sittest beside the deep-counselling Moirai, child of
the mighty Hera, thou who bringest babes to the birth, hearken unto
us! Without thee looked we never on the light or on the darkness of
the night, nor came ever unto her who is thy sister, even Hebe of the
comely limbs.

But we receive our breath not all for a like life; each to his several
lot is kept apart by the yoke of fate.

Now by thy grace hath Sogenes the son of Thearion been foremost
in prowess, and his glory is sung aloud among the winners of the
five-game prize.

For he is a dweller in a city that loveth song, even this city of the
spear-clashing sons of Aiakos, and exceeding fain are they to cherish
a spirit apt for the strife of the games.

If a man have good hap in his attempt, he throweth into the Muses'
stream sweet cause of song: for even deeds of might for lack of song
fall into deep darkness, and in but one way have we knowledge of a
mirror for fair deeds, if by the grace of Mnemosyne of the shining
fillet they attain unto a recompense of toils by the sound of voice
and verse.

Wise shipmates know that the wind which tarrieth shall come on the
third day, nor throw away their goods through greed of more[1]: the
rich and the poor alike fare on their way to death.

Now I have suspicion that the fame of Odysseus is become greater
than his toils, through the sweet lays that Homer sang; for over the
feigning of his winged craft something of majesty abideth, and the
excellence of his skill persuadeth us to his fables unaware.

Blind hearts have the general folk of men; for could they have
discovered the truth, never would stalwart Aias in anger for the arms
have struck through his midriff the sharp sword--even he who after
Achilles was best in battle of all men whom, to win back his bride for
fair-haired Menelaos, the fair breeze of straight-blowing Zephyros
wafted in swift ships toward Ilos' town.

But to all men equally cometh the wave of death, and falleth on the
fameless and the famed: howbeit honour ariseth for them whose fair
story God increaseth to befriend them even when dead, whoso have
journeyed to the mighty centre-stone of wide-bosomed earth.

There now beneath the floor of Pytho lieth Neoptolemos, dying there
when he had sacked the city of Priam where the Danaoi toiled with him.
He sailing thence missed Skyros, and they wandered till they came to
Ephyra, and in Molossia he was king for a little while: howbeit his
race held this st