Epinicians (3.57-5.35)

Nothing is unbelievable which is brought about by the gods' ambition. Then Apollo, born on Delos, brought the old man to live among the Hyperboreans,

along with his slender-ankled daughters,

because of his piety, since of all mortals he sent the greatest gifts to holy Pytho. And of all mortal men who live in Greece, not one, o greatly-praised Hieron, will be willing

to say that he has sent more gold than you to Loxias. Every man who does not fatten himself with envy may praise a ⋯ warlike man, a lover of horses,

who has the scepter of ⋯ Zeus,

and a share of the violet-haired Muses. ⋯ once ⋯ ephemeral ⋯ you consider; [life is] brief.

But winged hope loosens the wits of ephemeral creatures. Lord Apollo ⋯ said to the son of Pheres: Being a mortal, you must cultivate twin

thoughts: that tomorrow will be the last day you see

the sun's light, and that you will complete another fifty years of life deep in wealth. Cheer your spirit with pious deeds, for this is the highest of profits.

To the thoughtful, what I sing is intelligible. The deep air is undefiled. The water of the sea does not decay. Gold is a delight. It is not lawful for a man to bypass gray

old age, and recover flourishing youth.

And yet the gleam of a mortal's excellence does not diminish along with the body—no, the Muse nurtures it. Hieron, you

have displayed to mortals the most beautiful flowers of prosperity.

Silence is no ornament for a successful man. With remembrance of fine deeds a man will also sing the gracious recompense made by the honey-voiced Cean nightingale.

Golden-haired Apollo still loves the state of Syracuse and honors Hieron, the city's lawful ruler. For his praises are sung as a Pythian victor for a third time beside the navel of the high-ridged land,

through the excellence of his swift-footed horses. Ourania's sweet-voiced cockerel, ruler of the lyre ⋯ but with willing mind ⋯

showered with hymns.

And yet a fourth time we would be honoring the son of Deinomenes if some ⋯ held the scales of Justice ⋯

he can be crowned with garlands, as the only man on earth who has accomplished this in the vale of Cirrha by the sea; and he has two Olympian victories to sing of as well. What is better than to be loved by the gods

and to be granted a share of every kind of noble deed?

Fortunate in your fate, commander of the Syracusans, riders of whirling horses: you,

if any man on earth today, will rightly understand this honor, sweet gift of the violet-garlanded Muses. Now, calm your righteous mind; rest it from cares, and consider: a hymn, woven with the help of the deep-waisted Graces,

is sent from the holy island [*] to your glorious city by your guest-friend, the brilliant servant of Ourania with her golden headband. He wants

to pour forth his voice from his heart

to praise Hieron. High above, slicing the deep air with his swift golden wings, the eagle, messenger of loud-thundering, wide-ruling

Zeus, trusts boldly in his powerful strength, and thin-voiced birds crouch in fear. The peaks of the great earth do not restrain him,

nor the rough, choppy waves of the untiring sea. In the everlasting void he shifts his delicate wings, riding the gusts of the west wind,

a conspicuous sight for men.

So now for me there are countless paths of song leading in every direction, thanks to dark-haired Nike and Ares with his bronze breastplate, to sing of your excellence,

noble sons of Deinomenes. May the god not tire of doing good. Beside the wide-whirling Alpheus, golden-armed Dawn saw the victory of the chestnut horse Pherenicus, a runner swift as a wind-storm,