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    The Odes of Pindar (Penguin ed.)

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    [10] Welcome this company and wearing of garlands.

      His glory is great for ever

      Whom your glittering prize attends.

      To each man come different goods, and many

      Are the paths of success

      When the Gods give help.

      [15] Timosthenes, fate has allotted

      Your race to Zeus for its own God.

      He made you renowned at Nemea,

      And Alkimedon by Kronos’ Hill

      An Olympian conqueror.

      He was lovely to see, and his acts

      Did not dishonour his beauty,

      [20] When he won in the wrestling and proclaimed

      His fatherland, long-oared Aigina.

      There Saviour Right is honoured

      At the side of Zeus, the strangers’ God

      II

      Most among men.

      When the balance

      Is heavy and heavily sways,

      [25] It is hard to judge

      With clear head at the right moment.

      An ordinance of the Immortals

      Placed this sea-girt land

      As a holy pillar for strangers from everywhere,

      – May Time rising ahead

      Not weary of doing this –

      [30] A Dorian people watch over it

      From Aiakos’ time.

      Him Lato’s Son and Poseidon, who rules afar,

      When they started to make a crown for Ilion,

      Called to share the work at the wall;

      For it was fated

      That, when wars were awakened

      [35] In fights and destruction of cities,

      It should breathe up angry smoke.

      Three yellow snakes, when the town was just built,

      Jumped on the wall. Two fell down

      And straightway in amazement threw up their lives,

      [40] But one leapt with a cry.

      Apollo pondered the adverse sign

      And forthwith cried: ‘By the work of your hands, hero,

      Pergamos shall be taken,

      – So says a vision sent to me

      From Kronos’ son, loud-thundering Zeus –

      III

      [45] Not without your sons. It shall be broken

      In the first and the third generations.’

      So spoke the God truly, and drove in haste

      To Xanthos, and the Amazons, the fine horse-women,

      And to Ister.

      And the Trident-lifter hurried his fast chariot

      [50] To the sea Isthmos, and sent away Aiakos

      Hither on golden mares,

      While he went to watch over

      The ridge of Korinth famous for feasting.

      But no joy will stay the same among men.

      If for Melesias I have run back in my song

      To the fame he wins from young athletes,

      [55] Let no sharp stone of hatred strike me.

      I will tell, too, of this joy he won

      Himself at Nemea,

      And that later he fought with grown men

      In the Fighting Match. (Who knows for himself

      [60] Will more easily teach:

      Not to learn first is folly,

      Since untried men have less weight to their minds.)

      But here is the Master, to say beyond others

      The right way for the man to go

      Who would get from the holy Games

      His heart’s desire of glory.

      Now as a gift for him

      [65] Alkimedon wins his thirtieth victory.

      IV

      God favoured him, neither

      Did he lack manhood.

      On the limbs of four boys he put away from him

      The hateful return, the dishonouring tongue,

      The secret by-path,

      [70] And into his father’s father he breathed

      Strength to resist old age.

      A man forgets death when all goes well.

      But I must wake Memory and tell

      [75] This final triumph of the hands of the Blepsiadai.

      Now on their brows a sixth wreath is fastened

      From the leaf-garlanded Games.

      Dead men also have a part

      In rites lawfully done,

      Nor does the dust hide from them

      [80] Their kinsmen’s fond delight.

      Iphion has listened to Hermes’ daughter,

      Good-Tidings, and will tell Kallimachos

      Of the bright ornament at Olympia

      Which Zeus gave to their race.

      [85] May he consent to give good upon good

      And keep away the stabs of sickness.

      I pray that in bestowing glory

      He will not let Doom waver in purpose,

      But bring a life without sorrow

      And strengthen them and their city.

      Olympian VIII was composed in 460 B.C.

      20 Aigina was at this time being attacked by Athens.

      28 He expresses his anxiety for the future of Aigina.

      30–46 The myth tells how Aiakos helped Poseidon and Apollo to build Troy, and an omen of its future was seen in the behaviour of three snakes.

      45 The first generation is Aiakos. His sons Telamon and Peleus fight with Herakles against Troy. Their sons, Aias and Achilles, make the third generation. The fourth is Neoptolemos.

      47 Xanthos is a Lykian river; Ister possibly the Danube.

      51 ‘Hither’, to Aigina.

      53 Melesias, already mentioned in Nemean VI, is being attacked as an Athenian, and his employers almost for co-operating with the national enemy.

      66 Alkimedon’s victory is the thirtieth won by a pupil of Melesias.

      69 Pindar has no consolation to offer to the unsuccessful competitors.

      77 The news of the boy’s victory reaches his dead father, Iphion, and Kallimachos, his dead uncle.

      Nemean VIII

      For Deinias of Aigina, winner in the double foot-race

      I

      Lady Youth, herald

      Of Aphrodita’s celestial loves,

      Seated on the eyelids of girls and boys,

      One you lift with gentle hands of compulsion,

      Another with different touch.

