University of Virginia Library

PINDAR'S OLYMPIA.

ODE I. TRANSLATED.

[Water, great principle whence nature springs]

Water, great principle whence nature springs,
The prime of elements, and first of things,
Amidst proud riches' soul-inflaming store,
As through the night the fiery blaze
Pours all around the streaming rays,
Conspicuous glows the golden oar.
But if thee, O my soul, a fond desire
To sing the contests of the great,
Calls forth t' awake th' etherial fire,
What subject worthier of the lyre,
Olympia's glories to relate!
Full in the forehead of the sky,
The sun, the world's bright radiant eye,
Shines o'er each lesser flame;
On earth what theme suffices more
To make the Muses' offspring soar,
Than the Olympian victor's fame?
But from the swelling column, where on high
It peaceful hangs, take down the Doric lyre,
If with sweet love of sacred melody,
The steeds of Hiero thy breast inspire.
When borne along the flow'ry side,
Where smooth Alpheus' waters glide,
Their voluntary virtue flies,
Nor needs the driver's rouzing cries,
But rapid seize the dusty space,
To reap the honours of the race,
The merit of their speed;
And bind with laurel wreath the manly brows
Of him the mighty King of Syracuse,
Delighting in the victor steed.
Far sounds his glory thro' the winding coast
Of Lydia, where his wand'ring host
From Elis, Pelops led to new abodes;
There prosper'd in his late found reign
Lov'd by the ruler of the main;
When at the banquet of the gods,
In the pure laver of the Fates again,
Clotho, the youth to life renew'd,
With potent charm and mystic strain,
When by his cruel father slain,
With ivory shoulder bright endow'd.
Of fables with a fond surprise,
When shaded o'er with fair disguise,
The wand'ring mind detain;
Deluded by the kind deceit,
We joy more in the skilful cheat,
Than in truth's faithful strain.
But chief to verse these wond'rous pow'rs belong,
Such grace has heaven bestow'd on song;
Blest parent! from whose loins immortal joys,
To mitigate our pain below,
Soft'ning the anguish of our woe,
Are sprung, the children of its voice:
Song can o'er unbelief itself prevail,
The virtue of its magic art,
Can make the most amazing tale,
With shafts of eloquence assail,
Victorious, the yielding heart:
But time on never-ceasing wings
Experienc'd wisdom slowly brings
And teaches mortal race
Not to blaspheme the Holy One,
That deathless fills the heavenly throne,
Inhabiting eternal space.
Therefore, O son of Tantalus, will I
In other guise thy wond'rous tale unfold,
And juster to the Rulers of the sky,
With lips more hallow'd than the bards of old.
For when thy sire the gods above,
To share the kind return of love,
Invited from their native bow'rs,
To his own lov'd Sipylian tow'rs,
The trident pow'r, by fierce desire
Subdued, on golden steeds of fire,
Thee bore aloft to Jove on high;
Where since young Ganymede, sweet Phrygian boy,
Succeeded to the ministry of joy,
And nectar banquet of the sky.
But when no more on earth thy form was seen,
Conspicuous in the walks of men,
Nor yet to soothe thy mother's longing sight,
The searching train sent to explore
Thy lurking-place, could thee restore,
The weeping fair's supreme delight:
Then Envy's forked tongue began t' infest
And wound thy sire's untainted fame,
That he to each ætherial guest
Had served thee up a horrid feast,
Subdu'd by force of all-devouring flame;
But, the blest Pow'rs of heav'n t' accuse,
Far be it from the holy Muse,
Of such a feast impure;
Vengeance protracted for a time,
Still overtakes the sland'rer's crime;
At heaven's slow appointed hour.
Yet certain, if the Pow'r who wide surveys,
From his watch-tow'r, the earth and seas,
E'er dignified the perishable race;
Him, Tantalus they rais'd on high,
Him, the chief fav'rite of the sky,
Exalted to sublimest grace.
But his proud heart was lifted up and vain,
Swell'd with his envied happiness,
Weak and frail his mortal brain,
The lot superior to sustain;
He fell degraded from his bliss.
For on his head th' Almighty Sire,
Potent in his kindled ire,
Hung a rock's monstrous weight:
Too feeble to remove the load,
Fix'd by the sanction of the god,
He wand'red erring from delight.
