C.D. Warner, et al., comp. The Library of the World’s Best Literature.
An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.
From the ‘Epinician Ode for Scopas’
By Simonides (c. 556–468 B.C.)
A
With hands, feet, mind, all square, without a flaw.
Nor suits my thought the word of Pittacus,
Though he was sage, that to be virtuous
Is hard. This fits a god alone.
A man must needs to evil fall,
When by hopeless chance o’erthrown.
Whoso does well, him good we call,
And bad if bad his lot be known;
Those by the gods beloved are best of all.
Enough for me in sooth
Is one not wholly wrong,
Nor all perverse, but skilled in useful truth,—
A healthy soul and strong:
He has no blame from me,
Who love not blame;
For countless those who foolish be,
And fair are all things free from shame.
That therefore which can ne’er be found
I seek not, nor desire with empty thought,—
A man all blameless, on this wide-spread ground,
’Mid all who cull its fruitage vainly sought.
If found, ye too this prize of mine
Shall know: meanwhile all those I love
And praise, who do no wrong by will malign;
For to necessity must yield the gods above.