Now at Megara also hast thou won a prize, and in secluded Marathon, and in the games of Hera in thine own land, three times, Aristomenes, hast thou overcome.
And now on the bodies of four others[1] hast thou hurled thyself with fierce intent, to whom the Pythian feast might not award, as unto thee, the glad return, nor the sweet smile that welcometh thee to thy mother's side; nay but by secret ways they shrink from meeting their enemies, stricken down by their evil hap.
Now he that hath lately won glory in the time of his sweet youth is lifted on the wings of his strong hope and soaring valour, for his thoughts are above riches.
In a little moment groweth up the delight of men; yea and in like sort falleth it to the ground, when a doom adverse hath shaken it.
Things of a day—what are we, and what not? Man is a dream of shadows.
Nevertheless when a glory from God hath shined on them, a clear light abideth upon men, and serene life.
Aigina[2], mother dear, this city in her march among the free, with Zeus and lordly Aiakos, with Peleus and valiant Telamon and with Achilles, guard thou well.
