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Ode 11 For Alexidamus of Metapontion Boys' Wrestling at Delphi Date unknown
Victory, giver of sweet gifts—to you alone the father seated on high in golden Olympus,
standing beside Zeus, you judge the achievement of excellence for immortals and mortals alike. Be gracious, daughter of Styx with her long hair, the upright judge. For your sake
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even now Metapontion, the city honored by the gods, is filled with delight and with victory processions of young men with fine limbs. They sing the praises of the Pythian victor, the marvellous son of Phaiscus.
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The Delos-born son of deep-waisted Leto received him with a propitious eye; and many garlands of flowers fell around Alexidamus on the plain of Cirrha
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because of his all-conquering powerful wrestling. The sun did not see him, on that particular day, falling to the ground. And I will declare that in the sacred precinct
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of revered Pelops, beside the beautiful stream of the Alpheus, if someone had not turned aside the straight path of justice, the gray-green olive for which all compete would have crowned his head
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as he returned to his fatherland, calf-nurturing Italy. [For down to the earth?] he brought the young man, by his crafty wits, in the the land of lovely choruses. But either a god was responsible, or else
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the wandering judgment of men took the highest honor out of his hands. But now Artemis of the wilds with her golden distaff, the Soother, famous for the bow, gave him shining victory.
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To her once the son of Abas and his daughters with beautiful robes set up an altar where many prayers are offered. All-powerful Hera drove these daughters in fear from the lovely halls
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of Proetus; she yoked their minds to a violent maddening compulsion. For, while still virgins, they entered the sanctuary of the purple-belted goddess,
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