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he is negligible to look at, though heavy to grapple with in his strength. And yet once there went from Thebes, Cadmus’ city, a hero short in stature but unflinching in spirit. This hero went to the house of Antaeus in grain-bearing Libya, to keep him from roofing Poseidon’s temple with the skulls of strangers,
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Alcmena’s son. He went to Olympus, after he had explored all lands and the high-cliffed hollow of the gray sea, and had tamed the straits for sailors. Now he dwells beside aegis-bearing Zeus, and has the most beautiful prosperity. He is honored as a friend by the immortals and is married to Hebe;
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he is lord of a golden house, and son-in-law to Hera.
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For him, above the Electran gates, we Thebans, busily preparing the feast and the circle of newly-built altars, pile up burnt offerings in honor of the eight bronze-clad men, now dead, the sons whom Megara, Creon’s daughter, bore him.
For them the flame rises in the rays of the setting sun and blazes all night long, prodding the air with fragrant smoke.
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And on the second day is that struggle of strength, the final event of the annual games. And there, his head wreathed with white
myrtle, this man showed forth a double victory, having won before in the boy’s contest by heeding the wise advice of his helmsman and trainer, Orseas. I will honor him together with Orseas in my victory-song, pouring delightful grace on both.
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