Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, TRANSLATIONS OF PINDAR: 5. TO THE SAME, by REGINALD HEBER


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

TRANSLATIONS OF PINDAR: 5. TO THE SAME, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Accept of these olympian games the crown
Last Line: -- have those immortals more? --
Subject(s): Olympic Games; Victory


ACCEPT of these Olympian games the crown,
Daughter of Ocean, rushy Camarine! --
The flower of knightly worth and high renown,
Which car-borne Psaumis on thy parent shrine,
(Psaumis, the patriot, whom thy peopled town
Its second author owns,) with rite divine
Suspends! -- His praise the twice six altars tell
Of the great gods whom he hath feasted well
With blood of bull; the praise of victory,
Where cars and mules and steeds contest the prize:
And that green garland of renown to thee
He hallows, virgin daughter of the sea!
And to his sire and household deities. --
Thee, too, returning home from Pelops' land,
Thee, guardian Pallas, and thy holy wood,
He hails with song; and cool Oanus' flood;
And of his native pool the rushy strand;
And thy broad bed, refreshing Hipparis,
Whose silent waves the peopled city kiss;
That city which hath blest his bounteous hand
Rearing her goodly bowers on high. --
That now, redeem'd from late disgrace,
The wealthy mother of a countless race,
She lifts her front in shining majesty. --

'Tis ever thus! by toil, and pain,
And cumbrous cost, we strive to gain
Some seeming prize whose issues lie
In darkness and futurity.
And yet, if conquest crown our aim,
Then foremost in the rolls of fame,
Even from the envious herd a forced applause we claim.
O cloud-enthroned, protecting Jove,
Who sits the Cronian cliffs above,
And Alpheus' ample wave,
And that dark gloom hast deign'd to love
Of Ida's holy cave!
On softest Lydian notes to thee
I tune the choral prayer,
That this thy town, the brave, the free,
The strong in virtuous energy,
May feel thine endless care.

And, victor, thou, whose matchless might
The Pisan wreath hath bound;
Still, Psaumis, be thy chief delight
In generous coursers found. --
Calm be thy latter age, and late
And gently fall the stroke of fate,
Thy children standing round!
And know, when favouring gods have given
A green old age, a temper even,
And wealth and fame in store,
The task were vain to scale the heaven; --
-- Have those immortals more? --





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