The watchful synod of the skies decreed
His wasted heart a prey to endless woes,
Condem'd a weary pilgrimage to lead,
On earth secure, a stranger to repose.
Because, by mad ambition driven,
He robb'd the sacred stores of heaven:
Th' ambrosial vintage of the skies
Became the daring spoiler's prize,
And brought to sons of mortal earth
The banquet of celestial birth,
With endless blessings fraught,
And to his impious rev'lers pour'd the wine,
Whose precious sweets make blest the pow'rs divine,
Gift of the rich immortal draught.
Foolish the man who hopes his crimes may lie
Unseen by the supreme all-piercing eye;
He, high enthron'd above all heaven's height,
The works of men with broad survey,
And as in the blazing flame of day,
Beholds the secret deeds of night.
Therefore his son the immortals back again
Sent to these death-obnoxious abodes,
To taste his share of human pain,
Exil'd from the celestial reign,
And sweet communion of the gods.
But when the fleecy down began
To clothe his chin, and promise man;
The shafts of young desire,
And love of the fair female kind,
Inflam'd the youthful hero's mind,
And set his amorous soul on fire.
Won by fair Hippodamia's lovely eyes,
The Pisan tyrant's blooming prize,
High in his hopes he purpos'd to obtain;
O'ercome her savage sire in arms,
The price of her celestial charms:
For this the Ruler of the main
Invoking in the dreary solitude,
And secret season of the night;
Oft, on the margin of the flood
Alone, the raging lover stood,
Till to his long-desiring sight,
From below the sounding deeps,
His scaly herds where Proteus keeps,
The fav'rite youth to please,
Dividing swift the hoary stream,
Refulgent on his golden team,
Appear'd the trident-scepter'd King of Seas.
To whom the youth: if e'er with fond delight,
The gifts of Venus could thy soul inspire,
Restrain fell Oenemaus' spear in fight;
And me, who dare advent'rous to aspire,
Me grant, propitious, to succeed,
Enduing with unrivall'd speed
The flying car, decreed to gain
The laurel wreath, on Elis' plain,
Victorious o'er the father's pow'r;
Who, dire, so many hapless lovers slain,
Does still a maid the wond'rous fair detain,
Protractive of the sweet connubial hour.
Danger demands a soul secure of dread,
Equal to the daring deed!
Since then, th' immutable decrees of Fate,
Have fix'd, by their vicegerent, Death,
The limits of each mortal breath,
Doom'd to the urn, or soon or late:
What mind resolv'd and brave would sleep away
His life, when glory warms the blood,
Only t' enjoy some dull delay,
Inactive to his dying day,
Not aiming at the smallest good?
But the blooming maid inspires
My breast to far sublimer fires,
To raise my glory to the skies;
Gracious, O saving Pow'r, give ear,
Indulgent to my vow sincere,
Prosp'ring the mighty enterprize.
So pray'd the boy: nor fell his words in vain,
Unheeded by the ruler of the main;
A golden car, earth's shaking Pow'r bestow'd,
And to the glitt'ring axle join'd
Unrivall'd steeds, fleet as the wind;
Glad of the present of the god,
The ardent youth demands the promis'd fight;
In dust the haughty parent laid,
Neptune fulfils the youth's delight,
And wings his chariot's rapid flight,
To win the sweet celestial maid.
She with six sons, a fair increase,
Crown'd the hero's warm embrace,
Whom virtuous love inspir'd;
Upright to walk in virtue's ways,
The surest path to noblest praise,
The noblest praise the youth acquir'd.
Now by Alpheus' stream, meand'ring fair,
Whose humid train wide spreads the Pisan plains;
A sepulchre, sublimely rear'd in air,
All, of the mighty man that was, contains.
There frequent in the holy shade,
The vows of stranger chiefs are paid,
And on the sacred altar lies
The victim, smoking to the skies,
When heroes, at the solemn shrine,
Invoke the Pow'rs with rites divine,
From every distant soil,
And drive about the consecrated mound
The sounding car, or on the listed ground
Urge the fleet racers, or the wrestlers toil.
Happy the man whom fav'ring Fate allows
The wreaths of Pisa to surround his brows;
All wedded to delight, his after-days
In calm and even tenor run,
The noble dow'r of conquest won,
Such conscious pleasure flows from praise.
