To Theron, Muse! bring back thy wandering song, Whom those bright troops expect impatiently; And may they do so long! How, noble archer! do thy wanton arrows fly Thy sounding quiver can ne'er emptied be: Art, instead of mounting high, About her humble food does hovering fly; Defeats the strong, o'ertakes the flying prey, His soaring wings among the clouds. Leave, wanton Muse! thy roving flight; And Theron be the White. And, lest the name of verse should give Malicious men pretext to misbelieve, By the Castalian waters swear (A sacred oath no poets dare To take in vain, No more than Gods do that of Styx profane), A better man, or greater-soul'd, was born; No man near him should be poor; Swear, that none e'er had such a graceful art With an unenvious hand, and an unbounded heart. 'Tis now the cheap and frugal fashion, Lest men should'think we owe. Such monsters, Theron! has thy virtue found: Thy secure honour cannot wound; THE FIRST NEMEAN ODE OF PINDAR. Chromius, the son of Agesidamus, a young gentleman of Sicily, is celebrated for having won the prize of the chariotrace in the Nemæan games (a solemnity instituted first to celebrate the funeral of Opheltes, as is at large described by Statius; and afterwards continued every third year, with an extraordinary conflux of all Greece, and with incredible honour to the conquerors in all the exercises there practised), upon which occasion the poet begins with the commendation of his country, which I take to have been Ortygia (an island belonging to Sicily, and a part of Syracuse, being joined to it by a bridge), though the title of the Ode calls him Ætnæan Chromius, perhaps because he was made governor of that town by Hieron. From thence he falls into the praise of Chromius's person, which he draws from his great endowments of mind and body, and most especially from his hospitality, and the worthy use of his riches. He likens his beginning to that of Hercules; and, according to his usual manner of being transported with any good hint that meets him in his way, passing into a digression of Hercules, and his slaying the two serpents in his cradle, concludes the Ode with that history. BEAUTEOUS Ortygia! the first breathing-place Of great Alpheus' close and amorous race! Fair Delos' sister, the child-bed Of bright Latona, where she bred The' original new moon! [grown! Who saw'st her tender forehead ere the horns were Who, like a gentle scion newly started out, From Syracusa's side dost sprout! Thee first my song does greet, With numbers smooth and fleet As thine own horses' airy feet, When they young Chromius' chariot drew, With Jove my song; this happy man, Nor ought he therefore like it less, The men whom Gods do love? "Tis them alone the Muse too does approve. But cast a weaker light, Through earth, and air, and seas, and up to the' heavenly vault. "To thee, O Proserpine! this isle I give," Said Jove, and, as he said, Smiled, and bent his gracious head. The country thick with towns be set, Let all the towns be then Replenish'd thick with men, Wise in peace, and bold in wars! Of thousand glorious towns the nation, Of thousand glorious men each town a constellaNor let their warlike laurel scorn With the Olympic olive to be worn, [tion! Whose gentler honours do so well the brows of peace adorn!" Go to great Syracuse, my Muse, and wait At Chromius' hospitable gate; When thy lyre's voice shall but begin ; And feast more upon thee, than thou on it. For, as by nature thou dost write, So he by nature loves, and does by nature fight. Nature herself, whilst in the womb he was, mass; They moved the vital lump in every part, And carved the members out with wondrous art. She fill'd his mind with courage, and with wit, And a vast bounty, apt and fit For the great dower which Fortune made to it "Tis madness sure treasures to hoard, And make them useless, as in mines, remain, To lose the' occasion Fortune does afford Fame and public love to gain: Even for self-concerning ends, "Tis wiser much to hoard up friends. |