      In every action the heart

      Desires not to stray from the right moment

      [5] But to have power to win the nobler loves,

      Such as waited upon the bed of Zeus and Aigina,

      And brought the Cyprian’s gifts to the fold.

      A son was born, king of the Vineland,

      Foremost in hand and in counsel.

      Many men often prayed to look on his face:

      Unbidden the finest heroes around

      [10] Wished to choose and obey his dominion,

      Both those who in rocky Athens hammered an army together,

      And Pelops’ sons in Sparta.

      I cling to Aiakos’ knees in prayer.

      For his dear city and for these citizens,

      [15] And bring a Lydian scarf embroidered with ringing bells.

      An ornament from Nemea for two races on foot,

      Which Deinias and his father Megas won.

      When a god has helped its planting

      Happiness stays longer with men;

      II

      Such as once loaded with wealth

      Kinyras in sea-girt Kypros. I stand on feet lightly poised

      And take a deep breath before speaking.

      [20] Much has been said in many a way;

      To find new themes

      And put them to the touchstone for proof

      Is nothing but danger. Words

      Sharpen the appetite of envy,

      Which clings always to the noble

      And struggles not against the base.

      It put its teeth into Telamon’s son,

      And rolled him onto his sword.

      A man without words but noble in heart

      [25] Oblivion hides in ugly strife;

      And the greatest prize has been handed to slippery falsehood.

      For in privy ballot


      The Danaoi favoured Odysseus,

      And Aias, robbed of the golden armour,

      Came to grips with death.

      Unequal indeed were the wounds they tore

      In the warm flesh of their adversaries

      [30] With succouring spears, hard pressed,

      Some over Achilles newly slain,

      And in other tasks in days of huge slaughter.

      – Of old too was hateful trickery;

      She walked with wheedling words and plotted death,

      Slander who works evil;

      She does violence to glory

      And sets up a flimsy fame for the unknown.

      III

      [35] Father Zeus, may such a temper never be mine,

      But may I keep to plain paths of life,

      And when I die,

      Leave to my children a name

      Of which no evil is spoken.

      Men pray for gold, others for boundless land,

      But I to please my townsmen,

      Till I wrap my limbs in earth,

      Praising what should be praised,

      And scattering reproach on wrongdoers.

      [40] Prowess swells as a shoot of the vine

      With fresh dews,

      Lifted on high among the wise and the good among men

      To the liquid sky. Manifold are the uses

      Of friends. Help in trouble

      Is highest, but delight also seeks

      To set its truth before their eyes.

      – Megas, to call your life back again

      [45] I am not able. Hopes are empty, and vain their end.

      But it is a light task

      To support your land and the Chariadai

      On a stone of the Muses,

      In honour of two men’s running twice fortunate. I am glad

      To utter fit praise of what has been done,

      [50] And by songs a man takes the pain out of toil.

      In truth of old was a triumph-song

      Even before the quarrel began

      Between Adrastos and the Sons of Kadmos.

      Nemean VIII was written about 459 B.C.

      8 The son is Aiakos.

      18 For Kinyras see Pythian II, 15.

      23–34 The suicide of Aias is an example of what slander can drive a man to do.

      44 Megas is the dead father of Deinias.

      50–51 The last lines seem to mean no more than that song has always been a reward and consolation to men. In the present case war between Aigina and Athens may be in the offing, and song is needed as much as ever.

      Pythian XI

      For Thrasydaios of Thebes, winner in the boys’ foot-race

      I

      Daughters of Kadmos,

      Semela, neighbor

      Of the mistresses of Olympos,

      And Ino, White Goddess,

      Sharer of the Nereids’ sea-chambers,

      Come with the mother of Herakles

      (Blessed was her womb)

      To Melia’s presence, where the gold tripods stand

      Inviolate in the Treasury,

      [5] That Loxias honoured before all,

      And named it Ismenion, faithful seat

      Of prophecy, O children of Harmonia,

      Where now he bids assemble together

      The folk that inhabits the Princesses’ land,

      Come here and sing aloud

      Of holy Themis and Pytho

      And the straight justice of the navel of the world,

      [10] When the evening has come,

      Giving beauty to seven-gated Thebes

      And to the course at Krisa, where Thrasydaios

      Renowned the hearth of his fathers

      And cast on it a third crown,

      [15] Triumphing in the rich ploughlands of Pyladas,

      The friend of Spartan Orestas:

      II

      Whom Arsinoa, his nurse,

      After his father’s murder at the strong hands

      Of Klytaimestra,

      Saved from that grievous traitress, whose grey bronze

      [20] Made Kassandra, Dardanid Priam’s child,

      Bear company with Agamemnon’s spirit

      To Acheron’s shadowy shore,

      Pitiless woman. Was it Iphigeneia,

      Slain at Euripos far from her land,

      That stung her to uplift

      The wrath of her heavy hand?

