Now let the flowery wreath, the victor’s pride,
Adorn Ismenos; let each street employ
The hours in dance and social joy;
Let Dirce from the silver wave arise,
And old Asopus’ daughters by her side,
Forsaking their paternal stream,
Conspire to aid our rapturous theme,
And for Alcides claim the victor’s prize.
Ye Pythian rocks, with waving forests crowned,
And seats of Helicon’s melodious choir,
Come every nymph, with cheerful sound,
Visit these walls which to the clouds aspire;
In helmed crop here warriors filled the plains.
Whose lineage undecayed from age to age remains.