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and Timasarchus’ wrestling, as a prelude to my song. And may it be welcomed by the home of the Aeacids, with its fine towers, that light which shines for all, with justice that defends the stranger. And if your father Timocritus had still been warmed by the strength of the sun, playing embroidered notes on the cithara
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and bending to this strain, he would have often celebrated his triumphant son,
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because he had sent back from the contest at Cleonae a chain of garlands, and from splendid, illustrious Athens; and because in seven-gated Thebes,
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beside Amphitryon’s splendid tomb, the Cadmeans gladly crowned him with flowers, for the sake of Aegina. For he looked on Reading with Snell and MSS κατέδρακεν for κατέδραμεν. a hospitable city, when he came as a friend to friends, to the prosperous court of Heracles,
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with whom once powerful Telamon destroyed Troy and the Meropes and the great and terrible warrior Alcyoneus, but not before that giant had laid low, by hurling a rock, twelve chariots and twice twelve horse-taming heroes who were riding in them.
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A man who did not understand this proverb would appear to be inexperienced in battle: since “it is likely that the doer will also suffer.”
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The laws of song and the hurrying hours prevent me from telling a long story,
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and I am drawn, by a magic charm on my heart, to touch on the new-moon festival. Nevertheless, although the deep salt sea holds you around the middle, strain against treacherous plots. We will be seen arriving in the light far above our enemies. But another man, with an envious glance,
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broods in the darkness over an empty thought
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that falls to the ground. As for me, I know that whatever excellence ruling destiny gave me, time will creep forward and bring it to its appointed perfection. Weave out, sweet lyre, right now,
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the beloved song with Lydian harmony, for Oenone and Cyprus, where Teucer the son of Telamon reigns far from home; but Aias holds ancestral Salamis,
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and Achilles holds the shining island in the Euxine sea.
