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THE FIRST OLYMPIC ODE.
TO HIERO OF SYRACUSE, VICTOR IN
THE HORSE RACE.
Can carth, or fire, or liquid air,
Over sheep clad Sicily
Who the righteous sceptre beareth,
Wove in various wreath he weareth, --
Is the fairest flower of all;
Strow round Hiero's wealthy hall.-
Sieze it, boy, for Pisa's sake,
A joy with anxious fondness blended :-
By Alpheus' bride, with feet of flame,
And earned the olive wreath of fame
For that dear lord, whose righteous name
Beloved himself by all who dwell
-Well, these are tales of mystery !-
But if we dare the deads rehearse
Of those that aye endure, 'T were meet that in such dangerous verse
Our every word were pure.
A plain unvarnished lay.
And of thy parent say,