Like a skilful pilot, guide thou my thoughts, Cleio, queen of song,
now if ever before; for divine Victory leads the way, bidding me go to Aegina’s happy isle, in honour of hospitable friends, and do grace to that god-built city, and to the sinewy strife of the wrestler at Nemea....
..."He shall stay them from their arrogant violence, confirming the reign of law for mortals.
‘See how that scion of Perseus, skilled in every resource, lays a crushing hand on the savage lion; for the gleaming bronze, slayer of men, refuses to pierce the dread monster’s body ; the sword was bent back.
‘Verily I prophesy that here the Greeks shall strive for wreaths in the strenuous toil of the pancration.’
And now, for those who have been crowned with the flowers of glorious Victory at the altar of Zeus the peerless king, that toil nourishes a golden renown, conspicuous in their life-time evermore ; few are they among men. And when the dark cloud of death enfolds them, there remains the undying fame of a deed bravely done, with a fortune that can fail no more.
Such honours thou also, son of Lampon, hast won at Nemea; wreaths of luxuriant flowers have crowned thy head; for the glory of the stately city, amidst the gladdening sound of flutes and the choice strains of festal companies, thou hast returned to thy native isle, illustrating her pre-eminent strength in the feats of the pancration.
O daughter of the eddying river, Aegina of gentle soul, verily the son of Cronus has given thee honour in all contests, making it to shine everywhere as a beacon-light for the Greeks. Yea, and thy glory is a theme for the high vaunt of some maiden, as oft with her white feet she moves o’er thy sacred soil,
bounding lightly as a joyous fawn towards the flowery hills, with her glorious neighbours and companions.
And when they have crowned themselves with wreaths of young flowers and of reeds, in the festive fashion of their isle, they hymn thy power, O queen of a thrice-hospitable land. They sing also of Endeis with rosy arms, who in wedlock with Aeacus bare chariot-driving Peleus, and the warrior Telamon ; and also of their sons, the kindlers of battle, swift Achilles, and fair Eriboea’s offspring, the great-hearted helper at need, Ajax, shield-bearing hero ;
who stood at his vessel’s stern, and stopped bold Hector, the bronze-girdled, when he was rushing on to burn the ships with dread fire ; what time the son of Peleus had set up his fierce wrath against the Greeks, and had given the children of Dardanus a respite from doom.
Hitherto they had forborne to leave the goodly town of many-towered Ilion, and had shrunk in dismay from the keen fight, so oft as furious Achilles, brandishing his deadly spear, made turmoil in the plain. But when at last the intrepid son of the violet-crowned Nereid had ceased from war,— as Boreas, on the dark Thracian sea, falls in with mariners by night and buffets them with billows,
but ceases with the rise of light-bringing dawn, when a gentle breeze smooths the deep, and the breath of the south-wind swells their sail, till they joyfully reach the land for which they had ceased to hope,— even so, when the Trojans heard that the warrior Achilles was tarrying in his tent on account of Briseis, the golden-haired, the lovely, they lifted up their hands to the gods ; for now they saw a bright gleam of sunshine from under the shadow of the storm.
Leaving the walls of Laomedon with all their forces,
they rushed into the plain, intent on stubborn strife, and roused terror in the Danai; while Ares of the mighty spear urged them on, and the lord of the Lycians, the soothsayer, Apollo.
So they came to the seashore, and fought at the sterns of the good ships; and the black earth grew red with the blood of men slain by Hector’s hand; a grievous woe for the heroes, through the keen onset of their godlike foes.
Hapless ones! Uplifted in spirit by great hopes, the chariot-borne warriors of Troy were sure that they would sack the dark-prowed ships of the Greeks, and that in a few days dancing and feasting would be the portion of their god-built city.
Ah, they were doomed, or ever that should be, to redden the eddying Scamander with their blood, as they fell under the hands of the death-dealing Aeacidae.
And if [the bodies] of the Aeacidae [have perished, burnt] on high-built pyre [or buried in the tomb, yet their names live for ever…].
For shining Virtue can never be hid from view in the murky shades of night ; hers is the unfading flower of a steadfast fame ; she goes abroad over the earth, and with the wanderers on the sea.
And verily she honours the renowned isle of Aeacus; with Eucleia, to whom wreaths are dear, she rules that city ;
as doth also temperate Eunomia, to whom festivities belong, and who keeps the towns of pious men in peace.
Sing, O youths, the glorious victory of Pytheas, and the helpful care of the trainer Menander: oft has that care been honoured on the banks of Alpheus by Athena of the golden chariot, majestic queen of lofty soul, when ere now she has set garlands on the heads of countless men at the great games of Hellas.
Let those who are not thralls of bold-tongued Envy give just praise to a master of his art. Disparagement waits on every work of man:
but truth is wont to prevail; and all-subduing time ever strengthens the repute of fine achievement. The vain speech of foes covertly detracts [from worth; but fails in the end...]
[Every one who works aright at his appointed task] has a hope to cheer his heart. With such hope I also, trusting in the Muses of purple kerchief, now present a gift of newly-woven song; thus honouring the splendid hospitality shown to me by Lampon, his tribute to the Muse’s charm, not slight, which has found favour in his eyes. And if it be indeed radiant Cleio
who has imbued my spirit with that charm, sweet will be the strains that tell forth his name to all the folk.
A happy destiny is heaven’s best gift to mortals. Fortune can crush worth, if she comes fraught with suffering; she can make a man admired and eminent, if her course be prosperous. The honour won by men takes various shapes: the forms of human excellence are countless; but one merit has the foremost place among all,—
his, who is guided by just thoughts in each thing that his hand finds to do.
The voice of the lyre, the clear strains of choral song, accord not with the grievous stress of battle, as the clash of arms has no place amidst festivity. To every work of man the fitting season lends the fairest grace; and heaven prospers him who works aright.
Now, in tribute to Cleoptolemus, ’tis meet to celebrate the sacred domain of Poseidon Petraios, and the glorious son of Pyrrhichus, victor in the chariot-race...
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