Thee, Muse, great Hiero's virtue to prolong,
It fits, and to resound his name:
Exalting o'er the vulgar throng,
In thy sweet Eolian song,
His garland of Olympian fame.
Nor shalt thou, O my Muse! e'er find
A more sublime or worthier mind,
To better fortunes born:
On whom the gracious love of God,
The regal pow'r has kind bestow'd,
And arts of sway, that pow'r t' adorn.
Still may thy God, O potent King! employ
His sacred ministry of joy,
Solicitous with tutelary care,
To guard from the attacks of fate
Thy blessings lasting as they're great,
The pious poet's constant pray'r.
Then to the mighty bounty of the sky,
The Muse shall add a sweeter lay,
With wing sublime when she shall fly,
Where Cronius rears his cliffs on high,
Smote with the burning shafts of day;
If the Muses' quiver'd god
Pave for song the even road,
With sacred rapture warm,
A further flight aloft in air
Elanc'd shall wing my tuneful spear
More vigorous from the Muse's arm.
To many heights the daring climber springs,
Ere he the highest top of pow'r shall gain;
Chief seated there the majesty of kings;
The rest at different steps below remain:
Exalted to that wond'rous height,
T' extend the prospect of delight,
May'st thou, O Hiero! live content,
On the top of all ascent.
To thee, by bounteous fates, be giv'n
T' inhabit still thy lofty heav'n:
To me, in arts of peace,
Still to converse with the fair victor host,
For graceful song, an honourable boast,
Conspicuous thro' the realms of Greece.

ODE II.

[O sov'reign hymns! that powr'ful reign]

O sov'reign hymns! that powr'ful reign
In the harp, your sweet domain,
Whom will ye choose to raise;
What god shall now the verse resound;
What chief, for godlike deed renown'd,
Exalt to loftiest praise?
Pisa is Jove's: Jove's conqu'ring son
First the Olympic race ordain'd:
The first fair fruits of glory won
The haughty tyrant's rage restrain'd.
He first the wond'rous game bestow'd
When breathing from Augean toils,
He consecrates the dreadful spoils,
An off'ring to his father-god.
Theron, his virtues to approve,
And imitate the seed of Jove,
Th' Olympic laurel claims,
Whose swift-wheel'd car has borne away
The rapid honours of the day,
Foremost among the victor names.
Therefore for Theron praise awaits,
For him the lyre awakes the strain,
The stranger welcom'd at his gates
With hospitable love humane.
Fix'd on the councils of his breast,
As on the column's lofty height
Remains secure the building's weight,
The structure of his realm may rest.
Of a fair stem, himself a fairer flow'r,
Who soon transplanted from their native soil,
Wander'd many climates o'er,
Till after long and various toil,
On the fair river's destin'd bank they found
Their sacred seat, and heav'n-chose ground:
Where stood delightful to the eye
The fruitful beauteous Sicily,
And could a numerous issue boast,
That spread their lustre round, and flourish'd o'er the coast.
The following years all took their silver flight,
With pleasure wing'd and soft delight,
And every year that flew in peace,
Brought to their native virtues, store
Of wealth and pow'r, a new increase,
Fate still confirm'd the sum, and bounteous added more.
But son of Rhe' and Saturn old,
Who dost thy sacred throne uphold
On high Olympus' hill;
Whose rule th' Olympic race obeys,
Who guid'st Alpheus' winding maze,
In hymns delighting still;
Grant, gracious to the godlike race,
Their children's children to sustain,
Peaceful through time's ne'er-ending space,
The sceptre and paternal reign.
For Time, the aged sire of all,
The deed impatient of delay,
Which the swift hour has wing'd away,
Just or unjust, can ne'er recall.
But when calmer days succeed,
Of fair event, and lovely deed,
Our lot serene at last;
The memory of darker hours,
When heav'n severe and angry low'rs,
Forgotten lies and past.
Thus mild, and lenient of his frown,
When Jove regards his adverse fate,
And sends his chosen blessings down
To cheer below our mortal state:
Then former evils, odious brood,
Before the heav'n-born blessings fly,
Or trodden down subjected lie,
Soon vanquish'd by the victor-good.
With thy fair daughters, Cadmus! best agrees
The Muse's song; who, after many woes
At last on golden thrones of ease,
Enjoy an undisturb'd repose.
