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 trail
Yet surely, crying shame on me for my deep debt unpaid
Yet if with usury I pay it now, this may avail

Queen of the beauty of youth, thou herald of Aphrodite's celestial yearning,
Who on eyelids of boys and of maidens enthroned, in hands spell-weaving for ever art turning
Our destinies to and fro, unto this man allotting joy, and to that man grief,
Sweet is it for one who hath transgressed never in aught that he doeth the right's due measure
To be suffered to grasp the fulfilment of life's most noble aims, of his heart's dream-treasure.

Such spirits were they who dispensed the Cyprian's gifts in the hour of the love-communion

O Eileithyia enthroned for ever
By the Destinies deeply-brooding, hearken,
Thou Daughter of Hera the mighty, O giver
Of birth unto babes! Unholpen of thee
Never a child of man may see
The day-dawn break or the even darken;
Nor ever thy sister may we behold,
Young Hebe with limbs of glorious mould.
We receive not our breath for a like life all,
But to each doth his several destiny fall.
We are fettered by Fate. By thy grace alone
Chanted to-day are the glorious feats
Wrought in the contest of pentathletes
By Sogenes, son of Thearion.

One is the race of men, and one the race of Gods; but they
And we alike are children of the same Earth-mother's womb
Yet some Power wholly diverse sunders us: we fade away
To nought, but evermore abides their heaven's brazen dome,
Through all the years, the eternal years, their never-shaken home.
Yet have we something in us like the Gods, the everlasting—
It may be this our mighty mind, our nature it may be—
Yet know we not what course by day, or 'neath night's wings on-hasting
Is marked out, for our feet to run therein, by Destiny

When conflict's bitter strain to its decision
At last attaineth, then the best physician
Is mirth, to close the overtasking day.
And song, the Muses' child inspired, can lay
On the heart's wounds her magic hands of healing
Not steaming baths so softly charm away
The ache of toil, as words of praise outpealing
In unison with the lyre. Man's speech shall long
Outlast his deeds, what words soe'er the tongue
Hath drawn up, by the Graces' kind control,
From wells of inspiration in the soul.

Now be it mine to make such song-oblation,

O Hesita, child of Rhea, who hast city-halls in ward,
Sister of Zeus most high and Hera throned beside her lord,
To thy bower welcome Aristagoras with gracious mien;
His feres to approach thy gleaming sceptre welcome graciously,
Who keep in safety Tenedos the while they honour thee.

Thee oft as chief of Goddesses with spilt wine reverence they,
And oft with reek of sacrifice, while peal out lyre and lay.
At Guest-ward Zeus' unfailing feast is worshipped Justice' Queen;
So with fair fame and heart unvext may Aristagoras

Sing, Graces, the city of Danaus and of his fifty daughters splendour-throned,
Argos the dwelling of Hera, meet for a Goddess: she shineth starry-zoned
With countless achievements of chivalrous deeds of valiant heroes' essaying
Overlong to tell were the story of Perseus, the tale of the Gorgon's slaying
Many the cities were that were founded by Epaphus' hands in Egypt-land.
Nor Hypermnestra from duty erred when alone she resolved to unsheathe not the brand.

And Diomedes immortal was made by a Goddess, the golden-haired, grey-eyed.

For Kleandros and his comrades, O ye youths, let some of you
Go and stand before his father Telesarchus' gleaming door,
And wake the chant, the recompense for toils, his glorious due
For the crowns that from the Isthmus and from Nemea he bore
What though I be stricken-hearted, to their praying have I hearkened,
And on the golden Muse I call. From night of woes that darkened
Around us are we rescued, and we may not brook bereaving
Of triumph-crowns, nor over cureless evils linger grieving.
But let us cheer the people with the sweetness of our song,

In which of the old-time glories that made thy land renowned
Hath thy spirit, O happy Thebe, delighted most of all?
When thou sawest the birth of the God of the tresses that toss unbound,
Dionysus, enthroned by Demeter to whom clashed cymbals call?
Or when thou didst welcome the chief of the Gods at the midnight hour,
What time he descended to earth in a golden-snowing shower,

When he stood at Amphitryon's portal, and went in unto the bride
Of Amphitryon, whence sprang god-begotten Herakles?
Was it when Teiresias' counsels inspired were thy joy and thy pride?

As they do in a banquet of men when the revelry runneth high,
So do we mingle a second bowl of the Song-queen's strain
Unto Lampon's athlete-seed do we render honour thereby.
Our first was outpoured to thee, Zeus, in the day that saw us gain
The crown of all crowns at Nemea; the second this day pour we
To the Lord of the Isthmus and Nereus' fifty Maids of the Sea
For the House's youngest scion Phylakidas' victory.
Oh may we make ready a third for the Saviour Olympus' Lord!
So may a libation of honey-sweet songs on Aegina be poured!