Sappho and the Greek Lyric Poets

but come here, if ever at another time
hearing my voice from far away
you listened, and leaving your father’s house
of gold you came,
yoking your chariot; and lovely,
swift sparrows drew you over the black earth,
whirling their wings thick and fast, down from the sky
through the middle air.

Quickly they arrived; and you, blessed one,
smiling with your immortal face,
asked what I had suffered this time, and why
I was calling this time,
and what I most wanted to happen for me
in my maddened heart. “Whom now do you want Persuasion
to lead into your love? Who,
Sappho, is wronging you?

For if she flees, soon she will pursue;
if she refuses gifts, she will give them;
if she does not love, soon she will love,
even against her will.”
Come to me now, too, and free me
from cruel cares; whatever my heart longs
to see fulfilled, fulfill; and you yourself
be my ally.

but my tongue breaks, and a thin
fire has suddenly run beneath my skin,
my eyes see nothing at all, my ears
are drumming.
Sweat pours down me, trembling
seizes all of me, greener than grass
I am, and little short of dying
I seem—another woman.
But everything must be endured, [since even a poor man]note

It is perfectly easy to make this understood
by everyone; for she who far surpassed
all mortals in beauty, Helen, judged the man
the best of all
who destroyed all the majesty of Troy,
and for neither child nor dear parents
did she spare a single thought, but was led astray,
in love, by the Cyprian.

[…] for easily bent […]
[…] lightly […] considers.
Now it has made me think of Anactoria, far away,
who is gone,
whose lovely walk I would rather see
and the bright glancing light of her face
than the Lydians’ chariots and, in armor,
men fighting on horseback.
We know well that this cannot happen
among humans; but to pray to sharenote

from holy Thebe and ever-flowing Placia,
delicate Andromache, in ships over the salt
sea; and many golden bracelets, and robes
of purple, and lovely embroideries too, many-colored trinkets,
and countless silver cups, and ivory.”
So he spoke. Quickly the dear father sprang up,
and the news went through the wide city to their friends.
At once the Trojans, under the smooth-wheeled carriages,
led the mules; and the whole throng climbed aboard,
women and slender-ankled girls together;note

and apart, in their turn, came the daughters of Priam.
And men led horses under the curved chariots,
all the young men; and grandly […]
[…] charioteers […]
[…] drove out […]
[…]
[…] like gods
[…] holy, all together
[…] to Ilium

[…] was mingled
[…] and then the girls
[…]
[…]
[…]
date-palm and cassia and frankincense were displayed.
And the women, all who were older, raised a shrill cry,
and all the men sent up a lovely, high-pitched
paean, calling on the Far-Shooter, lord of the fine lyre,
and sang of godlike Hector and Andromache.note

for many wreaths of violets
and of roses, braided together,
and […] you put on beside me,
and many garlands for the neck,
woven, around your tender throat,
made of lovely flowers;
and with plenty of rich perfume,
royal brenthos oil,
you anointed [your lovely-haired head?].note

and on a bed […]
soft, beside […]
you would satisfy your longing […]
and neither any […]
holy place nor […]
there was, where […]
no grove […]

and the lovely dew has fallen, and there bloom
roses, and tender chervil,
and flowering melilot.
And often, as she wanders to and fro, she remembers gentle
Atthis, and with longing
her tender mind is consumed, and grief devours her heart.
And she cries aloud for us to come there; and this—not
unheard by us—the many-eared night
calls out across the sea […]

If, then, a wandering man gets no regard
at all, no respect, no consideration, no pity,
let us fight with all our heart for this land, and for our children
let us die, and spare our lives no longer.
Young men, fight, standing fast beside each other,
and do not lead the way to shameful flight or panic,
but make the heart in your breast great and strong,
and do not love your lives when you fight with men;

and the older ones, whose knees are no longer nimble,
do not abandon them and run—the old men;
for this is a shameful thing: that, fallen in the front line,
an older man should lie out in front of the young,
his head already white and his beard gray,
breathing out his valiant spirit in the dust,
clutching his bloody genitals in his own hands—
a shameful thing for the eyes, an outrage to see—
his body stripped bare. But for the young all is fitting,
while he has the glorious flower of lovely youth;

to men he is a wonder to look at, to women desirable,
while he lives, and beautiful when he has fallen in the front line.
But let each man take a firm stride and stand fast, both feet
planted on the ground, biting his lip with his teeth.

