CHAPTER V.
CLASSIFICATION OF PINDAR'S ODES.—HIS TREATMENT OF THE MYTHS.
The traditional arrangement of Pindar's poems is ascribed to the famous Alexandrian grammarian Aristophanes—not, of course, to be confounded with his namesake, the more famous Athenian playwright—who flourished in the third century B.C. By this critic the whole of the poet's writings were divided into a series of Books,—Dithyrambs in one. Dirges in another, and so forth, the list being headed by the four Books of Epinicia or Triumph-Odes commemorating respectively victories at Olympia, Pytho. Nemea, and the Isthmus. A complete modern edition of Pindar's extant poetry would contain the first three Books of Aristophanes's collection entire; but the conclusion of his fourth Book, "The Isthmia," has been lost, and the remaining books are only represented by fragments accidentally preserved to us by quotations. Whenever an ancient author quotes from an Olympian, a Pythian, or a Nemean Ode, the passage which he cites will be found in our editions of Pindar, but there are several ancient quotations of Isthmian. Odes which are not included in the extant seven. Thus it will be seen that the manuscripts on which our editions are founded contained the first three Books, and a portion of the fourth, of Aristophanes's collection.
The several Odes of these four Books were arranged by Aristophanes according to their occasions, not chronologically—for Pindar's earliest extant Ode is the Tenth Pythian, his next the Sixth Pythian, and his latest the Fifth Olympian,—but so that (as a rule) poems commemorating chariot-victories should begin a Book, these being followed by Odes for feats of strength, as boxing and wrestling; and lastly, by those recording the victories of speed in the "stadium" and "diaulus" or "long-race" (literally "double-course"). As a rule, also, the successes of grown men, in any species of competition, precede those of boys in the corresponding juvenile matches. The classification also involved sundry other minute considerations as to the relative dignity of different competitions into which we need not enter, the more so as Aristophanes does not seem to have always carried out his own principles with absolute precision. The First Olympian Ode, "For Hiero of Syracuse, victor in the Horse-race," owes its precedence to the legends contained in it, the adventures of Pelops, from whom the Morea (as we call it) was supposed to have derived its classical name—"The Isle of Pelops," the "Peloponnesus;" and whose race on the plains of Elis to win his bride Hippodameia was regarded as a prototype of the Olympian contests of a later day.
But the received classification has many disadvantages. The titles of the four Books give a very inadequate idea of their contents. As we have seen, the actual occasion of an Ode is one thing, its real theme is frequently another. A modern reader, again, will care little for the distinctions, which to a Greek seemed so important, of chariot-race, mile-race, wrestling-match, and the like, and will wish for some classification less dependent on what he will regard as insignificant accidents of the particular Odes. Something might be said for chronology as the basis of such a classification. There would be a certain interest in attempting to trace the development and decline of Pindar's genius through the fifty years which separate his earliest from his latest Ode. Yet the results of such an attempt would probably be inconsiderable. We may, indeed, distinguish certain variations of force in Pindar's poetry at the various stages of its development, but there is no marked change in its general character from time to time; none in its choice of themes; scarcely any in its method of handling them. His general conception of the proper form of an Ode seems to have been fixed during the period of his early education, his "Lehr-jähre" under Scopelinus and Lasus, and no subsequent influences can be shown to have substantially modified it. Thus a classification of his Odes based on chronology would be unsatisfactory, from the absence of sufficiently marked epochs.[1]
More perhaps may be gained by grouping the Odes, not according to their nominal occasions, but according to their actual contents: the legendary matter, which, as has been already explained, should be considered as the true fount and source of Pindaric poetry. Adopting this as our general principle, we shall be enabled at the same time to classify the Odes according to the nationality of the respective conquerors whom they commemorate; for, as we have seen, much of a choric poet's skill depended on a happy selection from the boundless stores of mythology of those legends which were best calculated to gratify the family or national pride of a patron. Thus we shall find the Odes in honour of Æginetan victors dealing almost exclusively with the legends of the Æacidæ, the old heroic house which once ruled in Ægina. Similarly, to Rhodian and Cyrenaic athletes Pindar sings chiefly of the mythical origin of their respective states. The victory of a Theban, again, suggests to the poet a flood of local legends, Heracles and Iolaus, the wars of the "Seven against Thebes," and their descendants the "Epigoni." Such a classification, then, will enable us at once to reduce the tangled mass of Pindaric poetry into intelligible divisions, and to follow in some measure the workings of the poet's mind, as he endeavours to connect the nominal occasion of each Ode with that mythological world from which in each case he draws his loftiest inspirations.
