To Epharmostus of Opus, on his Olympic and Pythian Victories. ARGUMENT. Pindar begins the Ode with mentioning the Hymn composed by Archilochus, and indiscriminately sung before such of the Olympic Victors as were not fortunate enough to have a Poet to celebrate their particular exploits. He then invokes the Muses, to assist him in praising Epharmostus for his success at Olympia and Pythia, and tells them it requires no common share of genius. He then, speaking of his country, commends him for raising it’s honor by his skill and success in Athletic Exercises, and implores the assistance of the Graces; asserting, that no glory can be expected without the aid of the Superior Powers, by whose help, he says, Hercules was able to oppose Neptune, Apollo, and Pluto. Here he checks himself, reflecting, that it is wrong to sing of any thing that may cast dishonor on the Gods; and, describing Deucalion’s Flood, addresses Epharmostus and the Citizens of Opus, as being descendants from him and Pyrrha, by means of their daughter Protogenia, who was carried away by Jupiter, and had a son by him named Opus, who founded the city of that name. Him he celebrates for his hospitality, and, enumerating his friends, particularly mentions Menotius. From thence he digresses to the story of his son Patroclus and Achilles attacking Telephus. The Poet now, invoking again the Muses, desires to commemorate the Victories gained by Epharmostus and his kinsman Lampromachus, and gives an account of their various triumphs; and, asserting the superiority of native over acquired merit, and giving mental accomplishments the preference to all others, he concludes with a compliment to his Hero.
STROPHE I.
The Lay Archilochus prepar’d, the meed
Of every Victor on Olympia’s sand,
Might have sufficed, thrice chanted, to proceed
Brave Epharmostus and his social band;
But from her bow let each Aonian maid
The glittering shafts of harmony prepare,
The heights of sacred Elis to invade,
Her shady forests, and her pastures fair;
Seats sacred still to thunder-bearing Jove,
Which Pelops gain’d, the dower of Hippodamia’s love.
ANTISTROPHE I.
To Pythia too one dulcet arrow send.-
Nor does the Poet humble lays require
That sings the Chiefs for Glory who contend.-
To princely Opus now the silver lyre
Awake, and chant her sons athletic worth.
Opus, where Themis, with her daughter, reigns,
Divine Eunomia.-Mindful of his birth,
He decks the capital of Locris’ plains
With every flower on Alpheus’ brink that grows,
And every blooming wreath Castalia’s cirque bestows.
EPODE I.
My votive voice, in soothing lays,
Shall sing the much-lov’d city’s praise;
And, swifter than the courser scours the plain,
Or the wing’d galley cleaves the yielding main,
Will send the Messenger of Fame
Through all the admiring world, her honors to proclaim.
If haply my assiduous hand
Shall cull the flowers that deck the Graces’ Land.
For every bliss that crowns mankind,
Must from the Powers Superior rise;
And every plan’s by them design’d,
That forms the Valiant or the Wise.
STROPHE II.
Favor’d by them, Alcides’ nervous arm
Repell’d the Monarch of the briny flood;
Nor did the silver bow his heart alarm,
But, firmly, angry Phobus’ rage he stood;
Nor could stern Pluto’s rod his breast dismay,
Which drives the dying to his drear abodes:-
Rash Muse, desist! nor urge the impious lay;
Hateful’s the wisdom that blasphemes the Gods.-
‘Tis madness, strength absurdly thus to boast,
And mortal might compare with Heaven’s triumphant Host.
ANTISTROPHE II.
Let War and Disord, with the ills they bring,
Be banish’d distant from the Ethereal Train:
Fair Protogenia’s new-rais’d city sing,
Where, from Parnassus to the level plain,
Deucalion and his Mate, descending first,
By Jove’s command the rising dome design’d;
While from the stones their living offspring burst,
To fill the nations, and renew mankind.-
Let strains like these their pleas’d descendants hear,
Old wine delights the taste, new numbers charm the ear.
EPODE II.
Of old o’er earth’s involved head,
The congregated waters spread,
And o’er the wasted country urg’d their course;
Till Jove, relenting, check’d their ruthless force,
And bade their native beds again
The raging waves absorb, and spare the ravag’d plain.
From Pyrrha and Deucalion then
Your sires arose, a hardy race of men.
Thence your honor’d lineage springs,
The offspring of a a God’s embrace;
And hence, for ever native Kings,
With glory reigns the warlike race.
STROPHE III.
Opus, thy daughter erst Olympic Jove
To shady M
(Henry James Pye)
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