you have learned well the temper of grim war,
and often you have tasted both fleeing and pursuing,
young men; you have had your fill of both.
For those who dare, standing fast beside one another,
to go into close combat and the front line,
fewer of them die, and they save the people behind them;
but when men tremble, all courage is lost.
No one could ever finish telling, one by one,
all the evils that come to a man if he suffers disgrace.note

For it is a ghastly thing to strike from behind at the back
of a man fleeing in deadly war;
and shameful is a corpse lying in the dust,
its back driven through from behind by a spear’s point.
But let each man take a firm stride and stand fast, both feet
planted on the ground, biting his lip with his teeth,
his thighs and shins below, and his chest and shoulders
covered by the belly of his broad shield;

in his right hand let him brandish his mighty spear,
and let him shake the terrible crest above his head;
let him learn to do mighty deeds, making the enemy reel,
and not stand out of range of missiles, holding his shield.
But let each man close in, hand to hand, and with long spear
or sword strike down and kill a man of the enemy;

setting foot beside foot and pressing shield against shield,
crest against crest and helmet against helmet
and chest against chest, let him close with a man and fight,
gripping either the hilt of his sword or his long spear.
And you, light-armed men, crouching here and there
under a shield, pelt them with great stones,
and hurl your polished javelins at them,
standing close beside the men in full armor.

for a man does not become good in war
unless he can bear to look upon bloody slaughter
and, standing close, reach for the enemy.
This is excellence, this is the best prize among men
and the finest for a young man to win.
This is a common good for the city and all the people,
when a man stands his ground in the front line, legs set firm,
unflinching, and forgets shameful flight altogether,
staking his life and his enduring heart,
and, standing by the man beside him, encourages him with words;

this man becomes good in war.
Swiftly he routs the ranks of hostile men,
rough as they are, and by his effort checks the wave of battle;
and he who falls in the front line and loses his dear life,
bringing glory to his town and people and father,
struck many times through his chest and his bossed shield
and through his breastplate, from the front—
him young and old alike lament,
and the whole city grieves with painful longing;

and his tomb and his children are pointed out among men,
and his children’s children, and his line after him.
Never does his noble fame perish, nor his name,
but even though he is under the earth he becomes immortal,
the man whom, as he fights his best, standing firm
for land and children, furious Ares destroys.

But if he escapes the doom of death that lays men low,
and, victorious, wins the splendid glory of the spear,
all honor him, young and old alike,
and after many delights he goes down to Hades;
growing old, he stands out among the citizens, and no one
wants to cheat him of respect or of justice,
and on the benches young men and those his own age
make way for him, and older men too.
Let each man now strive to reach the height of this excellence
with all his heart, never slackening in war.

[…] the leader
[…] great, and Eurytus
in the tumult of Ares,
and Alcon, the best of men,
[…] we shall not pass over.
[…]
[…] unforgettable
were the things they suffered, for they plotted evil.
There is a vengeance from the gods.
Happy is the one who, with a glad heart,
weaves the day through to its end,

[…]. But I sing
of Agido’s light. I see it
like the sun, which for us
Agido calls as witness
to shine. But me, neither to praise her
nor to find fault with her does our famous chorus-leader
permit at all; for she herself seems
as outstanding as if someone
set [among the …] a horse,
sturdy, a prizewinner with thundering hooves,
[…] of the dreams that live beneath the rock?note

Don’t you see? The one is a racehorse
from Enetia; but the hair
of my cousin
Hagesichora blooms
like pure gold,
and her silver face—
why spell it out plainly for you?—
here she is, Hagesichora herself.
And she who is second to Agido in looks
will run like a Colaxaean horse against an Ibenian.note

For the Pleiades, against us,
as we bring a robe to Orthia,
through the ambrosial night like the star
Sirius, rise up and do battle.note

For no wealth of purple
is enough to protect us,
nor a spangled snake
of solid gold, nor a headband
from Lydia, the pride
of […] young girls,
nor Nanno’s hair,
nor even godlike Erata,
nor Sylacis and Cleesithera;
nor will you go to Aenesimbrota’s and say:

“If only Astaphis were mine,
and Philylla would speak to me,
and Damagora and lovely Ianthemis”—
no, it is Hagesichora who watches over me.
For is not fair-ankled
Hagesichora here,
staying close by Agido,
and praising our festival with her?

