Page:Pindar and Anacreon.djvu/73

Rh Since, aided by a hand divine,

Within the Graces' choicest bower,

I make their blooming treasures mine,

And cull the sweets of every flower.

For they the charms of life bestow,

While all the brave and wise to them their virtues owe.

How else could great Alcides' hand

With shaken club provoke to fight

The god who wields the trident's might,

At Pylos when he took his stand,

To drive the hero from the land?

How dare to challenge as a foe

The monarch of the silver bow?

Nor could stern Pluto's grasp retain

Unmoved the sceptre of his reign,

Which drives the forms devoid of breath

Within the hollow vale of death.

No more, unhallow'd lips, assail

The mighty gods with slanderous tale.

It sounds of madness thus to rise

In impious vaunts against the skies.

Be contests banish'd from the strain

That celebrates th' immortal train;

And rather by the poet's tongue

Protogeneia's city sung.