Nearly, but not quite always, modern scholars are able to detect with certainty the connection between the occasion of a Pindaric Ode and the myths which are employed to adorn it. It is conceivable that a fuller knowledge than is now possible of the antiquities of Greece, the genealogies of the great families in various cities, and the legends attaching to them, would enable us to prove in every case the assertion of A. Boeckh, the prince of Pindaric scholars, that Pindar never introduces a myth without the direct intention of complimenting his patron. And as we have seen, it is nearly always through his family, or his nation, that the patron is complimented. Yet there are cases in which a legend, connected though it be especially with the conqueror's family history or with that of his state, is yet clearly introduced with other more obvious objects than the gratification of family or national pride. At times we find mythology employed to point a moral lesson, or to illustrate vicissitudes in the career of a victor, to soften the memory of old defeats, to encourage him to fresh exertions, and generally to exhibit in an attractive form those various precepts, warnings, and maxims, which the poet—in his capacity of philosopher and moralist—pours, from time to time into the ears of his audience. Sometimes, again, it is the locale of a contest, rather than the family or country of the victor, with which the mythical matter of an Ode seems most obviously connected. No doubt it may be said that here, too, if we only knew how, a connection might be shown between the victor's personal surroundings and the myth. But, inasmuch as this phenomenon appears mainly in Odes addressed to conquerors of comparatively undistinguished origin—or at least whose family distinctions were of comparatively recent date—it seems more probable that, in these cases, the poet purposely avoided the futile flattery of dwelling on imaginary heroic glories of a parvenu house or state, and deliberately fixed the attention of his audience on its real though recent achievements, summoning for the adornment of these achievements all the old heroic associations of the locality in which the triumphs had been won. And this is probably the reason why the local legends of Olympia figure so much more prominently in Pindar's poetry than those of Pytho, Nemea, or the Isthmus. For a large proportion of the Olympian Odes are dedicated to members of Sicilian royal houses, whose position had been won merely by force of arms at a comparatively recent date, and whose family traditions, whatever they may have been, were totally insignificant when compared with their subsequently acquired greatness. Whereas the successes of Æginetans (let us say) at Nemea and the Isthmus, or of the ancient Cyrenaic princely houses at Pytho, glorious as in themselves they were esteemed to be, formed simply an episode in the splendid annals of Ægina and Cyrenè. So that it was to these latter, and not to the associations of the contests themselves, that the poet directed the attention of his audience.
Speaking generally, it may be said that Pindar's introductions of mythology serve four most obvious purposes: (1) The glorification of a victor's nation or family; (2) The illustration of special points in his personal surroundings, or career, or character; (3), The direction of special attention to the glories of a victory, by dwelling on the divine institution of a contest, the dignity of the gods who preside over it, and the various traditional associations which consecrate its scene; (4) The supporting, by arguments drawn from a divine antiquity, of theses, moral, political, and philosophical, which the poet desired from time to time to propound and justify. Sometimes, by a happy selection of his instances, the poet is able to serve several, or even all, of these purposes at once. But any one of them seems a sufficient reason for the introduction of a myth. And where such a sufficient reason can be shown, it seems hypercritical, if not unreasonable, to insist too strongly on trifling indications of a possibility that the poet may have had other motives in introducing it.
The transitions by which Pindar passes from his nominal to his real themes, from the commemoration of a victory to the world of legend in which he best loves to dwell, are among the most extraordinary features of his poetry. No à priori considerations of the manner in which such transitions might be expected to be made will give the most remote conception of the manner in which they actually are made. Instantly, unexpectedly, at a leap, he plunges from the present to the past, and from the past to the present—from fact to fiction, and from fiction back again to fact. The apparently casual mention of a place or a person is followed by a long mythological episode, to all appearance a mere digression, but which on reflection is found to be adapted with surprising skill to the main purposes of the Ode. But this is not all. The legend introduced so strangely is often as strangely abandoned. It has served the immediate purpose for which it was introduced, and the poet springs at once to another theme. Often, too, a poem contains not one myth, but many, and these are interwoven with one another and with the other materials of the Ode in the most singular, and at first sight unintelligible, fashion. One legend passes into another, like the stories of the 'Arabian Nights;' the scene shifts from Troy to Salamis, and from Salamis to Thessaly; and from the adventures of the successive inhabitants of Rhodes, we are flung centuries back into an age when not as yet—
"Towered the Rhodian isle conspicuous over Ocean's waves, but still
Deep it lay beneath the whelming brine." [2]
Or the "tale of Troy" has been referred to,[3] and we are expecting to hear some well-known feat of Achilles or Ajax; but no! it is "the form of Lycian Glaucus" who appears before the Greeks, and "tells them all with pride" of his Corinthian ancestry; and so follows legend after legend of the Corinthian hero Bellerophon, apparently introduced "without rhyme or reason," but really the very legends which Pindar had all along been preparing to introduce, in honour of the Corinthian athlete whose victory he is at the moment celebrating.
