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Experienced Nestor gives his son the reins,
Directs his judgment, and his heat restrains;
Nor idly warms the hoary sire, nor hears
The prudent son with unattending ears.

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Their heart, their eyes, their voice, they send before:
And up the champaign thunder from the shore: 440
Thick, where they drive, the dusty clouds arise,
And the lost courser in the whirlwind flies;
Loose on their shoulders the long manes, reclined,
Float in their speed and dance upon the wind:
The smoking chariots, rapid as they bound,
Now seem to touch the sky, and now the ground.
While hot for fame, and conquest all their care
(Each o'er his flying courser hung in air,)
Erect with ardour, poised upon the rein,

They pant, they stretch, they shout along the

plain.

Now the last compass fetch'd around the goal, 450
At the near prize each gathers all his soul,

Each burns with double hope, with double pain,
Tears up the shore, and thunders toward the main.
First flew Eumelus on Pheretian steeds;
With those of Tros bold Diomed succeeds;
390 Close on Eumelus' back they puff the wind,
And seem just mounting on his car behind;
Full on his neck he feels the sultry breeze,
And hovering o'er, their stretching shadow sees. 460
Then had he lost, or left a doubtful prize :
But angry Phoebus to Tydides flies,

My son though youthful ardour fire thy breast,
The gods have loved thee, and with arts have bless'd.
Neptune and Jove on thee conferr'd the skill
Swift round the goal to turn the flying wheel.
To guide thy conduct little precept needs;
But slow, and past their vigour, are my steeds.
Fear not thy rivals, though for swiftness known;
Compare those rivals' judgment and thy own:
It is not strength, but art, obtains the prize,
And to be swift is less than to be wise.
'Tis more by art than force of numerous strokes,
The dextrous woodman shakes the stubborn oaks;
By art the pilot, through the boiling deep
And howling tempest, steers the fearless ship;
And 'tis the artist wins the glorious course,
Not those who trust in chariots and in horse.
In vain; unskilful to the goal they strive,
And short or wide, the ungovern'd courser drive:
While with sure skill, though with inferior steeds,
The knowing racer to his end proceeds:
Fix'd on the goal his eye foreruns the course,
His hand unerring steers the steady horse,
And now contracts and now extends the rein,
Observing still the foremost on the plain.
Mark then the goal; 'tis easy to be found;
Yon aged trunk, a cubit from the ground;
Of some once stately oak the last remains,
Or hardy fir unperish'd with the rains:
Enclosed with stones, conspicuous from afar;
And round a circle for the wheeling car
(Some tomb, perhaps, of old, the dead to grace;
Or then, as now, the limit of a race :)
Bear close to this, and warily proceed
A little bending to the left hand steed
But urge the right, and give him all the reins;
While thy strict hand his fellow's head restrains, 410
And turns him short; till, doubling as they roll,
The wheel's round naves appear to brush the goal.
Yet (not to break the car, or lame the horse)
Clear of the stony heap direct the course :
Lest, through incaution failing, thou may'st be
A joy to others, a reproach to me.

So shalt thou pass the goal, secure of mind,
And leave unskilful swiftness far behind;
Though thy fierce rival drove the matchless steed
Which bore Adrastus, of celestial breed:
Or the famed race, through all the regions known,
That whirl'd the car of proud Laomedon.

Strikes from his hand the scourge, and renders
vain

His matchless horses' labour on the plain.
Rage fills his eye with anguish to survey,

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400 Snatch'd from his hope, the glories of the day.
The fraud celestial Pallas sees with pain,
Springs to her knight, and gives the scourge again,
And fills his steeds with vigour. At a stroke,
She breaks his rival's chariot from the yoke;
No more their way the startled horses held;
The car reversed came rattling on the field;
Shot headlong from his seat, beside the wheel,
Prone on the dust the unhappy master fell;
His batter'd face and elbows strike the ground;
Nose, mouth, and front, one undistinguish'd wound:
Grief stops his voice, a torrent drowns his eyes;
Before him far the glad Tydides flies;
Minerva's spirit drives his matchless pace,
And crowns him victor of the labour'd race.

