THE FIRST OLYMPIC ODE. TO HIERO OF SYRACUSE, VICTOR IN THE HORSE RACE. CAN earth, or fire, or liquid air, With water's sacred stream compare? · A warmer star, a purer day ?— O thou, my soul, whose choral song Would tell of contests sharp and strong, Extol not other lists above The circus of Olympian Jove; Whence borne on many a tuneful tongue, To Saturn's seed the anthem sung, With harp, and flute and trumpet's call, Over sheep-clad Sicily Who the righteous sceptre beareth, Wove in various wreath he weareth.— Strew round Hiero's wealthy ha. The harp on yonder pin suspended, Seize it, boy, for Pisa's sake; And that good steed's, whose thought w wake A joy with anxious fondness blended :- And earn'd the olive wreath of fame For that dear lord, whose righteous name The sons of Syracusa tell : Who loves the generous courser well: Belov'd himself by all who dwell In Pelop's Lydian colony.— -Of earth-embracing Neptune, he The youth an ivory shoulder bore. -Well!-these are tales of mystery!- With men will easy credence gain; Our frailer mortal wits obey, Can honour give to actions ill, And bitter blame, and praises high, Fall truest from posterity. But, if we dare the deeds rehearse Of those that aye endure, 'Twere meet that in such dangerous verse Our every word were pure.— Then, son of Tantalus, receive |