But, gods, […] of these,
accept—
and the end—
I might say: I myself, in everything,
a girl, in vain—
an owl; but I […] most of all
long to please; for of our toils
she has become our healer.
And thanks to Hagesichora young girls
have set foot on lovely […].

But once this season comes to its end and passes,
at once it is better to be dead than to live;
for many evils come about in the heart: sometimes a household
is ruined, and poverty does its painful work;
another, again, lacks children, and longing for them
most of all he goes beneath the earth to Hades;
another has a disease that destroys the heart; and there is no one
among men to whom Zeus does not give many evils.

[…]
and they grow rich, won over by unjust deeds,
[…]
sparing neither sacred property nor anything public,
they steal by plunder, one from here, another from there,
and they do not respect the solemn foundations of Justice,
who in silence knows what is happening and what was before,
and in time she comes, without fail, to exact payment.
This now comes upon the whole city as a wound none can escape,

and it quickly falls into wretched slavery,
which awakens civil strife and sleeping war,
which has destroyed the lovely youth of many;
for at the hands of its enemies a much-loved city
is quickly worn down in conspiracies dear to the unjust.
These are the evils that go about among the people; and of the poor
many reach a foreign land,
sold and bound in shameful fetters,
and they bear the hateful evils of slavery by force.

So the public evil comes home to each man,
and the courtyard doors no longer care to hold it back;
it leaps over the high wall and finds him all the same,
even if he runs and hides in the inmost corner of his chamber.
These things my heart bids me teach the Athenians:
that lawlessness brings the city very many evils,
but good order makes all things orderly and sound,
and often puts fetters on the unjust;

it smooths what is rough, stops excess, dims arrogance,
and withers the blossoms of ruin as they grow;
it straightens crooked judgments, and arrogant deeds
it calms; it stops the works of dissension,
it stops the anger of grievous strife, and under it
all things among men are sound and wise.

The wealth the gods give stays with a man,
firm from the lowest base to the top;
but the wealth men court through arrogance does not come
in due order; won over by unjust deeds,
it follows unwillingly, and ruin quickly mingles with it.
Its beginning comes from something small, as with a fire:
trivial at first, but grievous in the end;
for the works of arrogance do not last long for mortals.

But Zeus watches over the outcome of all things; and suddenly,
as a wind quickly scatters the clouds,
a spring wind, which churns the barren, many-waved sea
to its floor, and over the wheat-bearing earth
lays waste the fine tilled fields, then reaches the steep seat of the gods,
the sky, and makes clear weather to be seen again;
the strength of the sun shines over the rich earth,
beautiful, and not a cloud is left to see:

such is the vengeance of Zeus. Not over each single thing,
like a mortal man, does he grow quick to anger;
but he never fails, from first to last, to notice whoever has a sinful
heart, and in the end that one is always revealed.
But one pays at once, another later; and if they escape
themselves, and the fate the gods send does not overtake them,
it comes all the same, later: the innocent pay for those deeds,
either their children or their descendants after them.
We mortals, good and bad alike, think like this:

each holds on to the opinion he himself has,
before he suffers something; then at once he laments; but until then
we gape and take pleasure in empty hopes.
And whoever is pressed by grievous diseases
has convinced himself of this: that he will be healthy;
[another, being a coward, thinks he is a good man,
and handsome, though he has no graceful form;]
and if someone is without means, and the works of poverty force him,
he thinks he will surely acquire a great deal of money.

Each hurries in a different direction: one wanders over the sea
in ships, eager to bring gain home,
the fish-filled sea, carried by grievous winds,
setting no store at all by his life;
another, plowing the tree-filled land, year in, year out,
slaves away, one of those whose care is the curved plow;
another, having learned the works of Athena and Hephaestus of many crafts,
gathers his living with his two hands;

another, taught the gifts that come from the Olympian Muses,
understanding the measure of lovely wisdom;
another the lord Apollo, who works from afar, has made a seer,
and he recognizes the evil coming to a man from far off,
if the gods stand by him; but what is fated
no bird of omen and no sacrifice will ward off;
others, who have the work of Paeon of many drugs,
are doctors; and for them too there is no sure outcome;note

