At Pytho, from the Grecian train
Of old he bore the meed away.
With like success on Nemea's plain 50
He strove, and in the Isthmian fray,
And to the muses gave to sow
The wreaths that should adorn his brow.
Three the sea's narrow portals yield,
And three the venerable field 55
That owns Adrastus' sway.
Oh Jove! his tongue will not declare [1]
The object of his mental prayer.
Yet never with a slothful heart
Thy grace he begs thee to impart, 60
Since his own boldness will the glory share. 56
Known to the god the truths I sing:
And he who soars on venturous wing,
In the high contest to prevail,
Can verify o'er all my tale. 65
Pisa the highest honour claims,
Alcides rules her sacred games.
Him the sweet intervals of song
Have twice proclaimed in Athens' festal throng.
In earth concocted by the flame, 70
To Juno's manly people came, [2]
The sacred olive's produce, brought
In vessels with devices wrought. 68
Glories thy steps, Thiæus, trace
From thy maternal uncles' race, 75
Whose honours make the Graces fair
And high Tyndaridæ their care.
Were I in kindred's social chain
To Thrasyclus and Antias bound,
