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For in wrestling you follow in the footsteps of your mother’s brothers, and you do not disgrace Theognetus at Olympia, nor the bold-limbed victory of Cleitomachus at the Isthmus. And by exalting the clan of the Midylids, you fulfill the prophecy which once Amphiaraus the son of Oicles spoke in riddling words, when he saw, in seven-gated
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Thebes, those sons standing by their spears,
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when they came from Argos on that second march, the Epigoni. Thus he spoke, while they were fighting: “By nature the genuine spirit of the fathers
is conspicuous in the sons. I clearly see Alcmaeon, wielding a dappled serpent on his blazing shield, the first at the gates of Cadmus.
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And he who suffered in the earlier disaster, the hero Adrastus, now has the tidings of a better
bird of omen. But at home his luck will be the opposite. For he alone of the Danaan army will gather the bones of his dead son, by the fortune sent from the gods, and come with his people unharmed
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to the spacious streets of Argos, the city of Abas.” So spoke Amphiaraus. And I myself rejoice as I fling garlands over Alcmaeon and sprinkle him with song, because this hero is my neighbor and guardian of my possessions, and he met me when I was going to the songful navel of the earth,
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and he touched on prophecies with his inborn arts.
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And you, Apollo, shooting from afar, you who govern the glorious temple, hospitable to all, in the hollows of Pytho, there you granted the greatest of joys.
And before, in your festival at home, you brought him a coveted gift for the pentathlon. Lord, I pray that with a willing mind
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I may observe a certain harmony on every step of my way.