often from a small pain a great agony grows,
and no one could relieve it by giving soothing drugs;
yet another, tormented by bad and grievous diseases,
he touches with his hands and at once makes healthy.
Fate brings mortals bad and good alike,
and the gifts of the immortal gods cannot be escaped.
Risk attends every action, and no one knows
where it will come to rest, when a thing is just beginning;

but the one who tries to act well, without foreseeing,
falls into great and harsh ruin,
while to the one who acts badly the god gives, in everything,
good fortune, a release from his folly.
No limit to wealth lies revealed for men;
for those of us who now have the largest living
strive for twice as much: who could satisfy them all?
The immortals have granted mortals gains,
but ruin appears out of them, and whenever Zeus
sends it to exact payment, one man has it now, another then.

in the fifth, a man should be mindful of marriage in its season
and seek a line of children to come after him;
in the sixth, a man’s mind is trained in all things,
and he no longer wants to do reckless deeds as before;
in seven sevens he is at his very best in mind and tongue,
and in eight: fourteen years for the two together;
in the ninth he still has power, but softer
for great excellence are his tongue and his wisdom;
and when the god completes the tenth seven years,
he would not be untimely if he met his portion of death.

And many to Athens, their god-founded fatherland,
I brought back who had been sold, one unjustly,
another justly, and others who, under the force of need,
were citing an oracle, no longer the Attic tongue
speaking, as men will who have wandered far and wide;
and those right here, who had the shameful
ways of slavery, trembling before their masters,
I set free. These things, by my power,
fitting force and justice together,
I did, and I carried them through as I had promised.

Laws alike for the bad and the good,
fitting straight justice to each,
I wrote. Another man, had he taken the goad as I did,
a man of evil counsel and greedy for possessions,
would not have held the people back, nor stopped
before he had stirred things up and taken the cream from the milk.

[…]
Come on, let’s no longer, as now,
with clatter and with whooping,
practice Scythian drinking over our wine,
but, to the sound of fine
hymns, sip slowly.note

Nor does that saying of Pittacus
ring true to me, though it was spoken by a wise man: “It is hard,” he said, “to be good.”
A god alone could have that prize; but a man cannot help being bad
when irresistible misfortune brings him down.
For every man who fares well is good,
and bad, if he fares badly;
and for the most part the best are those whom the gods love.note

For this reason I will never, searching for what cannot
come to be, throw my share of life away on empty, fruitless hope:
a wholly blameless human being, among all of us who reap the fruit of the broad-based earth;
and if I find him, I’ll let you know.
But I praise and love all,
whoever willingly does
nothing shameful; against necessity not even the gods fight.

The deep spray above your hair
from the passing wave you do not heed, nor the wind’s
roar; in a purple
blanket you lie, your face pressed against mine.
If what is fearful were fearful to you,
you would turn your small ear to my words.
But I tell you: sleep, my baby, and let the sea sleep,
and let our measureless trouble sleep;
and may some change appear, father Zeus,
from you; and if I pray a bold word,
beyond what is right, forgive me.”

From there the far-famed hymn is cast around
the minds of the wise, for them to sing aloud
of Cronus’ son, when they come to the rich
and blessed hearth of Hieron,
who wields the scepter of justice in flock-rich
Sicily, plucking the peaks of every excellence,
and is made splendid too
in the finest flower of music,

the kind we men often play around
the friendly table. Come, take the Dorian lyre down from its peg,
if the delight of Pisa and of Pherenicus has in any way
brought your mind under the sweetest thoughts,
when he sped beside the Alpheus, his body
offering ungoaded in the race,
and joined his master to victory,
the Syracusan king who delights in horses. His fame shines
in the colony, rich in brave men, of Lydian Pelops;note

with whom the mighty Earth-holder fell in love,
Poseidon, after Clotho lifted him out of the pure cauldron,
his shoulder gleaming, fitted with ivory.
Truly, there are many marvels, and somehow mortals’ talk, too, goes beyond the true account:
tales embroidered with intricate lies deceive.
And Grace, who fashions everything sweet for mortals,
by bestowing honor has contrived that even the incredible is credible
many a time;
but the days to come
are the wisest witnesses.

