« AnteriorContinuar »
THE FIRST OLYMPIC ODE.
TO HIERO OF SYRACUSE, VICTOR IN
THE HORSE RACE.
Can earth, or fire, or liquid air,
A warmer star, a purer day?
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.-
Sieze it, boy, for Pisa's sake,
A joy with anxious fondness blended :-
By Alpheus' bride, with feet of flame,
And earned the olive wreath of fame
For that dear lord, whose righteous name
Beloved himself by all who dwell
A ËSE Tee
-Well, these are tales of mystery!-
But if we dare the deeds rehearse
Of those that aye endure, 'T were meet that in such dangerous verse
Our every word were pure.
A plain unvarnished lay.
And of thy parent say,
Can mortal form such favor prove?
To which, in after day,