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Thus (nought unsaid) the much advising sage
Concludes; then sate, stiff with unwiedly age.
Next bold Meriones was seen to rise,
The last, but not least ardent for the prize.
They mount their seats; the lots their place dispose:
(Roll'd in his helmet, these Achilles throws.)
Young Nestor leads the race: Eumelus then;
And next the brother of the king of men
Thy lot, Meriones, the fourth was cast;
And far the bravest, Diomed, was last.
They stand in order, an impatient train;
Pelides points the barrier on the plain,
And sends before old Phoenix to the place,
To mark the racers, and to judge the race.
At once the coursers from the barrier bound
The lifted scourges all at once resound;

The next, though distant, Menelaus succeeds;
While thus young Nestor animates his steeds;
Now, now, my generous pair, exert your force;
Not that we hope to match Tydides' horse,
Since great Minerva wings their rapid way,
And gives their lord the honours of the day.
But rich Atrides! shall his mare out-go
Your swiftness, vanquish'd by a female foe?
Through your neglect, if lagging on the plain
The last ignoble gift be all we gain.
No more shall Nestor's hand your food supply,
The old man's fury rises, and ye die.
Haste then; yon narrow road before your sight
Presents the occasion, could we use it right.

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Thus he. The coursers at their master's threat
430 With quicker steps the sounding champaign beat.
And now Antilochus with nice survey
Observes the compass of the hollow way.
'Twas where by force of wintry torrents torn
Fast by the road a precipice was worn;
Here, where but one could pass, to shun the throng
The Spartan hero's chariot smoked along.
Close up the venturous youth resolves to keep,
Still edging near, and bears him toward the steep

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Atrides, trembling, casts his eye below,
And wonders at the rashness of his foe.
Hold, stay your steeds! What madness thus to
ride

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He said and Ajax, by mad passion borne,
Stern had replied; fierce scorn enhancing scorn
To fell extremes; but Thetis' god-like son
Awful amidst them rose, and thus begun:
Forbear, ye chiefs! reproachful to contend;
Much would you blame, should others thus offend:
510 And lo! the approaching steeds your contest end.
No sooner had he spoke, but, thundering near,
Drives through a stream of dust the charioteer.
High o'er his head the circling lash he wields;
His bounding horses scarcely touch the fields:
His car amidst the dusty whirlwind roll'd,
|Bright with the mingled blaze of tin and gold,
Refulgent through the cloud : no eye could find
The track his flying wheels had left behind:
And the fierce coursers urged their rapid pace
520 So swift, it seem'd a flight, and not a race.
Now victor at the goal Tydides stands,

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Quits his bright car, and springs upon the sands; 590
From the hot steeds the sweaty torrents stream;
The well-plied whip is hung athwart the beam:
With joy brave Sthenelus receives the prize,
The tripod-vase, and dame with radiant eyes:
These to the ships his train triumphant leads;
The chief himself unyokes the panting steeds.
Young Nestor follows (who by art, not force,
530 O'er past Atrides) second in the course.
Behind, Atrides urged the race, more near
Than to the courser in his swift career
The following car, just touching with his heel
And brushing with his tail the whirling wheel;
Such and so narrow now the space between,
The rivals, late so distant on the green:
So soon swift the her lost ground regain'd,
One length, one moment, had the race obtain'd.
Merion pursued, at greater distance still,
540 With tardier coursers, and inferior skill.
Last came, Admetus! thy unhappy son :
Slow dragg'd the steeds his batter'd chariot on : 610
Achilles saw, and pitying thus begun :