It is fitting for a man to speak well of the gods; the blame is less.
Son of Tantalus, I will tell of you, unlike those before me,
how, when your father called the gods to the most well-ordered
feast at his beloved Sipylus,
giving them a banquet in return,
then the Lord of the Splendid Trident carried you off,
his mind overpowered by desire, and on golden horses
transported you to the highest house of wide-honored Zeus,
where at a later time
Ganymede also came
to Zeus for the same service.note

When you vanished, and men searching far and wide did not bring you back to your mother,
one of the envious neighbors at once said in secret
that into water boiling hard on the fire
they had cut you limb from limb with a knife,
and at the tables, for the last course, your flesh
they shared out among themselves and ate.

For me it is impossible to call any of the blessed ones a glutton. I stand back.
Loss is often the lot of slanderers.
If ever the watchers of Olympus did honor
any mortal man, it was this Tantalus; but to digest
his great prosperity he could not, and through excess he won
overwhelming ruin: the father hung over him a mighty stone,
and forever longing to cast it from his head, he wanders far from joy.

He has this helpless life of unending toil,
a fourth labor with three others, because he stole from the immortals
and to his drinking companions of his own age
the nectar and ambrosia
he gave, by which the gods had made him
immortal. If a man hopes, in doing anything, to escape a god’s notice, he is wrong.
Therefore the immortals sent his son back again
once more among the short-lived race of men.

And when, toward the flowering of his youth,
down began to darken his chin,
he set his mind on a marriage that lay ready:
from her father of Pisa the glorious Hippodamia
to win. Going near the gray sea, alone in the darkness,
he called on the deep-thundering
Lord of the Fine Trident; and to him
he appeared, right there at his feet.

He said to him: “Come, if the Cyprian’s dear gifts, Poseidon, earn any
thanks, fetter the bronze spear of Oenomaus,
and carry me on the swiftest of chariots
to Elis, and bring me to victory.
For, having killed thirteen men
who courted her, he keeps putting off the marriage
of his daughter. Great danger does not take hold of a man without courage.note

And for those who must die, why should anyone coddle a nameless
old age to no end, sitting in darkness,
without a share in anything fine? No—for me this contest
shall be mine to face; and you, grant me the success I long for.”
So he spoke, nor were the words he spoke left unfulfilled. Honoring him, the god
gave him a golden chariot and tireless winged horses.
He overcame the might of Oenomaus, and took the maiden to share his bed;

and she bore him six sons, leaders of the people, eager for excellence.
And now in the splendid
blood offerings he has his share,
lying by the stream of the Alpheus,
with his much-visited tomb beside the altar thronged by strangers. And the fame
shines from afar in the racecourses of the Olympic games,
the fame of Pelops, where speed of foot contends
and the bold-laboring peaks of strength;

and the victor, for the rest of his life,
has honey-sweet fair weather
because of the games. But the good that comes day by day
is the highest that comes to any mortal. To crown
that man with a horseman’s tune
in Aeolian song
is my task; and I am sure there is no host
at all, more versed in fine things and with power more sovereign,
among those now living, for me to embellish in the glorious folds of hymns.

A god who is your guardian takes thought,
with this as his concern, Hieron,
for your ambitions; and if he does not soon desert you,
I hope to celebrate a still sweeter
triumph with the swift chariot, finding a helpful road of words
when I come to the sunny hill of Cronus. For me, then,
the Muse is nursing her mightiest arrow in strength for me;
some are great in one thing, others in another. But the very highest
reaches its peak in kings. Look no further.
May you walk on high for the time you have, and may I keep company
with victors as often, renowned for wisdom among Greeks everywhere.

You quench even the spear-pointed thunderbolt
of everlasting fire. And on the scepter of Zeus the eagle sleeps, letting his swift wings droop on either side,
the lord of birds; and a dark-faced cloud over him,
over his curved head, a sweet seal on his eyelids, you have poured; and he, slumbering,
heaves his supple back, held fast by your
pulsing notes. For even violent Ares, leaving far behind the harsh
point of spears, warms his heart
in slumber; and your shafts enchant the minds of the gods as well, through the wisdom of Leto’s son and the deep-bosomed Muses.

