fain am I, by the favour of the GracesDeep-girt, to chant aloud the victory wonBy Telesikrates, Kyrene's son,At Pytho in the brazen-harnessed races.His fortune fair I sing, and chant the gloryThat crowns the city of the flying car,Kyrene!—Her Apollo, saith the story,The bright-haired Son of Leto, caught afarFrom Pelion's dells with echoing winds enfolden,And bare her thence upon his chariot golden,That huntress-maid, to where he made her queenOf flocks and harvests in her wide demesne,The third part of the great earth's boundless bosom,A root of leafage fair and lovely blossom.

Then welcomed Aphrodite silver-footedHer Delian guest, and touched with fingers lightThe car a God had fashioned starry-bright;And o'er their bridal couch, the rapture-fruited,The loveliness of shamefastness down-sheddingIn bonds of mutual love she linked the twain,The Archer-god unto the daughter weddingOf Hypseus wide-dominioned, who did reignIn that day o'er the haughty Lapith nation,A hero-son of the third generationOf Ocean's Lord. Him mid the mountain-dellsWorld-famed where mighty Pindus heavenward swells,The child of Earth, Kreusa Fountain-maiden,Bare to Peneius' bed with sweetness laden.

His child Kyrene of the arms of snowHad little love for pacings to and froBefore the loom, nor for feast-revelryWith maiden-friends home-keeping young as she;But warring with bronze darts without surcease,And with the hunter's knife, that princess slewFierce beasts of prey. Ay, wide-spread was the peaceAnd restful that her father's cattle knew.But little wasted she upon her eyesOf slumber, restfellow that sweetly liesOn tired ones, when Dawn's feet prepare to climb the skies.

Where gloomed the forest-solitudes around herShe grappled a fierce lion once in fightSpearless. Then He of the far arrow-flight,Apollo, God of the wide quiver, found her.Straightway amazement-stricken did he cry onCheiron, whose rocky hall was hard thereby:' Leave thou thine hallowed cave, O Philyra's scion;Gaze on the mighty strength with wondering eyeOf yonder woman, how with brow undauntedShe wages conflict grim! Not terror-hauntedHer spirit is in peril's tempest-rush:Her iron heart no weight of toil can crush!What sire begat a child so lion-hearted?From what strong kindred is she exile-parted,

That now in hidden folds she should be dwellingOf hills dark-shadowed? She puts to the testStrength limitless! Doth it beseem the BlestTo lay on her his glorious hands all-quellingEven now, or rather to pluck this sweet flowerOf spousal rites upon a bridal bed? 'Came on the Centaur inspiration's power,And in the wisdom of his heart he said,With eyes beneath his kindly brow soft-smiling:Phoebus, the keys of Suasion heart-beguilingThat ope the portal of love's sanctitiesAre from the light withheld. A shame it isFor Gods or men to leap to love's fruitionFirst in broad day, dishonouring Night's sweet mission.

Now even thee, whose tongue hath never lied,Nor can, thy softened mood hath turned asideTo utter feignèd speech. Thou askest, King,The maiden's lineage!—thou to whom everythingIs known, all issues whereto all things tend,All paths that lead thereto through all the world:How many leaves earth up to light doth sendIn spring, the number of the sand-grains hurledDown seas and streams when waves wind-driven rise,And what shall come to pass and whence—thine eyesSee clearly. Yet, if I must match me against the wise,

I will speak on. To this glade sombre-shadyThou cam'st to espouse her; yea, and thou shalt bearHer overseas unto the garden fairOf Zeus, where thou shalt make her royal ladyOf a new city. Thou shalt gather thitherAn isle-folk round its plain-encircled hill.And that land's queen, content to queen it with her,Libya of broad meads, shall with gracious willWelcome thy glorious bride in golden bower.And there the lady Libya shall, for dower,Give her a portion of the land to beLawful domain beneath her sovereignty,Land rich in tribute of all plants fruit-ladenAnd wildwood-prowlers for thine huntress-maiden.