This narrow way: take larger field (he cried)
Or both must fall-Atrides cried in vain;
He flies more fast, and throws up all the rein.
Far as an able arm the disk can send,
When youthful rivals their full force extend,
So far, Antilochus! thy chariot flew
Before the king: he, cautious, backward drew
His horse compell'd; foreboding in his fears
The rattling ruin of the clashing cars,
The floundering coursers rolling on the plain,
And conquest lost through frantic haste to gain;
But thus upbraids his rival as he flies :
Go, furious youth! ungenerous and unwise!
Go, but expect not I'll the prize resign;
Add perjury to fraud, and make it thine-
Then to his steeds with all his force he cries;
Be swift, be vigorous, and regain the prize!
Your rivals, destitute of youthful force,
With fainting knees shall labour in the course
And yield the glory yours-The steeds obey;
Already at their heels they wing their way,
And seem already to retrieve the day.
Meantime the Grecians in a ring beheld
The coursers bounding o'er the dusty field.
The first who mark'd them was the Cretan king:
High on a rising ground, above the ring,
The monarch sate; from whence with sure survey
He well observed the chief who led the way,
And heard from far his animating cries:
And saw the foremost steed with sharpen'd eyes;
On whose broad front, a blaze of shining white,
Like the full moon, stood obvious to the sight.
He saw; and, rising, to the Greeks begun;
Are yonder horse discern'd by me alone?
Or can ye all another chief survey,
And other steeds, than lately led the way?
Those, though the swiftest, by some god withheld,
Lie sure disabled in the middle field :
For since the goal they doubled, round the plain
I search to find them, but I search in vain.
Perchance the reins forsook the driver's hand,
And turn'd too short, he tumbled on the strand,
Shot from the chariot; while his coursers stray
With frantic fury from the destined way.
Rise then some other, and inform my sight;
For these dim eyes, perhaps, discern not right.
Yet sure he seems (to judge by shape and air)
The great Ætolian chief, renown'd in war.
Old man! (Oïleus rashly thus replies)
Thy tongue too hastily confers the prize;
Of those who view the course, not sharpest eyed
Nor youngest, yet the readiest to decide.
Eumelus' steeds high-bounding in the chase,
Still as at first, unrivall'd lead the race:
I well discern him as he shakes the rein,
And hear his shouts victorious o'er the plain.
Thus he. Idomeneus incensed rejoin'd:
Barbarous of words! and arrogant of mind!
Contentious prince, of all the Greeks beside
The last in merit, as the first in pride!
To vile reproach what answer can we make?
A goblet or a tripod let us stake,

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Behold! the man whose matchless art surpass'd
The sons of Greece! the ablest, yet the last!
Fortune denies, but justice bids us pay
(Since great Tydides bears the first away)
To him the second honours of the day.

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The Greeks consent with loud applauding cries,
And then Eumelus had received the prize;
But youthful Nestor, jealous of his fame,
The award opposes, and asserts his claim.
Think not (he cries) I tamely will resign,
O Peleus' son! the mare so justly mine.
What if the gods, the skilful to confound,
Have thrown the horse and horseman to the ground?
Perhaps he sought not Heaven by sacrifice,
And vows omitted forfeited the prize.

If yet (distinction to thy friend to show,

560 And please a soul desirous to bestow)

Some gift must grace Eumelus; view thy store
Of beauteous handmaids, steeds, and shining ore; 630
An ample present let him thence receive,
And Greece shall praise thy generous thirst to
give.

But this my prize I never shall forego :
This, who but touches, warriors! is my foe.

Thus spake the youth; nor did his words offend;
Pleased with the well-turn'd flattery of a friend,
570 Achilles smiled: the gift proposed (he cried,)
Antilochus! we shall ourself provide.

And be the king the judge. The most unwise
Will learn their rashness, when they pay the price.

With plates of brass the corselet cover'd o'er
(The same renown'd Asteropæus wore,)
Whose glittering margins raised with silver shine,
(No vulgar gift) Eumelus, shall be thine.

He said: Automedon at his command
The corselet brought and gave it to his hand.
Distinguish'd by his friend, his bosom glows
With generous joy: then Menelauis rose;
The herald placed the sceptre in his hands,
And still'd the clamour of the shouting bands,
Not without cause incensed at Nestor's son,
And inly grieving thus the king begun :

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Achilles this to reverend Nestor bears,
And thus the purpose of his gift declares :
Accept thou this, O sacred sire! (he said)
In dear memorial of Patroclus dead:
Dead, and for ever lost, Patroclus lies,
For ever snatch'd from our desiring eyes!
Take thou this token of a grateful heart:
Though 'tis not thine to hurl the distant dart,
The quoit to toss, the ponderous mace to wield,
Or urge the race, or wrestle on the field:
Thy pristine vigour age has overthrown,
650 But left the glory of the past thy own.

