Cleio, giver of sweet gifts, praise Demeter, queen of fertile Sicily, with her daughter of the violet crown; and sing of Hieron’s swift steeds that ran at Olympia.
Pre-eminent Victory and Glory were with them as they sped by the broad tide of the Alpheus, where they won wreaths for the blest son of Deinomenes ; and a cry went up from the vast multitude: ‘O thrice-happy man, honoured by Zeus with the widest rule in Hellas, who knows how to keep the lofty fabric of his fortunes from being wrapt in a mantle of darkness.’
The temples are rife with festal sacrifice of oxen, the streets with hospitable feasting ; and the gold shines with flashing rays from high tripods, richly wrought,
set in front of the temple, where Delphians minister in the great sanctuary of Phoebus by Castalia’s stream. To the god let men bring their choicest gifts; that is the best pledge of welfare.
For Croesus, lord of horse-taming Lydia, was preserved of yore by Apollo of the golden sword, when, in fulfilment of the doom decreed by Zeus, Sardis was being sacked by the Persian host.
When he had come to that unlooked-for day, Croesus was not minded
to await the further woe of grievous slavery. He caused a pyre to be built in front of his courtyard with walls of bronze ; he mounted thereon with his true wife and his daughters with beauteous locks, who wailed inconsolably; and, lifting up his hands to the high heaven, he cried aloud :—‘O thou Spirit of surpassing might, where is the gratitude of the gods? where is the divine son of Leto? The house of Alyattes is falling; [and what recompense for countless gifts is shown from Delphi? The Persians are sacking the city taken by the spear ;] the gold-fraught tide of Pactolus runs red with blood; women are ruthlessly led captive from the well-built halls: what once was hateful is welcome; ’tis sweetest to die.’ So spake he, and bade a softly-stepping attendant
kindle the wooden pile. The maidens shrieked, and threw up their hands to their mother ; for the violent death which is foreseen is to mortals the most bitter. But when the bright strength of the dread fire began to rush abroad, Zeus brought a dark rain-cloud above it, and began to quench the yellow flame.
Nothing is past belief that is wrought by the care of the gods. Then Delos-born Apollo carried the old man to the Hyperboreans, with his daughters of slender ankle, and there gave him rest, in requital of his piety; because of all mortals he had sent up the largest gifts to divine Pytho.
But of all who now live in Hellas there is not one, illustrious Hieron, who will say that he has sent more gold to Loxias than thou hast. Well may any man, who does not batten on envious thoughts, praise the favourite of the gods, the lover of horses, the warrior, who bears the sceptre of justice-guarding Zeus, and has fellowship with the Muses of violet locks. [? But, as oft at Malea, the god sends sudden stress of trouble on the children of a day. Thou lookest to the needs of the time: our life is short ;] but deceitful Hope has crept into the hearts of men, children of a day. Yet the lord Apollo [, the shepherd,] said to the son of Pheres:—
‘As a mortal, thou must nourish each of two forebodings ;— that to-morrow’s sunlight will be the last that thou shalt see; or that for fifty years thou wilt live out thy life in ample wealth. Act righteously, and be of a cheerful spirit: that is the supreme gain.’
I speak words of meaning for the wise: the depths of air receive no taint; the waters of the sea are incorrupt; gold is a joy: but for a man it is not lawful to pass by hoary eld, and to recover the bloom of youth. Yet the radiance of manly worth wanes not with the mortal body; it is cherished by the Muse. O Hieron, thou hast shown to mankind the fairest flowers of good fortune.
silence is not meet. And along with thy genuine glories men shall praise also the charm of the sweet singer, the nightingale of Ceos.
Still is Syracuse dear to Apollo of the golden locks; still does he honour Hieron, just ruler of cities, who now for the third time, at earth’s central shrine beneath the lofty cliffs, is hymned as a Pythian victor, through the prowess of his swift steeds. [Twice, too, by the fair stream of Alpheus, was the prize given to him with good will by Hera’s wide-ruling lord; and graciously did Zeus hearken to those resounding songs wherewith] we used to honour the son of Deinomenes, who holds the scales of Justice in even poise.
We can crown him with wreaths as one who, alone of mortals, has compassed such deeds in the hill-girt vale of Crisa by the sea, while we can sing also of two Olympian victories. What is better than to find favour with the gods, and to receive a full portion of blessings in every kind?
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