But all that Zeus has not loved shrinks in terror at the voice
of the Muses of Pieria when they hear it, on land and on the raging sea,
as does he who lies in dread Tartarus, the gods’ enemy,
Typhon of the hundred heads, whom once
the famous Cilician cave reared; but now
the sea-fenced cliffs above Cumae
and Sicily press on his shaggy chest; and the pillar of heaven holds him down,
snowy Etna, nurse all year round of piercing snow;note

from her belch forth the purest springs of unapproachable fire
out of her depths; and by day her rivers pour out a stream of smoke,
blazing; but in the darkness rocks
are swept by a red rolling flame down to the deep plain of the sea with a crash.
It is that monster that sends up the most terrible
fountains of Hephaestus: a portent marvelous to behold, a marvel even to hear of from those who have been there,
how he is bound among the dark-leaved peaks of Etna
and the plain, and his bed scratches and goads the whole of his back stretched against it.

May it be, Zeus, may it be mine to please you,
who rule this mountain, brow of a fruitful land, whose name
the famous founder has glorified in the city
next to it; and at the Pythian racecourse the herald proclaimed it, announcing Hieron’s splendid victory
in the chariot race. For seafaring men the first blessing,
as they set out on a voyage, is that a following wind should come; for it is likely
that at the end too they will meet with a better homecoming. And this saying,
given these happy chances, brings the expectation
that the city will in future be famous for garlands and horses
and renowned for tuneful festivities.

Lycian Phoebus, lord of Delos, who love the Castalian spring of Parnassus,
may you be willing to keep this in mind and make the land rich in good men.
For from the gods come all the means for mortal excellence,
and men are born wise and strong of hand and eloquent. And as for that man,
I hope, in my eagerness to praise him,
not to throw, as it were, the bronze-cheeked javelin outside the field, brandishing it in my hand,
but with a long cast to outdo my rivals.

If only all time would keep his prosperity and the gift of possessions on this straight course, and grant forgetfulness of his toils.
Surely it would remind him in what battles of war
he held his ground with an enduring soul, when they won at the gods’ hands such honor
as no other Greek reaps,
a proud crown of wealth. And now, following Philoctetes’ way,
he has taken the field; and under necessity, as a friend,
even one who was proud fawned on him. They say that from Lemnos, worn by his wound, they came to bring him over,
the godlike heroes, the archer son of Poeas:note

he sacked Priam’s city and brought the Danaans’ labors to an end,
walking with a feeble body, but it was fated.
So may a god be Hieron’s upholder
in the time that is creeping on, giving him due measure of what he desires.
Muse, by Deinomenes’ side as well, to sing aloud
the reward for the four-horse chariot, heed me: a father’s victory is no strange joy to a son.note

Come, then, let us find a friendly hymn for the king of Aetna,
for whom, with god-built freedom, that city
Hieron founded under the rule of Hyllus’ laws. And the descendants of Pamphylus
and of the Heraclids too,
who live below the slopes of Taygetus, wish to remain forever under the ordinances of Aegimius,
Dorians. Prosperous, they took Amyclae,
setting out from Pindus, deeply glorious neighbors of the Tyndarids with their white horses, and the fame of their spears flowered.note

Zeus Fulfiller, may such a lot always, by the water of the Amenas,
be judged by the true report of men to be the citizens’ and the kings’.
With your help a man who leads,
giving charge to his son too, may honor the people and turn them to harmonious peace.
I beg you, son of Cronus, nod assent, that peacefully
the Phoenician and the war cry of the Etruscans stay at home, having seen their arrogance bring groans to their ships before Cumae—note

what they suffered when overcome by the leader of the Syracusans,
who cast their youth from their swift ships into the sea,
dragging Greece out of heavy slavery. I shall earn
from Salamis the Athenians’ gratitude
as my wage, and in Sparta from the battles before Cithaeron,
in which the Medes with curved bows were laid low,
and by the well-watered shore of the Himeras by completing a hymn for the sons of Deinomenes,
which they earned by their excellence, when the enemy men were laid low.note