The praise of wisdom, in thy youth obtain'd,
An act so rash, Antilochus, has stain'd.
Robb'd of my glory and my just reward,
To you, O Grecians! be my wrong declared:
So not a leader shall our conduct blame,
Or judge me envious of a rival's fame.
But shall not we, ourselves, the truth maintain?
What needs appealing in a fact so plain?
What Greek shall blame me, if I bid thee rise,
And vindicate by oath the ill-gotten prize?
Rise if thou darest, before thy chariot stand,
The driving scourge high lifted in thy hand;
And touch thy steeds, and swear, thy whole intent
Was but to conquer, not to circumvent.

Swear by that god whose liquid arms surround

He said, and placed the goblet at his side;
With joy the venerable king replied:

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Wisely and well, my son, thy words have proved
A senior honour'd and a friend beloved;
Too true it is, deserted of my strength,
These withered arms and limbs have fail'd at
length.

Oh! had I now that force I felt of yore,
Known through Buprasium and the Pylian shore!
660 Victorious then in every solemn game,

Ordain'd to Amarynces' mighty name;
The brave Epcians gave my glory way,
Etolians, Pylians, all resign'd the day.
I quell'd Clytomedes in fights of hand,
And backward hurl'd Ancæus on the sand,

The globe, and whose dread earthquakes heave the Surpass'd Iphyclus in the swift career,

ground.

The prudent chief with calm attention heard;
Then mildly thus: Excuse, if youth have err'd:
Superior as thou art, forgive the offence,
Nor I thy equal, or in years or sense.
Thou know'st the errors of unripen'd age,
Weak are its counsels, headlong is its rage.
The prize I quit, if thou thy wrath resign;
The mare, or aught thou ask'st, be freely thine;
Ere I become (from thy dear friendship torn)
Hateful to thee, and to the gods foresworn.

So spoke Antilochus: and at the word
The mare contested to the king restored.
Joy swells his soul: as when the vernal grain
Lifts the green ear above the springing plain,
The fields their vegetable life renew,
And laugh and glitter with the morning dew;
Such joy the Spartan s shining face o'erspread
And lifted his gay heart, while thus he said:
Still may your souls, O generous youth! agree,
'Tis now Atrides' turn to yield to thee.
Rash heat perhaps a moment might controul,
Not break, the settled temper of thy soul.

Not (but my friend) 'tis still the wiser way
To waive contention with superior sway:
For ah! how few, who should like thee offend,
Like thee have talents to regain the friend?
To plead indulgence, and thy fault atone,
Suffice thy father's merit and thy own:
Generous alike for me, the sire and son
Have greatly suffer'd, and have greatly done.
I yield; that all may know, my soul can bend,
Nor is my pride preferr'd before my friend.

:

He said and pleased his passion to command,
Resign'd the courser to Noëmon's hand,
Friend of the youthful chief: himself content,
The shining charger to his vessel sent.
The golden talents Merion next obtain'd;
The fifth reward, the double bowl, remain'd;

Phyleus and Polydorus with the spear.
The sons of Actor won the prize of horse,
But won by numbers, not by art or force:
For the famed twins, impatient to survey,
670 Prize after prize by Nestor borne away,
Sprung to their car; and with united pains
One lash'd the coursers, while one ruled the reins.
Such once I was! Now to these tasks succeeds
A younger race, that emulate our deeds:
I yield, alas! (to age who must not yield?)
Though once the foremost hero of the field.
Go thou, my son! by generous friendship led,
With martial honours decorate the dead;
While pleased I take the gift thy hands present
680 (Pledge of benevolence and kind intent ;)

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Rejoiced, of all the numerous Greeks, to see
Not one but honours sacred age and me:
Those due distinctions thou so well canst pay,
May the just gods return another day!

Proud of the gift, thus spake the full of days.
Achilles heard him, prouder of the praise.

