When Polynices fell he left behind his son Thersandrus,
who won honour both in young men’s contests
and in the battles of war—a young shoot from Adrastus’ stock,
destined to be an avenger of his house.
It is fitting that the son of Aenesidamus,*
whose roots are traced back to that seed,
should enjoy the praise of songs and of the lyre,
for at Olympia he received the prize himself,
while at Pytho and the Isthmus the Graces who favour both
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awarded the crown in the twelve-lap four-horse chariot race
equally to his brother.*
For a man who competes in the games
victory brings relief from dark thoughts.
Truly wealth, adorned with many noble qualities,
offers a man the chance to achieve all manner of things,
and prompts in him a desire for high ambition,
which is a far-shining star, the surest light there is for men. If a man possesses wealth, and knows the future—*
that the defenceless spirits of those who die here are quickly punished,
and that for crimes committed here in Zeus’ kingdom
there is a judge below the earth who declares sentence of harsh necessity.
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But for good men the nights and sunny days
are in perpetual equal balance;*they enjoy a life with less toil,
not troubling the earth or sea’s waters with their hands’ strength
in order to produce a meagre livelihood.
Those who in life took pleasure in keeping oaths
pass their time without tears in the company of the revered gods,
while the wicked endure a punishment too dreadful to behold.
But those with the courage to have lived three times in either place,
keeping their hearts entirely free from wrongdoing,
travel the road of Zeus to the tower of Cronus,
where breezes of Ocean blow round the island of the blessed.*
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There flowers of gold shine like flame,
some on bright trees on the land, some nourished by the sea;
with these they weave bracelets for their arms and crowns for their heads,
according to the equitable judgements of Rhadamanthys,*
whom at all times the great father, husband of Rhea,
she who occupies the highest throne, seats beside himself.
Peleus and Cadmus are counted among their company,
and Achilles, brought there by his mother
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when by her prayers she had won over the heart of Zeus.
Achilles it was who felled Hector, Troy’s indomitable mighty pillar,
and who brought Cycnus*to death,
and the Ethiopian, son of the dawn.*
I have many swift arrows in the quiver under my arm.
They speak to those who understand,
but for the most part they require interpreters.
Wise is the man who knows much by nature,
while those who have acquired their knowledge chatter in pointless confusion, just like
a pair of crows against the divine bird of Zeus.*
Come, my heart, aim your bow at the mark!
Who are we now to strike, as we shoot fame’s arrows
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with gentle intent? I bend my bow at Acragas,
proclaiming on oath and with true understanding
that no city in a hundred years has given birth to a man
more generous in spirit to his friends
or more open-handed than Theron.
But praise can soon turn out to be excessive
if it is not attended by impartiality,
but comes from the mouths of the disaffected,
who seek with idle chatter to obscure good men’s noble deeds.
As surely as grains of sand are beyond counting,
who could say how many acts of kindness
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this man has performed for other men?
OLYMPIAN 3
For Theron of Acragas, winner of the chariot race
To please the hospitable sons of Tyndareus | |
and Helen of the beautiful hair, | |
and to honour famous Acragas is my prayer, | |
as I begin a hymn to Theron for his Olympic victory; | |
this is the finest reward | |
for horses with never-wearying hoofs.* | |
This is why, I believe, the Muse stood beside me | |
as I composed in a brilliant new way | |
to fit my voice of glorious celebration to the Dorian measure;* | |
since the victory wreaths woven in his hair | |
exact payment from me of this god-inspired debt: | |
to combine in due harmony the many-voiced lyre, the cry of pipes, | |
and the placement of words in honour of Aenesidamus’ son.* | 10 |
Pisa too instructs me to speak out: | |
for from there come god-given songs to men, | |
whenever the unswerving Hellene judge, an Elean of Aetolian stock,* | |
fulfilling Heracles’ ancient orders, sets above a man’s brow | |
the glory of the grey-green olive in his hair, | |
which once Amphitryon’s son*brought from Istrus’*shadowed springs | |
to be the supreme memorial of contests at Olympia. |