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at the place which men call “the passage of Rhea,” this light has shone on the son of Hagesidamus, in his earliest manhood. I will tell of the honors he won at other times, many on the dust of dry land and on the neighboring sea. And out of toils, which are undertaken with the aid of youth and justice, there comes a gentle life at the approach of old age.
Let him know that he has received marvellous prosperity from the gods.
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For if, together with many possessions, a man wins renown and glory, there is no higher peak on which a mortal can set his feet. Peace loves the symposium, and new-flourishing victory is fostered by soft song, and the voice becomes bold beside the mixing-bowl.
Let someone mix the wine now, the sweet forerunner of victory-song,
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and dispense the powerful son of the vine in those silver goblets which once Chromius’ horses won for him and sent from holy Sicyon together with the duly twined garlands of Leto’s son. Father Zeus, I pray that I may celebrate this excellence by the favor of the Graces, and excel many poets in honoring victory with my verses,
throwing my shaft nearest of all to the mark of the Muses.
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