Sometimes the only visible link between a myth and the context to which it is attached is so transparently inadequate to bear the weight laid upon it, as almost to suggest the idea that the poet is purposely playing with his subject. Thus in the First Isthmian, addressed to Herodotus of Thebes, the poet introduces an allusion to the technical name of sundry musical rhythms which he is employing, and plunges off on this excuse into the legends of Castor and Iolaus, the mythical heroes from whom the names of these measures were derived. But let it not be supposed that the introduction of these heroes, and the description of their friendly rivalry in feats of arms—Castor in Sparta on the banks of Eurotas, and Iolaus by the waters of his native Theban Dirce—is really due to so absurd a cause. Pindar's true object is at once to honour his countryman, Herodotus, by suggesting a comparisonbetween him and the local hero Iolaus, and to shadow forth, in the legendary brotherhood-in-arms of Iolaus and the Spartan hero Castor, a close alliance now in process of formation between Thebes and Sparta, from which great things were expected, and of which Herodotus may not improbably have been a prominent adviser.
Again, in the Ninth Pythian, the poet affects to check himself in a too exuberant flow of myth and compliment, with a quotation of the somewhat hackneyed maxim, that "measure in all things is best." And thereupon he begins a story of Iolaus, apparently with no further justification than his opening remark, that "Iolaus knew the importance of measure." But, in truth, he wished to dwell upon the ties connecting Cyrene (the victor's native state) with Thebes (the home of Iolaus); and it is this, and not the shaky bridge by which he pretends to cross to his new topic, that really leads him to the legend of Iolaus.
In the Tenth Pythian, Pindar has been saying that a man who is at once a conqueror and the father of a conqueror has attained the summit of human happiness. What matters it, he cries, that there are further heights which he can never scale; that he cannot climb the brazen heaven, or reach the Paradise beyond the pole, the happy country of the Hyperboreans? And then he tells the legend of the hero Perseus, who had foimd the wondrous way to that mysterious region. No digression could seem more uncalled for; yet Boeckh suggests reasons for believing that the legends of Perseus had a special interest for the family of the Thessalian noble at whose request the poem was written. The pretended link again is a deception. The real occasion for the introduction of the myth is the family history of the patron.
Yet again, in the Eleventh Pythian, Pindar has occasion to tell the famous tale of Agamemnon's murder by his wife, probably, as Boeckh argues at length, in connection with a misfortune which had befallen the victor's family. But how does he introduce it? Does he condole plainly with his patron, and pass by obvious steps to compare the present disaster with its legendary parallel? Far from it. Pindar disdains to tread such "beaten paths."
"Learnt have I shorter paths, and others have in them led." [4]
His patron had conquered at Pytho—Pytho had once been ruled by Pylades—Pylades was the bosom friend of Orestes—Orestes was the son and avenger of Agamemnon. So at last his theme is reached. And thus, to quote Pindar's own description of his poetry—
"From theme to theme, the bright applausive lay,
As bees from flower to flower, speeds on its changeful way." [5]
This singular habit of Pindar's is a constant source of bewilderment to his modern readers, and, more than any other feature in his poetry, justifies the charge of obscurity which is so frequently brought against him. No poet can tell a story more plainly and pointedly than he, when it suits him to be plain and pointed. No poet could exhibit more skill in selecting from a mass of legendary memories the precise story which best suits his purpose on each occasion. But he chooses deliberately to approach his myths in this unexpected style. It is in his eyes a merit—an exhibition of skill. Often he professes to apologise for his digressions, as he chooses to call these carefully-planned episodes, which are the real centres—the very groundwork of his Odes. He speaks of himself as driven unexpectedly upon his themes by such winds as toss the skiffs at sea. He calls to his Muse to stay the oar, and cast the anchor from the prow, ere he strike upon some lurking rock. But such language is merely intended to heighten the illusion which he has designedly produced, to give his carefully-elaborated poem the air of an improvisation. Few poets have more consistently applied the maxim, "Ars est celare artem."
Connected with this peculiarity of Pindar's is another, the practice of continually alluding to myths without working out their incidents. Thus he delays the development of his main legend to touch by the way on a dozen others; or he begins a story, and then drops it with some allusion to the necessary limits of his Ode, or even with no excuse at all. Sometimes, before commencing his real theme, he affects to hesitate in his choice of a subject—he speaks like the victim of an embarras de richesse. "There is this story before me, and that, and that—which am I to choose?"
"Whither then down the torrent's flow
Our swift stone speed we?" [6]
Modern readers, who find in these passages only obscure allusions to tales of which they know little, may well complain of them as needless additions to the already sufficient difficulties of Pindar's poetry. They will naturally consider that a story which is worth mentioning is worth telling, and be repelled by the seemingly exorbitant demands which Pindar makes on the mythological knowledge of his readers. But we must remember the audiences whom the poet in the first instance addressed. The ancient legends of their houses were to them no mystery to be unravelled by commentators. Every slight allusion of the Ode recalled to them some glorious tradition, some hero of whom they had long been proud, and whose achievements it would be needless for the poet to narrate. And this very knowledge of his audience is made by Pindar a ground for complimenting them. He has an endless store of such glorious allusions, he tells them, —the wise grasp their sense at once, but to the uninitiated they remain a blank perplexity.
"Oh mine are keen shafts many a one
Within the quiver stored:
Of meaning to the wise, but to the horde
Dark riddles!" [7]
To some extent Pindar has paid the penalty for his imperious scorn of the uninitiated "horde," and has sacrificed, for the applauses of his immediate audience, the chance of a wider popularity.
Sometimes, in passing from the occasion of an Ode to his favourite legends, Pindar seems to scorn the employment of any bridge whatever. Of this a good instance will be found in the First Nemean, addressed to Chromius of Ætna. Chromius, he says,[8] is at once strong and wise, and on such a patron he would fain lavish all the best stores of his poetry. He is no miser to hoard its treasures for himself; no! let him pour them on Chromius, and win his gratitude in return.
"But, when I fain would wake
Some old heroic lay,
Whose but Herakles' noble name
Should deck the exulting verse for thy dear sake?"—(S).
And the name of the famous hero having been thus introduced, the whole legend of his early life follows, from his adventure with the snakes in his cradle, to his final apotheosis, and marriage with Hebe. Now, when we examine the link by which this story is introduced, stripping away its poetical surroundings, it is simply this; "Chromius deserves a noble legend; I will tell him, therefore, the legend of Heracles." But why should Heracles especially be fixed upon? The pretended bridge breaks down at once, or rather it is no bridge at all, and we have to seek the occasion for the myth in the connection between the exploits of Heracles and Nemea, the scene of Chromius's victory.
An interesting question which presents itself in connection with Pindar's employment of myths is this: How far did he permit himself to innovate upon received traditions? Was his treatment of them orthodox, according to the ideas of his age, or was he a religious reformer? Philosophy, in his day, had already begun a more or less successful revolt against large bodies of popular mythology. Xenophanes, older than Pindar by at least a generation, had ventured to attack the almost sacred books of Homer and Hesiod on the ground of immorality. "Homer and Hesiod," he had said in some still extant verses, "ascribed to the gods all qualities which among men are grounds for shame and reproach,—theft, adultery, and reciprocal fraud." Protagoras, almost coeval with Pindar, questioned the very existence of gods. And before our poet's death, Euripides had already begun to bring out at Athens dramas in which the old mythology was varied with the utmost freedom for poetical purposes, and occasionally criticised from a point of view scarcely distinguishable from that of the most pronounced sceptic. Against this innovating movement Greek conservatism protested loudly. Poets of the ancient school denounced the speculation which had produced such results—"the yelping cur that barked against its master." Did Pindar share the new ideas, or did he protest against them? Or did he, like Aristophanes in a later age, while protesting against them, exhibit in his own writings signs of their influence?