There shall she bear the son whom thou hast given,Whom glorious Hermes in his hour of birthShall from his mother take, and bear to EarthAnd to the Hours, the splendour-throned in Heaven.And while upon their knees thy child is lyingSoft-cradled, these between his lips shall pourAmbrosia and nectar; so undying,Even as a God, shall he be evermore,As Zeus, as holy Apollo: sweetest, dearestTo all his friends, to their hearts ever nearest.Nomeus, ' flock-warder,' Agreus, these shall nameThy son, as Aristaius those acclaim.'His words spurred on the God's heart passion-thrillingTo bring to pass the bridal's sweet fulfilling.

Swift are the acts of Gods, and short their waysWhose purposes to their fulfilment race.That selfsame day saw Love his goal attain;For in a golden chamber were the twainMade one, in Libya's bower, whence she looks downOn a fair city famed in athlete-rings.Karneades' son hath linked Kyrene's townAt Pytho with the fair flower fortune brings.His victory there hath published wide her name.The city of fair girls with glad acclaimGreets him who brings to her from Delphi lovely fame.

Great deeds of prowess lure the bard unwittingTo lengthen out his strain; yet brevityGrace-clad the wise hear most acceptably.In everything to grasp the season fittingCrowneth the emprise. Thebe seven-gatedKnew it; nor Iolaus failed to treadThat path. He clave Eurystheus' head all-hatedWith the keen sword; but when himself lay dead,Then Thebe buried him with honour, heapingHis grave-mound where Amphitryon lay sleeping,Her chariot-chief—that tomb wherein did restHis father's father, he who was the guestOf the Sown Men, lords of white steeds, who greetedThat hero well in Thebe stately-streeted.

To him and Zeus did royal-souled AlkmenaIn love united, in one travail bearThe might of twin sons: conquerors they wereEver, these twain, in battle's grim arena.A dullard is the man who never raisethHis voice to sing the deeds of Herakles,And Dirke's streams remembereth not nor praisethWhose Fountain-maid reared him and Iphikles.Unto these now will I uplift a chantingOf triumph-song for that their gracious grantingOf vows' fulfilment. On me may your light,O Graces ringing-voiced, shine ever bright!Aegina and Nisus' Hill have heard me singingThree times ere this, Kyrene's praise outringing.

And so the impotence that is the shameOf tongue-tied bards do I escape. I claimThat citizens, friends or foes, shall ne'er concealGood work accomplished for the common weal,That jealousy set not at nought the redeOf that old Sea-god: 'Give whole-hearted praise,If justice claim it, for each noble deed,Even to a foe—dispraise is thy disgrace!'Our maids at Pallas' yearly feasts saw theeFull oft victorious, and prayed silently,Telesikrates, that such their spouse or son might be.

In Games Olympian thine was fame far-ringing,And in the lists beside Earth's central stone,And in the land thou claimest for thine own:—But lo, as I would quench my thirst for singing,I hear a voice that speaks of old-time gloryThat bids me pay a debt, recall the prideOf thy forefathers, bids me tell the storyHow, for the winning of a Libyan bride,Hasted to Irasa's city many a loverOf a fair-haired one famed the wide world over,Drawn thither for Antaius' daughter's sake,Whom many a gallant kinsman fain would takeTo wife, and many in far countries dwelling;For wondrous was her beauty, past all telling.

With passionate longing for love's fruit they sought her,This mortal Hebe of the Golden Crown.Howbeit a marriage of more high renownHer father purposed for his princess-daughter.For he had heard how Danaus meditatedAt Argos how should spousal-rites be wonFor eight-and-forty daughters yet unmated,Ere their life's noontide should have come and gone,And how he compassed this with no delaying.For at the limits of the lists arrayingThe throng of suitors of the maidens sweet,He bade them by contention of swift feetDecide which several daughter should be givenTo each whose feet had for the guerdon striven.

So would that lord of Libya-land decideBetween those suitors for a princess-bride.He set the maid bedecked with gold and gemTo be the goal and prize, and cried to themThat he should lead her home who foremost spedAnd touched her robes. Of all that suitor-bandAlexidamus' swift feet foremost fled,And his hand clasped the noble maiden's hand,And led her through the Nomad horse-array.Leaves many and wreaths upon him showered they,Ay, many a victory-plume had he won ere that day.