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Rh Who, victor in the Isthmian fray,

Bears the pancratium's palm away;

Conspicuous in triumphant might,

And form pre-eminently bright;

While valour with an equal pace

Accompanies corporeal grace.

The dark-hair'd muses crown his fame

Whose triumphs a new grace have shed

On his maternal uncle's name,

Him lately in th' embattled field

The deity with brazen shield

Hath number'd with the dead.

But honour still the brave attends.

This let the patriot warrior know

Who drives the cloud of slaughter that impends

O'er his loved native soil, upon the foe.

His fame among the citizens shall bloom,

Growing through life, and living in the tomb.

But thou, Diodotus' brave son,

Rival of Meleager's fame,

Who emulatest Hector's name,

And glories by Amphiaraus won;

Breath'dst forth in war's first ranks thy flower of life,

Where the most brave sustain'd war's hopeless strife.

Then grief ineffable I bore;

But now the god, whose potent might

Girds the firm earth, day's splendour bright

Gives me for winter's gloom that lower'd before.

The victor's praise will I declare,

And fit the chaplet to his hair;

Nor let th' immortal train molest

With vengeful ire my tranquil breast,

Since to the destined term of age

Calm I approach life's closing stage,

And seize the fleeting pleasures of the day;

Though subject to unequal fate,