Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, ISTHMIAN ODES: 7. STREPSIADES OF THEBES, by PINDAR


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ISTHMIAN ODES: 7. STREPSIADES OF THEBES, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: The muses weave a brightness for his head
Last Line: From thine own pythian games a garland fresh and fair!


THE Muses weave a brightness for his head,
And with his uncle, who has borne his name,
He shares their violet coronal, although
Bronze-bucklered Ares laid the warrior dead.
For Honour watcheth o'er a brave man's fame;
And well may all the heroes know
Who in this cloud of war undaunted stand
And overthrow their foes, from their dear land

Warding the storm of blood, that it is they,
Living or dead, who for their native state
Sow glory's seed. And foremost in the fray,
Son of Diodotus, thou found'st thy fate,
With Hector, Meleager, and the seer
Amphiaraus, by the hostile spear.

There didst thou breathe thy rosy youth away
Where warriors bold the battle's brunt upbore
In hope forlorn, and speechless grief was mine.
But lo! the Holder of the Earth to-day
A calm hath sent me, and the storm is o'er.
Now will I raise the song, and twine
My hair with wreaths: O may the Immortals spare
For any grudge to vex this peaceful air!

Whate'er the sweetness of the passing hours
I shall abide content, and free from care
Pass to grey age and life's allotted end.
Death takes us all, whatever fate be ours,
And if a man should gaze on things afar
Too puny is he to ascend
The brazen heavens, as once Bellerophon
By Pegasus, the winging horse, was thrown,

When he would fain have soared to Heaven's own Gates,
And joined the conclave of Almighty Zeus.
For lawless joys a bitter ending waits.
But unto us O may'st thou not refuse
To grant, Apollo of the golden hair,
From thine own Pythian Games a garland fresh and fair!





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