The prizes next are order'd to the field,
For the bold champions who the cæstus wield.
A stately mule, as yet by toils unbroke,
Of six years age, unconscious of the yoke,
Is to the circus led, and firmly bound;
Next stands a goblet, massy, large, and round.
Achilles rising thus: Let Greece excite
Two heroes equal to this hardy fight;
Who dares the foe with lifted arms provoke,

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And rush beneath the long-descending stroke,
On whom Apollo shall the palm bestow,
And whom the Greeks supreme by conquest know,
This mule his dauntless labours shall repay;
The vanquish'd bear the massy bowl away.

This dreadful combat great Epëns chose,
High o'er the crowd, enormous bulk! he rose,
And seized the beast, and thus began to say:
Stand forth some man, to bear the bowl away! 770

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His ancle struck: the giant fell supine;
780 Ulysses following, on his bosom lies;
Shouts of applause run rattling through the skies.
Ajax to lift, Ulysses next assays;

(Price of his ruin :) for who dares deny
This mule my right, the undoubted victor I?
Others, 'tis own'd, in fields of battle shine,
But the first honours of this fight are mine;
For who excels in all? Then let my foe
Draw near, but first his certain fortune know:
Secure this hand shall his whole frame confound,
Mash all his bones, and all his body pound:
So let his friends be nigh, a needful train,
To heave the batter'd carcass off the plain.
The giant spoke: and in a stupid gaze
The host beheld him silent with amaze!
'Twas thou, Euryalus! who durst aspire
To meet his might, and emulate thy sire,
The great Mecistheus; who in days of yore
In Theban games the noblest trophy bore
(The games ordain'd dead (Edipus to grace,)
And singly vanquish'd the Cadmæan race.
Him great Tydides urges to contend,
Warm with the hopes of conquest for his friend; 790
Officious with the cincture girds him round;
And to his wrist the gloves of death are bound.
Amid the circle now each champion stands,
And poises high in air his iron hands:
With clashing gauntlets now they fiercely close,
Their crackling jaws re-echo to the blows,
And painful sweat from all their members flows.
At length Epeus dealt a weighty blow
Full on the cheek of his unwary foe;
Beneath that ponderous arm's resistless sway
Down dropp'd he nerveless, and extended lay.
As a large fish, when winds and waters roar,
By some huge billow dash'd against the shore,
Lies panting; not less batter'd with his wound,
The bleeding hero pants upon the ground.
To rear his fallen foe the victor lends,
Scornful, his hand; and gives him to his friends;
Whose arms support him, reeling through the throng,
And dragging his disabled legs along;

He barely stirr'd him, but he could not raise:
His knee lock'd fast, the foe's attempt denied;
And grappling close, they tumble side by side.
Defiled with honourable dust, they roll,
Still breathing strife, and unsubdued of soul:
Again they rage, again to combat rise;
When great Achilles thus divides the prize :

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Your noble vigour, oh my friends, restrain;
Nor weary out your generous strength in vain.
Ye both have won: let others who excel,
Now prove that prowess you have proved so well.
The hero's words the willing chiefs obey,
From their tired bodies wipe the dust away,
And clothed anew, the following games survey.
And now succeed the gifts ordain'd to grace
The youths contending in the rapid race.
A silver urn that full six measures held,
800 By none in weight or workmanship excell'd;
Sidonian artists taught the frame to shine,
Elaborate, with artifice divine;
Whence Tyrian sailors did the prize transport,
And gave to Thoas at the Lemnian port:
From him descended, good Eunæus heir'd
The glorious gift; and, for Lycaon spared,
To brave Patroclus gave the rich reward.
Now, the same hero's funeral rites to grace,
It stands the prize of swiftness in the race

Nodding, his head hangs down his shoulder o'er; 810 A well-fed ox was for the second plac'd;

His mouth and nostrils pour the clotted gore;
Wrapp'd round in mists he lies, and lost to thought;
His friends receive the bowl, too dearly bought.
The third bold game Achilles next demands,
And calls the wrestlers to the level sands:

A massy tripod for the victor lies,

Of twice six oxen its reputed price;

And next, the loser's spirits to restore,

A female captive, valued but at four.

