Reader

There is a time when men’s need for winds is the greatest, and a time for waters from the sky, the rainy offspring of clouds. But when anyone is victorious through his toil, then honey-voiced odes

become the foundation for future fame, and a faithful pledge for great deeds of excellence.

This praise is dedicated to Olympian victors, without stint. My tongue wants to foster such themes;

but it is by the gift of a god that a man flourishes with a skillful mind, as with anything else. For the present rest assured, Hagesidamus son of Archestratus: for the sake of your boxing victory,

I shall loudly sing a sweet song, an adornment for your garland of golden olive,

while I honor the race of the Western Locrians. There, Muses, join in the victory-song; I shall pledge my word to you that we will find there a race that does not repel the stranger, or is inexperienced in fine deeds, but one that is wise and warlike too. For

neither the fiery fox nor loud-roaring lions change their nature.