Classic Poem

We will lead the revel, O Queens of Song, from Apollo's Sikyonian fane
Unto new-built Etna, — whose doors flung wide are too strait the throng of her guests to contain —
On unto Chromius' wealthy palace. Upraise ye the chant of lips sweet-singing!
He hath mounted his car of the steeds triumphant, proclaiming a hymn in the Mother's praise
And of her twin offspring who ward in fellowship Pytho through everlasting days.

A saying there is among men — " It befits not that great deeds done be amerced of fame
And be buried in earth ." The chant celestial is meet the renown of such to acclaim.
Awake, awake ye the pealing lyre, awake the flute in the honour ringing
Of the crown of contests of steeds which Adrastus founded in Phoebus' name beside
Asopus' streams! When I tell their renown, in my far-ringing praise shall be magnified.

That hero-king who exalted his city and made it glorious, reigning there,
With festivals new, and contests of strength of the athlete, and chariots carven fair,
Being exiled from Argos his home ancestral by Amphiaraus the aweless-hearted
And by baleful sedition; for Talaus' sons were lords no longer therein, overborne
By civil strife. When a stronger cometh, a realm from the rightful possessor is torn.

Yet the Talaids gave for a pledge of alliance the woman destined her lord to betray,
Eriphyle, to Oikles' son; and now of the bright-haired Danaans greatest were they;
And leading a valorous host of men on a march ill-omened to Thebes they departed,
To the burg seven-gated: but Kronos' Son would speed them not from their home to fare
In their madness of heart, but hurling the flickering levin he bade from the journey forbear.

And so to a doom foreshown to their eyes that company marched with spear and targe
All-brazen, and war-steed trappings; — and there for ever they left on Ismenus' marge
Sweet hope of their home-return, and fed with their war-grey corpses the smoke upsoaring.
Seven pyres ravined up those young men's limbs; but for Amphiaraus Zeus with the might
Of his thunderbolt clave broad-breasted earth, and hid the man and his steeds from sight.

Ere his warrior-soul should be shamed by a thrust in the back from Periklymenus' spear:
For when panic is sent from Heaven, even the sons of the Gods must flee in fear
If it be possible, O Kronion, such trial of manhood with spears blood-pouring,
Such struggle for life and death, I fain would defer to the uttermost. Nay, I implore,
Grant thou to the sons of Etna a portion in governance fair for evermore,

Zeus Father, and wed her people to pageant-splendours through gladsome streets outrolled.
Lo, there dwell chariot-lovers and men who have spirits above the lust of gold; —
Sooth, hard to believe is the thing I have said: greed steals away honour by secret cajoling,
Honour, renown-bringer. Hadst thou to Chromius been shield-bearer in battle's day
Mid footmen or horsemen, or clash of ships, thou hadst judged what peril he faced in the fray.

For in war it was Honour the Goddess that girded his warrior-spirit with might to withstand
The War-god's havoc of onslaught. Few there are that have strength of heart and hand
Backward to hurl on the foemen's ranks the imminent war-cloud nearer.
Yet is it told how Hector's fame bloomed fair by Skamander in those old wars;
And even so on the banks of Helorus, the deep-channelled stream walled in by scaurs,

At the ford men call the Passage of Rhea dawned his light of victory
On Agesidamus' son in his earliest manhood: in days thereafter hath he
Won many a triumph on dust-grey plains and on neighbour seas: I will tell their story
But to toils by the strength of youth and the Right achieved there succeedeth when eld draws nigh
An even of calm. Let him know he is dowered with wondrous bliss by the Dwellers on high.

For if any, together with wealth abounding, have won him renown far-shining bright,
It can nowise be that a mortal's feet may attain any loftier mountain-height.
Peace loveth the banquet: a conqueror's fame like a tree grows with fresh-blossoming glory
Watered by soft-dropping dews of song. By the goblet the bard's voice waxeth bold.
Let them mingle the mazer that heraldeth sweetly triumph's processional-chant outrolled,

And in silver chalices bear around to the feasters the potent child of the vine,
In the cups that Chromius' horses won him, and sent with the wreaths that for victors they twine
In Phoebus' honour in holy Sikyon. Zeus, let me chant the fame, I implore thee,
Of Chromius' prowess by help of the Graces, and outsing every rival in praise
Of his victory, hurling my shaft of song true-aimed to the mark that the Muses place.