Oenomaüs, he triumphs o'er
Thy proweſs, and, to ſhare his bed,
Claims the bright maid; who to him bore
Six princely ſons, to manly virtues bred. ⁠160
Now, ſolemniz'd with ſteaming blood,
And pious rites, near Alpheus' flood
Intomb'd, he ſleeps, where the altar ſtands,
That draws the vows of diſtant lands:
And round his tomb the circling racers ſtrive; ⁠165
And round the wheeling chariots drive.
In thy fam'd courſes, Pelops, riſe
The Olympian glories to the skies,
And ſhine afar: there we behold
The ſtretch of manhood, ſtrenuous, bold, ⁠170
In ſore fatigues, and there the ſtrife
Of winged feet. Thrice happy he,
Who overcomes! for he ſhall ſee
Unclouded days, and taſte the ſweets of life,

Thy boon, O victory! thy prize. ⁠175
The good that, in a day obtain'd,
From day to day freſh joy ſupplies,

Is the ſupreme of bliſs to man ordain'd: