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lest some fruit-destroying blast of winter wind quell his life. The great mind of Zeus steers the fortune of men that he loves. I pray to him
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to grant another prize of honor at Olympia to the race of Battus.
Pythian 6 For Xenocrates of Acragas Chariot Race 490 B. C. E.
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Listen! for we are again ploughing the field of dark-eyed Aphrodite, or of the Graces, as we approach the sacred navel of the loud-roaring land;
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where, for the prosperous Emmenids and Acragas on the river, and especially for Xenocrates, a Pythian victor’s treasure-house of songs has been built and is ready in the glen of Apollo, rich in gold.
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It is buffeted by neither the invading onset of winter rain, the loud-roaring cloud’s pitiless army, nor the wind that sweeps all kinds of rubble into the depths of the sea. Its facade, shining in pure light,
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will announce your chariot victory to the speech of men and make it famous—the victory you share with your father and your race, Thrasybulus, won in the vales of Crisa.
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You keep it on your right hand and
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uphold the commandment, one of the precepts which they say once in the mountains the son of Philyra enjoined on the powerful son of Peleus, when he was separated from his parents: first of the gods, worship the son of Cronus, the loud-voiced ruler of lightning and thunder;
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and never deprive your parents of such honor during their allotted lifetime.
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Long ago, too, powerful Antilochus showed that he had this way of thinking;
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he died for his father’s sake, by awaiting the man-slaying commander of the Ethiopians, Memnon. For the horse kept Nestor’s chariot from moving, since it had been wounded by Paris ’ arrows; and Memnon was aiming his strong spear.
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The old man of Messene, his mind reeling, shouted to his son;
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the cry he hurled did not fall to the ground; his god-like son stayed on the spot and paid for his father’s rescue with his own life,