No more they think of Cadmus, mournful swain!
Succeeding joys dispel his former pain.
And Semele, of rosy hue,
Whom the embracing Thund'rer slew,
Exalted now to heav'n's abodes,
Herself a goddess blythe, dwells with immortal gods:
Bath'd in th' ambrosial odours of the sky,
Her long dishevell'd tresses fly:
Her, Minerva still approves;
She is her prime and darling joy:
Her, heav'n's Lord supremely loves;
As does his rosy son, the ivy-crowned boy.
Thou, Ino too! in pearly cells,
Where Nereus' sea-green daughter dwells,
Enjoy'st a lot divine:
No more of suff'ring mortal strain,
An azure goddess of the main,
Eternal rest is thine.
Lost in a maze, blind feeble man,
Knows not the hour he sure foresees,
Nor with the eyes of nature can
Pierce through the hidden, deep decrees;
Nor sees he if his radiant day,
That in meridian splendour glows,
Shall gild his ev'ning's quiet close,
Soft smiling with a farewell ray.
As when the ocean's refluent tides,
Within his hollow womb subsides,
Is heard to sound no more;
Till rousing all its rage again,
Flood roll'd on flood it pours amain,
And sweeps the sandy shore:
So Fortune, mighty queen of life,
Works up proud man, her destin'd slave,
Of good and ill the stormy strife,
The sport of her alternate wave;
Now mounted to the height of bliss,
He seems to mingle with the sky;
Now looking down with giddy eye,
Sees the retreating waters fly,
And trembles at the deep abyss.
As, by experience led, the searching mind
Revolves the records of still-changing fate,
Such dire reverses shall he find,
Oft mark the fortunes of the great!
Now bounteous gods, with blessings all divine,
Exalt on high the sceptred line,
Now the bright scene of laurell'd years,
At once, quick-shifting, disappears:
And in their radiant room succeeds
A dismal train of ills, and tyrannous misdeeds.
Since the curst hour the fateful son
Plung'd in the guilt he sought to shun,
And saw beneath his hasty rage
The hoary king, heav'n's victim, bleed;
Deaf to a father's pleading age,
His erring hands fulfill'd, what guilty fate decreed.
Erynnis, dreadful fury! saw
The breach of nature's holiest law,
She mounts her hooked car;
Through Phocis' death-devoted ground
She flew, and gave the nations round
To the wide waste of war:—
By mutual hands the brothers died,
Furious on mutual wounds they run;
Sons, fathers, swell the sanguine tide;
Fate drove the purple deluge on.
Thus perish'd all the fated brood,
Thus Eris wrought her dreadful will;
When sated vengeance had its fill,
Thersander clos'd the scene of blood.
He, sprung from beauteous Argea, shone,
The glory of Adrastrus' throne,
When fierce in youthful fire,
He raged around the Theban wall,
And saw the sevenfold city fall
A victim to his sire.
From him, as from a second root,
Wide spreading to the lofty skies,
The sons of martial glory shoot,
And clust'ring chiefs on chiefs arise.
There in the topmost boughs display'd,
Great Theron sits with lustre crown'd,
And verdant honours bloom around,
While nations rest beneath his shade.
Awake the lyre! Theron demands the lays,
Yet all too low! Call forth a nobler strain!
Decent is ev'n th' excess of praise:
For Theron strike the sounding lyre again,
Olympia's flowing wreath he singly wears;
The Isthmian palm his brother shares.
Delphi resounds the kindred name,
The youths contend alike for fame,
Fair rivals in the glorious chace,
When twelve times darting round, they flew the giddy space.
Thrice blest! for whom the Graces twine
Fame's brightest plume, the wreath divine:
Lost to remembrance, former woes
No more reflection's sting employ;
With triumph all the bosom glows,
Pour'd through the expanding heart, th' impetuous tide of joy.
Riches, that singly are possest,
Vain pomp of life! a specious waste,
But feed luxurious pride:
Yet when with sacred virtues crown'd,
Wealth deals its liberal treasures round,
'Tis nobly dignified.
To modest worth, to honour's bands,
With conscious warmth he large imparts;
And in his presence smiling stands
Fair Science, and her handmaid, Arts.
As in the pure serene of night,
Thron'd in its sphere, a beauteous star
Sheds its blest influence from afar
At once beneficent and bright.
