Happy Thébé, tell me over which of the olden glories of thy land thou hast chiefly gladdened thy heart? Was it haply, when thou didst bring into being Dionysus of the flowing locks, who is enthroned beside Démétér of the clashing cymbals? or when thou gavest welcome to the greatest of the gods amid a snow-shower of gold at dead of night, what time he stood at Amphitryon’s portal and drew near Amphitryon’s wife for the begetting of Heracles? or was it when thou rejoicedst over the wise counsels of Teiresias? or when over the deft horseman Iolaüs, or over the dragon-brood and their unwearied spears? or when from the rude battle thou didst send Adrastus back to Argos, home of horses, reft of countless comrades? or again, because thou madest the Dorian colony of the men of Lacedaemon to stand upright on its feet, when thy descendants, the Aegeidae, captured Amyclae according to the Pythian oracles ?
But ah! for the olden glory sleepeth, and mortals are unmindful, save of that which winneth its way to the perfect bloom of poesy by being blended with the sounding streams of song. Therefore with melodious strain begin the festal triumph-song, even for Strepsiades; for at the Isthmus he is winner of the victory in the pancratium; wondrous in strength is he, and yet comely to look upon, and he hath also courage no whit inferior to his frame. And he is lit up with glory by the violet-tressed Muses; and to his eme of the self-same name hath he given a share in the crown, even to him for whom Ares of the brazen shield mingled the draught of death; and yet honour is laid up in recompense for the brave. For whoso, in this cloud of war, defendeth his dear father-land against the hailstorm of blood, by dealing death to the host of the foemen, let him know assuredly that he is causing the greatest glory to grow for the race of his fellow-townsmen,—both while he liveth and when he is dead. But thou, O son of Diodotus, vying with the warrior Meleager, vying also with Hector and Amphiaraüs, didst breathe forth the fair bloom of thy youth amid the host of warriors in the van,
where the bravest sustained the strife of war in hope forlorn. And they suffered sorrow beyond all telling ; but now hath the Upholder of the Earth given me fair weather after storm. I shall sing with my hair entwined with garlands, while I only pray that the envy of the immortals may not mar whatever pleasure I pursue, sufficient for my day, as I calmly pass onward to old age and to the destined bourne of life. For we die all alike, albeit our doom is diverse. But, if any man lifteth up his eyes to things afar, he is too short to attain unto the brass-paved floor of heaven; for the winged Pégasus threw Bellerophon, his rider, who would fain have gone to the homes of heaven and the goodly company of Zeus? Stolen sweets are awaited by an end most bitter. But grant to us, O Loxias, that art glorious with thy golden hair, a crown of fairest flowers even from thine own contests at Pytho.
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