It might seem, at first sight, as if this last were the true answer to our question. For while in Pindar's earliest Ode we find him assuming an attitude of unquestioning belief towards the myths—
"Mine be it, ne'er at feats that heavenly Powers achieve
To marvel, but believe!" [9]
—in his later compositions he more than once expresses disapproval of some myth on which he has touched, and either remodels it openly, according to his sense of right, or hastens to quit the unwelcome subject. So, in the First Olympian, he is shocked at an incident in the myth of Pelops,—the story that he was boiled and eaten by the gods. "I will not repeat such a scandal," he cries—"I dare not! Tax the blessed gods with gluttony? oh, horrible!" And then, attributing the horrid tale to some "envious gossip's dark hints," he goes on to give a new version of the occurrence, for which he accepts the full responsibility.
"Newly thus, O son of Tantalus, I'll shape thy tale," &c.[10]
And in the Ninth Ode of the same Book, following an ancient myth, he finds himself describing a war between Heracles and certain other great gods—Poseidon, Apollo, and Hades. At once he starts back in horror:[11]—
"Nay, quit such theme of song,
Tongue mine! The craft that dares with impious taunts
Assail the gods, I loathe: and misplaced vaunts
Are songs for a madman's string!
Prate not thus: but from the gods sweep far the tale of fight!"
And therewith he passes instantly to a less dangerous subject, the legend of Deucalion's deluge.
But, if we regard Pindar's poetry as a whole, we shall scarcely be inclined to accept the view of the German critic, Dronke, who, on the strength of these occasional indications, describes the poet as deliberately deserting the old paths, and paving the way for a more spiritual religion by rejecting the authority of the myths. Pindar's criticisms are directed solely against details: anything like a systematic crusade against the old beliefs as a whole, had it occurred to him as practicable, would certainly have been condemned by him as an impiety. His occasional polemics against particular forms of an ancient legend are not enough to stamp him as a sceptic. Some degree of licence in the handling of mythology had always been allowed to poets, even in the days when the faith of Greeks in their traditions was most childlike and unquestioning. Homer and Hesiod do not always agree in their accounts of the same transaction. When Pindar refuses[12] to tell the story of Bellerophon's sad fate—his final fall from the winged steed Pegasus—he does not attempt to enlist his Corinthian hearers on the side of scepticism by an outspoken condemnation of the legend which bore so hard upon their favourite local hero. He simply leaves it untold, and passes to a more pleasing topic—the reception of the winged steed in the stalls of Zeus. But, when he tells the same legend to a Theban audience,[13] in whom the fate of the Corinthian hero would excite no special feeling of regret or wounded pride, he no longer shrinks from describing and justifying the catastrophe.
"So the winged steed the audacious horseman threw,
Who hoped the brazen halls of Zeus to view,
Impious Bellerophon! a bitter end,
When man unholy joys hath seized,
Be sure, offended Heaven will send."—(S.)
A poet with Pindar's lofty views as to the nature of divine beings, and his genuine enthusiasm for morality as he conceived it, could not but be struck from time to time with the inconsistencies and ethical shortcomings of his legendary materials, the unseemly acts and attributes ascribed to heroes and even to gods. Yet it is but seldom that he breaks out into open revolt. He omits, he deplores, he palliates, he justifies, he moralises, but he scarcely ever discards. As he relates the myth of Apollo and Cyrenè, it strikes him as absurd to suppose that the god who sees and knows all things should have to apply for information and advice to the Centaur Chiron:—
"Hast thou yon maiden's race inquired,
O King? that knowest the final destinies
And paths of each created thing.
What leaves from earth outburst in days of spring,
What sands are tost in sea or rill,
By waves or eddying winds, and what must needs befall,
And whence,—thou knowest all!" [14]
And yet to ascribe hypocrisy to Apollo, the god of Truth, would be as impious as to accuse him of ignorance. And so—unwilling to deny the legend of the god's appeal to Chiron, yet feeling himself compelled either to deny or to justify it—he represents the question as asked in jest:—
"Sure—for from thee all falsehood flies—
Some sportive mood thy speech inspires!"
In the same spirit of an apologist, rather than an opponent of tradition, he moralises over the disobedience of the early Rhodian settlers. Apollo bade them kindle a hallowed fire in their city's temple; they disobeyed the order, and yet the favour of Heaven attended them,—
"Yet rained Zeus upon their people plenteous showers of gleaming gold." [15]
This oversight of the original myth Pindar is at pains to excuse and explain. The disobedience was due to forgetfulness, a frailty which at times besets the best of men, and for which a just Heaven knows how to make allowance. Thus the apparent sanction given by the myth to disobedience is removed, and the myth itself justified and retained.
