THE FIRST OLYMPIC ODE. TO HIERO OF SYRACUSE, VICTOR IN THE HORSE RACE. CAN earth, or fire, or liquid air, O thou, my soul, whose choral song The circus of Olympian Jove; Whence borne on many a tuneful tongue, Over sheep clad Sicily Who the righteous sceptre beareth, Every flower of virtue's tree Wove in various wreath he weareth,But the bud of poesy Is the fairest flower of all; Which the bards, in social glee, Strow round Hiero's wealthy hall.The harp on yonder pin suspended, Sieze it, boy, for Pisa's sake, And that good steed's, whose thought will wake And earned the olive wreath of fame For that dear lord, whose righteous name Who loves the generous courser well: In Pelop's Lydian colony.- The youth an ivory shoulder bore. -Well,-these are tales of mystery !And many a darkly woven lie With men will easy credence gain; While truth, calm truth, may speak in vain ; Can honor give to actions ill, But if we dare the deeds rehearse Of those that aye endure, 'T were meet that in such dangerous verse And of thy parent say, That when in heaven a favored guest, To highest house of mighty Jove; |