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230 But I who the bright meed prepare,

Herodotus, to grace thy car,

Who with no foreign hands' control

Thy four steeds urgest to the gaol,

The Castorean hymn would raise,

Or song in Iolaus' praise;

For they who the triumphant chariot drove,

In Thebes and Sparta born, all heroes rank'd above.

First in the numerous contests, they

Adorn'd their halls with tripods rare,

With golden caldrons, goblets fair,

And bore the victor's wreaths away.

In naked stadia shines their valour clear,

As in the armed course, whence sounds the martial spear.

And when they whirl'd the dart on high,

Or gave the stony disk to fly—

For yet no crown pentathlic gain'd,

Each deed its due success obtain'd.

Their locks with frequent chaplets bound,

Erst in these contests won,

Where Dirce's streams refresh the ground,

And near Eurotas' wave was found

Iphicles' noble son;

Who to the earth-sown Theban race

Could his illustrious lineage trace,

And Tyndarus', whose loved retreat

Was in Therapne's high Achæan seat.

All hail! while I compose the song,

Whose strains to Neptune's power belong,

That rules the sacred Isthmian band,

Protector of the Onchestian strand.