If you speak to the point, drawing the strands of many things together
in brief, less blame from men follows. For excess
wearies and blunts quick hopes;
and what citizens hear weighs heavy on their secret hearts, most of all about the good fortunes of others.
But still, since envy is better than pity,
do not pass over fine things. Steer your people with a just rudder; forge your tongue on an anvil free of lies.
If even a trivial thing flies off, it is borne as something great
coming from you. You are steward of many things; many are the witnesses to be trusted for both.
Abiding in a flourishing temper,
if you love always to hear sweet report of yourself, do not tire too much of spending;

let out, like a helmsman,
your sail to the wind. Do not be deceived, my friend, by shifty gains. The proud acclaim of fame that outlives a man
alone reveals the way of life of men who are gone
to chroniclers and poets alike. The kindly excellence of Croesus does not fade;
but him who burned men in the bronze bull, pitiless of mind,
Phalaris, hateful report holds down everywhere,
nor do the lyres in the hall receive him into gentle
fellowship with the songs of boys.
To fare well is the first of prizes; to be well spoken of, the second share; and the man
who meets with both and takes them has received the highest crown.note

but you, whenever someone drives relentless
rancor into his heart,
harsh toward the hostile,
meeting their might, you put
Arrogance in the bilge. Porphyrion did not know you either
when he provoked you beyond measure. Gain is dearest
if one takes it from the house of a willing giver.note

Violence trips up even the boastful in time.
Cilician Typhon of the hundred heads did not escape her,
nor did the king of the Giants; they were laid low by the thunderbolt
and the arrows of Apollo, who with kindly mind
welcomed the son of Xenarces back from Cirrha, crowned
with Parnassian grass and a Dorian revel.

It has not fallen far from the Graces,
this island of just citizens, which has laid hold
of the famous excellences
of the Aeacids; and it holds perfect
glory from the start. For it is sung by many
for having reared, in prize-winning games and in swift
battles, heroes beyond all others;
and it stands out in its men too.note

But I have no leisure to dedicate
the whole long tale
to the lyre and the gentle voice,
lest excess come and grate. But let what runs before my feet,
your due, boy, the newest of glories, go forth,
winged by my craft.
For in wrestling you follow in the tracks of your mother’s brothers:
you do not shame Theognetus at Olympia,
nor Cleitomachus’ bold-limbed victory at the Isthmus;

and, increasing the clan of the Midylidae, you bear out the word
which once the son of Oicles, seeing at seven-gated
Thebes the sons standing fast with the spear, uttered in riddles,
when from Argos they came
on the second expedition, the Epigoni.
So he spoke while they fought:
“By nature the noble spirit shines out
from fathers in their sons. I see clearly
the dappled serpent on his blazing shield, Alcmaeon
wielding it, first at the gates of Cadmus.note

And he who suffered in the earlier disaster
now meets with better
tidings from the bird of omen,
the hero Adrastus; but at home
he will fare the opposite. For alone of the Danaan host,
having gathered the bones of his dead son, by the gods’ fortune
he will arrive, his people unharmed,
at the broad streets of Abas.” Such were the words
Amphiaraus uttered. And I myself, rejoicing,
pelt Alcmaeon with garlands and sprinkle him with song too,note

because, my neighbor and the guardian of my possessions,
he met me as I was going to the famous navel of the earth,
and took up prophecy with the arts born in his family.
And you, Far-Shooter, who govern the all-welcoming
and glorious temple
in the hollows of Pytho,
there the greatest of joys
you granted; and at home, before, the coveted gift
of the pentathlon you bestowed at your festivals.note

Lord, with a willing mind I pray
to look with some harmony
on everything I approach.
Beside the sweet-singing revel
Justice has taken her stand; and the gods’ regard,
ungrudging, I ask, Xenarces, for your fortunes.

For if someone has won good things without long toil,
to many he seems a wise man among fools,
arming his life with rightly counseled devices;
but these things do not rest with men; a god bestows them,
now throwing one man on high, now another beneath his hands
he brings down, by measure. At Megara you hold a prize,
and in the hollow of Marathon, and Hera’s local contest
with three victories, Aristomenes, you mastered by your deeds;

and you fell from above on four
bodies, with harm in mind,
for whom no homecoming like yours,
so joyful, was decided at the Pythian games,
nor, when they came back to their mothers, did sweet laughter all around
stir up delight; but along the back lanes, keeping clear of enemies,
they slink, stung by their misfortune.

But he who has won some fine new thing,
in his splendor, out of great
hope takes flight
on the wings of his manhood, having
ambition greater than wealth. But in a short time mortals’
delight grows; and just so it falls to the ground,
shaken by an adverse purpose.