When toilsome contests have been decided, the best of healers is good cheer ; and songs, that are the sage daughters of the Muses, are wont to soothe the victor by their touch. Nor doth warm water soothe the limbs in such welcome wise as praise that is linked with the lyre. Longer than deeds liveth the word, whatsoever it be that the tongue, by the favour of the Graces, draweth forth from the depth of the mind. Such a word may it be mine to set forth, in honour of Zeus, the son of Cronus, in honour also of Nemea and the wrestling-match of Timasarchus, as a triumphant prelude to my song. And may it be welcomed by the seat of the Aeacidae with its goodly towers, that beacon-light which shineth for all, that bulwark of justice to the stranger. But if thy father, Timocritus, had been basking to-day in the light of the sun, full oft would he have touched the cithern’s varied strings, and, bending the while over this strain, would have celebrated his triumphant son, in that he had brought home a wreath of crowns from the games of Cleénae, and from the gleaming city of far-famed Athens, and also because, at
seven-gated Thebes, beside Amphitryon’s glorious tomb, the Cadmeans gladly crowned him with flowers, for the love of Aegina. For, coming as a friend to friends, he found his haven in a hospitable town, at the wealthy hall of Heracles, with whom in olden times the stalwart Telamon destroyed Troy and the Meropes and the great and terrible warrior, Alcyoneus, though not before that giant had, by the hurling of a rock, subdued twelve chariots and twice twelve heroic horsemen, who rode therein. Unversed in battles would he plainly be who knoweth not the proverb that in truth ‘tis fitting that whoso doeth aught should suffer also. But from telling all the story, I am stayed by the law of my song and by the onward pressing hours, for I am drawn by a magic spell that resteth on my heart, prompting me to touch on the new-moon’s festival. What though the deep brine of the sea holdeth thee round the waist, yet stand thou thy ground against the dark design. We shall yet be seen to come forth in the light of day far stronger than our foes, while another, with envious glance, broodeth in darkness over some fruitless purpose that falleth to the ground. But, whatsoever excellence Lord Destiny assigned me, well I know that the lapse of time will bring it to its appointed perfection. Weave out, weave out forthwith, sweet lyre, the web of lovely song with Lydian harmony, in honour
of Oenéné and of Cyprus, where Teucer, son of Telamon, reigneth afar, while Aias still holdeth the Salamis of his fathers, and Achilles dwelleth in that gleaming isle in the Euxine sea, and Thetis ruleth in Phthia, and Neoptolemus over the broad spaces of Epirus, where oxen feed on jutting forelands that slope gently down from Dodona to the Ionian sea. But, beside the foot of Pélion, having turned Iolcus to subjection with hostile hand, Péleus gave it over to the Haemones. Acastus, the son of Pelias, with the aid of the treacherous wiles of Hippolyté, and with the sword of Daedalus, was craftily plotting the death of Péleus, but Cheiron rescued him and carried out the destiny which had been fated by Zeus. So Péleus, having escaped the violence of fire, and the keen claws of bold lions, and the edge of their terrible teeth, wedded one of the enthroned Nereids, and beheld the circle of fair seats, whereon
the lords of heaven and sea were seated, when they declared gifts of sovereignty for himself and his children after him. Beyond Gadeira toward the gloom we must not pass; turn back the sails of thy ship once more to the mainland of Europe, for it were impossible for me to tell in all its fulness the story of the sons of Aeacus. ‘Tis in honour of the Theandridae that I have come, in obedience to my plighted word, as a ready herald of their stalwart contests at Olympia, and at the Isthmus and at Nemea, where, whenever they make trial of their skill, it is not without the fruit of glorious garlands that they return to that home, where we hear, Timasarchus, that thy clan is a minister unto songs of victory. But if, in sooth, thou wouldest have me also build, in honour of Callicles, thine eme, a monument whiter than the Parian stone,—for even as gold, when refined, is made to show all radiance, so doth song in honour of brave deeds make a man the peer of kings—may he, who now dwelleth beside the stream of Acheron, find an ear for my voice that ringeth loudly here on earth, where, in the contest of the loudly roaring wielder of the trident, he burst into bloom with the Corinthian (i.e. Isthmian) crown of wild celery. He, in his day, was gladly sung by Euphanes, the aged grandsire of thee, victorious boy! Each victor hath
his poet in his day, but every bard aspireth to sing of all, whatever his own eyes have seen. Thus, were he to sound the praises of Melésias, he would grapple indeed in the strife, bending the words beneath his grasp, not budging an inch as he wrestleth in speech,—a gentle antagonist towards a noble adversary, but stern indeed when he waiteth to fight a froward foe.
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