Epinicians (3.89-5.15)

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