      Or was she broken in to a paramour’s bed

      [25] And the nightly loves

      Turned her mind? That sin in young wives

      None forgives,

      And there is no way to hide it,

      For others will talk,

      And foul speech runs in a city.

      For bliss makes envy as big as itself;

      [30] And he who breathes the dust

      Whispers, but is not known.

      And the son of Atreus himself, the hero,

      Died, when with years he returned,

      In famous Amyklai,

      III

      And brought death on the maiden prophetess, he

      Who had burned for Helen’s sake

      The Trojans’ houses, and made cease their delight.

      And Orestas the young child

      [35] Came to a friend, old Strophios, who dwelt

      At the foot of Parnassos. Yet Ares at the last

      Brought him to slay his mother, and lay Aigisthos in blood.

      – My friends, I have been in confusion

      At the crossroads where the ways divide

      Though I went on a straight path before.

      Has a gale thrown me

      [40] Out of my course like a boat at sea?

      – Muse, you have made a bargain to hire

      Your tongue for silver

      And have got to keep it agog, now here, now there,

      For Pythonikos today

      Or Thrasydaios his son. Behold

      [45] The fire of their mirth and glory!

      Proud chariot-victors of old

      At the famed Olympic contest, with their horses

      They won that lightning splendour,

      IV

      And at Pytho they entered the naked lists

      [50] And foiled the hosted Hellenes with their swiftness.

      God help me to love beauty, yet desire

      What I may have, among men of my age.

      Having seen that the middle fortune in a city

      Abounds longer in bliss, I have no use

      For the state of tyrants.

      I have put my strength

      To achievements that all share, but envious men

      Are kept away.

      [55] He that has found those heights

      And by living in quietness there

      Has escaped devilish presumption,

      Comes to a verge more beautiful

      Than black death, if to his children,

      His sweet joy, he leaves

      The best of his treasures,

      A good and well-loved name;

      Such as carries about in song

      [60] Iolaos, Iphikles’ son,

      And strong Kastor, and you, prince Polydeukes,

      You sons of Gods,

      Who dwell, one day, in graves below Therapna,

      And Olympos holds you on the morrow.

      Pythian XI is variously said by the ancient commentators to have been composed in 474 B.C., and in 454 B.C. The latter seems more likely, and the background is the conquest of Boiotia in the autumn of that year by Athens. The song seems to have been sung at Thebes in the following spring.

      4–5 The festival is held at night in honour of Theban heroines. Melia was a nymph who bore a son to Apollo and was honoured in the Ismenion.

      7 Harmonia is the wife of Kadmos.

      10 Delphoi was thought to be the centre of the earth; the navel was a primitive stone presumed to be the actual centre.

      14 Victories have been won by the father and before him by an unnamed forebear at Delphoi.

      15 Though the transition to the myth looks entirely superficial, the myth itself demonstrates that in due course t
    he gods punish the wicked. In this we may see a forecast that Athens will in time be expelled from Boiotia, as indeed she was in 447 B.C.

      17–37 The myth of the vengeance taken by Orestas on Klytaimestra for her murder of his father. Pindar’s version differs from those of the tragedians.

      17 Arsinoa is Orestas’ nurse.

      32 In other accounts the murder took place in Mykenai or Argos.

      38 ff. Pindar moves abruptly away from the myth to speak of the family.

      41–2 Pindar certainly seems to be paid for his work. See Isthmian II.

      46 The Olympian victory is at some time in the past.

      51 ff. Pindar has been accused of some political misdemeanour, perhaps of having relations with the pro-Athenian governors of Boiotia. He disclaims anything of the kind.

      53 The ‘state of tyrants’ refers to the present kind of government.

      59–64 The close association of the Theban hero Iolaos and the Spartan heroes, the Dioskouroi, suggests that Pindar sees the liberation of Thebes as depending on her co-operation with Sparta.

      Isthmian VII

      For Strepsiadas of Thebes, winner in the Trial of Strength

      I

      In which of your land’s past glories,

      O happy Theba,

      Have you most delighted your heart?

      Was it when you exalted Dionysos with flowing hair

      [5] To sit beside Damater for whom the brass rings,

      Or when at midnight

      You welcomed the greatest of Gods

      In a shower of gold,

      When he stood at Amphitryon’s doorway

      And sought his wife for the begetting of Herakles?

      Or in Teiresias’ subtle counsels?

      Or in Iolaos’ skilled horsemanship?

      [10] Or in the unwearying spears of the Sown Men? Or when

      You sent Adrastos from the violent battle-cry,

      Widowed of countless companions,

      To Argos city of horses?

      Or set upright on steady ankle

      The Dorian colony of Lakedaimonians,

      [15] And the Sons of Aigeus, your descendants,

      Took Amyklai by oracles from Pytho?

      But ancient beauty slumbers, and men forget

      II

      Whatever has not been yoked to echoing streams of song

      To come to the topmost peak of art.

      [20] Revel then with the hymn’s sweet notes

      And with Strepsiadas. For at the Isthmos he wins

     


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