Lastly, in describing the fate of the hero Asclepius, (more familiar, perhaps, to English readers as the Æsculapius of Roman mythology), who was struck by the lightnings of Zeus as the penalty for restoring a dead man to life, Pindar never thinks of attacking this myth, as a sceptical enthusiast might well have done, for the unworthy view which it presents of the father of gods and men, as a jealous and vindictive tyrant, grudging men an unexpected blessing, and revenging himself upon their benefactor. He prefers to attack the cupidity of Asclepius, and the vain attempt of man to transcend the laws of his being. Yet cupidity in a deified hero is a defect which needs palliation from the apologist for the myths; and so he dwells on the power of gold, against which not Wisdom's self is proof. Thus the fate of Asclepius was just, and yet his fault was not such as to invalidate his title to the honours of a hero.
Pindar, then, though attacking individual myths, must be pronounced guiltless of any intention to subvert the popular mythology. His general position is well exhibited in the special instance of his attitude towards the writings of Homer. It is an attitude, on the whole, of belief and even of reverence. He admires Homer, he accepts his legends, he often embodies them in his work, he quotes his sentiments, and appeals to them as a modern divine would appeal to the words of Scripture. And yet he does not shrink from an occasional rejection of the authority of his oracle. He is willing to believe that Homer gave Ulysses more and Ajax less than his due. But while he exposes this unfairness, he pays a tribute to Homer's powers, designed, as it were, to rob his criticisms of their sting.
"Far greater than his meeds, I ween,
Ulysses' praise hath been,
In Homer's sweet immortal verse enshrined.
For in that verse that soars on wings doth dwell
A wondrous art of secret spell,
Throwing a haze of seeming sooth
On fair untruth;
While by the spell bewitched and blind
Is the rapt hearer's ear and mazed mind,
The hidden truth to find." [16]—(S.)
This attitude of Pindar towards the traditions of Greek religion—an attitude of occasional criticism, but hardly ever of actual revolt—finds a close parallel in that of his great contemporary, the Athenian Æschylus. The latter, also, though in his general tone a conservative of the conservatives, deeply and sincerely attached to the nati6nal religion, can yet at times use language which would have seemed at first sight more natural in the mouth of an Euripides. He rejects the ancient "grandsire tales" that human prosperity, as such, is the object of divine jealousy, and declares that, sundering himself from the rest, he is single in his creed[17]—it is crime and not prosperity that provokes the wrath of Heaven. Yet he nowhere assumes a position of consistent scepticism. He does not shrink from following the old legend of Prometheus's sufferings, even when it exhibits in the darkest colours the paltry malevolence of Zeus. And yet he elsewhere speaks of Zeus with the profoundest reverence and the most unflinching loyalty. "Zeus, great Zeus, the stranger's god, I reverence!" [18] "No other power I know to compare with him." [19]
"He who swells to Zeus the triumph-strain
All of wisdom shall obtain." [20]
In short, such quasi-scepticism as is exhibited from time to time by Pindar and Æschylus has in it little or nothing of the sceptical spirit. It is the occasional protest of a religious and earnest nature against the inadequacies of its creed, but it does not go the length of consistently reforming that creed, much less of uncompromisingly rejecting it.
- ↑ This, however, is the method adopted by Leop. Schmidt in his elaborate work, Pindar's Leben und Dichtung (Bonn, 1862).
- ↑ Ol. vii. 56.
- ↑ ib. xiii.
- ↑ Pyth. iv. 248.
- ↑ Pyth. x. 53.
- ↑ Ol. xi. 9.
- ↑ Ol. ii. 83.
- ↑ Nem. i. 30.
- ↑ Pyth. x. 49.
- ↑ Ol. i. 36.
- ↑ ib. ix. 36.
- ↑ Ol. xiii. 91.
- ↑ Isthm. vi. 44.
- ↑ Pyth. ix. 42.
- ↑ Ol. vii. 50.
- ↑ Nem. vii. 20.
- ↑ Æsch. Agam. 730.
- ↑ ib. 351.
- ↑ ib. 158.
- ↑ ib. 167 (Conington's translation).