But hear ye wealthy, hear ye great,
I sing the fix'd decrees of fate,
What after death remains,
Prepar'd for the unfeeling kind
Of cruel unrelenting mind,
A doom of endless pains!
The crimes that stain'd this living light,
Beneath the holy eye of Jove,
Meets in the regions drear of night,
The vengeance but delay'd above.
There the pale sinner drear aghast,
Impartial, righteous, and severe,
Unaw'd by pow'r, unmov'd by pray'r,
Eternal justice dooms at last.
Far otherwise, the souls whom virtue guides
Enjoy a calm repose of sacred rest,
Nor light nor shade their time divides,
With one eternal sunshine blest.
Emancipated from the cares of life,
No more they urge the mortal strife:
No more, with still-revolving toil,
They vex a hard, ungrateful soil;
Nor plow the surges of the main,
Exchanging holy quiet for false, deceitful gain.
But to these sacred seats preferr'd,
With gods they live, as gods rever'd,
And tears are wip'd from ev'ry eye;
While banish'd from the happy reign,
The guilty souls in darkness lie,
And weary out the frightful ministers of pain.
So heaven decrees: The good and just,
Who, true to life's important trust,
Have well sustained the field;
Whose souls, undaunted, undismayed,
Nor flattering pleasure could persuade,
Nor passions taught to yield;
These through the mortal changes past,
Still listening to the heavenly lore,
Find this sublime reward at last,
The trial of obedience o'er.
Then bursting from the bonds of clay,
Triumphant tread the heaven-paved road
That leads to Saturn's high abode,
And Jove himself directs the way.
There, where the blest reside at ease,
Bland zephyrs breathe the sea-born breeze
O'er all the happy isle:
Unnumbered sweets the air perfume,
'Tis all around one golden bloom,
All one celestial smile.
By living streams fair trees ascend,
Whose roots the humid waters lave;
The boughs with radiant fruitage bend,
Rich produce of the fruitful wave.
Thus sporting in celestial bowers,
The sons of the immortal morn,
Their heads and rosy hands adorn,
With garlands of unfading flowers.
There Rhadamanth, who great assessor reigns
To Rhæa's son, by still unchanging right,
Awarding all: To vice, eternal chains;
To virtue opes the gates of light.
Rhæa! who high in heaven's sublime abodes
Sits throned, the mother of the gods.
Cadmus to this immortal choir
Was led; and Peleus' noble sire!
And glorious son! since Thetis' love
Subdued, with prayer, the yielding mind of Jove.
Who Troy laid prostrate on the plain,
His country's pillar, Hector, slain;
By whom unhappy Cycnus bled;
By whom the Ethiopian boy,
That sprung from Neptune's godlike bed,
The aged Tithon's, and Aurora's highest joy.
What grand ideas crowd my brain!
What images! a lofty train
In beauteous order spring:
As the keen store of feathered fates
Within the braided quiver waits,
Impatient for the wing:
See, see, they mount! The sacred few
Endued with piercing flight,
Alone through darling fields pursue
The ærial regions bright.
This nature gives, her chiefest boast;
But when the bright ideas fly,
Far soaring from the vulgar eye,
To vulgar eyes are lost.
Where nature sows her genial seeds,
A liberal harvest straight succeeds,
Fair in the human soil;
While art, with hard laborious pains,
Creeps on unseen, nor much attains,
By slow progressive toil.
Resembling this, the feeble crow,
Amid the vulgar winged crowd,
Hides in the darkening copse below,
Vain, strutting, garrulous, and loud:
While genius mounts the ethereal height,
As the imperial bird of Jove
On sounding pinions soars above,
And dares the majesty of light.
Then fit an arrow to the tuneful string,
O thou, my genius! warm with sacred flame;
Fly swift, ethereal shaft! and wing
The godlike Theron unto fame.
I solemn swear, and holy truth attest,
That sole inspires the tuneful breast,
That, never since the immortal sun
His radiant journey first begun,
To none the gods did e'er impart
A more exalted mind, or wide-diffusive heart.
Fly, Envy, hence, that durst invade
Such glories, with injurious shade;
Still, with superior lustre bright,
His virtues shine, in number more
Than are the radiant fires of night,
Or sands that spread along the sea-surrounding shore.