Cowards do not seek out great risks;

men must die, so why should anyone crouch in darkness,

aimlessly nursing an undistinguished old age,

without a share in glorious deeds?

This contest is meant for me; now give me the success 1 desire.’

So he spoke, and his pleas were not in vain.

The god gave him honour,

and a golden chariot with tireless winged horses.

So he defeated Oenomaus, and won the maiden to share his bed,

and fathered six sons, leaders of the people,

all of them thirsting to do great deeds.

And now he luxuriates in splendid blood-offerings*

as he reclines beside the ford of Alpheus.

His tomb beside his altar is well tended,

thronged about by many a stranger.

The fame which stems from Pelops’ games at Olympia

is visible from afar—the games where

the contest is for fleetness of foot

and daring deeds of strength pushed to the limit.

For the rest of his days the victor enjoys honey-sweet tranquillity,

as far, that is, as the games can provide it;

the highest good for every mortal

is indeed that which comes to him day by day.

100

My task is to crown such a man as this

with the horseman’s song, in Aeolian melody.*

I am certain that there is no host today

more acquainted with glorious deeds

or more established in his power,

whom my craft can adorn with fame-giving intricacies of song.

Some god, Hieron, watches over your ambitions,

making this his concern. If he does not desert you

I hope to find an even more inviting path of poetry

to help me celebrate your victory in the swift chariot,

110

when I visit the sunlit hill of Cronus.*

For me, the Muse keeps a mighty defensive weapon.

Other men attain greatness in different ways;

the highest peaks are occupied by kings,

so do not look to climb further.

May you walk on high in this reign of yours,

and may I always be the victors’ companion,

pre-eminent by my poetry throughout all Hellas.

OLYMPIAN 2

For Theron of Acragas, winner of the chariot race

My hymns, commanders of the lyre,
which god, which hero—which man*shall we celebrate?
Zeus is indeed lord of Pisa, and Heracles
founded the Olympic games as the first-fruits of war;
but the man we must proclaim is Theron,
for his victory with the four-horsed chariot.
He is just in his regard for strangers,
a strong tower of defence for Acragas,
the crowning glory of a famous family line,
a man who guides his city on a straight path.
His forebears laboured hard*in their hearts
and so won a holy habitation beside the river.
They were the envy of Sicily,
and as time sped them on its destined road
it added wealth and popular favour to crown their inborn talents.
Son of Cronus and Rhea,*
you who rule over your home on Olympus,
and over this greatest of games and Alpheus’ stream;
be warmed by my songs and in your kindness
preserve their native land for generations to come.
But when some deed has been done, right or wrong,*
not even Time the father of all things can undo its outcome;
yet with the help of good fortune men may forget it.
Grief dies when confronted by noble joys,
and its enduring bitterness is beaten down	20
when fortune sent from a god
lifts a man to prosperity’s heights.
This saying fits the royal-throned daughters of Cadmus,*
whose sufferings were great;
yet even so, heavy sorrow sinks back
in the face of mightier blessings.
Long-haired Semele died amid the roar of thunder, but she lives on among the Olympian gods,
loved for all time by Pallas and Father Zeus,
and especially loved by her ivy-wearing son.
Ino, too, men say, was granted an immortal’s life	30
for all time in the depths, along with Nereus’*sea-nymph daughters.
But for mortals death’s final point has not been fixed,
nor even when we shall peacefully conclude our day,
child of the sun, in lasting good fortune.
Streams of pleasure and pain flood over men at different times;
and so it is that Fate, which controls the benevolent destiny
that this family has enjoyed, can bring some suffering
even into their heaven-sent prosperity,
which in time to come may be reversed—
from the time when Laius’ son*met his father
and, as had been foretold, killed him,
so fulfilling the oracle delivered long before at Pytho.	40
The sharp-eyed Fury saw this act,
and slew his warlike sons, who died at each other’s hands.

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