870

And half a talent must content the last.
Achilles, rising, then bespoke the train:
Who hope the palm of swiftness to obtain,
Stand forth, and bear these prizes from the plain. 880
The hero said; and starting from his place,
Oïlean Ajax rises to the race;
Ulysses next; and he whose speed surpass'd
His youthful equals, Nestor's son the last.
Ranged in a line the ready racers stand;

Scarce did the chief the vigorous strife propose, 820 Pelides points the barrier with his hand.

When tower-like Ajax and Ulysses rose.
Amid the ring each nervous rival stands,
Embracing rigid with implicit hands;

Close lock'd above, their heads and arms are mix'd;
Below, their planted feet, at distance fix'd:
Like two strong rafters which the builder forms,
Proof to the wintry winds and howling storms,
Their tops connected, but at wider space,
Fixt on the centre stands their solid base.
Now to the grasp each manly body bends;
The humid sweat from every pore descends;
Their bones resound with blows; sides, shoulders,
thighs,

Swell to each gripe, and bloody tumours rise.
Nor could Ulysses, for his art renown'd,
O'erturn the strength of Ajax on the ground:
Nor could the strength of Ajax overthrow
The watchful caution of his artful foe.

Y

All start at once; Oïleus led the race:
The next Ulysses, measuring pace with pace:
Behind him, diligently close, he sped,
As closely following as the running thread
The spindle follows, and displays the charms
Of the fair spinster's breast, and moving arms:
Graceful in motion thus, his foe he plies,
And treads each footstep ere the dust can rise :
His glowing breath upon his shoulders plays;
830 The admiring Greeks loud acclamations raise.
To him they give their wishes, hearts, and eyes,
And send their souls before him as he flies.
Now three times turn'd in prospect of the goal,
The panting chief to Pallas lifts his soul:
Assist, O goddess! (thus in thought he pray'd,)
And present at his thought descends the maid.
Buoy'd by her heavenly force, he seems to swim,
And feels a pinion lifting every limb.

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900

All fierce and ready now the prize to gain,
Unhappy Ajax stumbles on the plain
(O'erturn'd by Pallas,) where the slippery shore
Was clogg'd with slimy dung, and mingled gore,
(The self-same place beside Patroclus' pyre,
Where late the slaughter'd victims fed the fire :) 910
Besmear'd with filth, and blotted o'er with clay,
Obscene to sight, the rueful racer lay;
The well-fed bull (the second prize) he shared,
And left the urn Ulysses' rich reward.
Then, grasping by the horn the mighty beast,
The baffled hero thus the Greeks address'd:

Accursed fate! the conquest I forego;
A mortal I, a goddess was my foe;
She urged her favourite on the rapid way,
And Pallas, not Ulysses, won the day.

Thus sourly wail'd he, sputtering dirt and gore,
A burst of laughter echo'd through the shore.
Antilochus, more humorous than the rest,
Takes the last prize, and takes it with a jest:

Why with our wiser elders should we strive?
The gods still love them, and they always thrive.
Ye see, to Ajax I must yield the prize:
He to Ulysses, still more aged and wise
(A green old age unconscious of decays,
That proves the hero born in better days!)
Behold his vigour in this active race,
Achilles only boasts a swifter pace:

For who can match Achilles? He who can,
Must yet be more than hero, more than man.
The effect succeeds the speech, Pelides cries,
Thy artful praise deserves a better prize;

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Then hurl'd the hero thundering on the ground
A mass of iron (an enormous round,)
Whose weight and size the circling Greeks admire,
Rude from the furnace, and but shaped by fire.
This mighty quoit Aëtion wont to rear,
And from his whirling arm dismiss in air:
The giant by Achilles slain, he stow'd
Among his spoils this memorable load.
For this, he bids those nervous artists vie,
That teach the disk to sound along the sky.
Let him whose might can hurl this bowl, arise;
Who farthest hurls it, takes it as his prize.
If he be one, enrich'd with large domain
Of downs for flocks, and arable for grain,
Small stock of iron needs that man provide;
His hinds and swains whole years shall be supplied
From hence: nor ask the neighbouring city's aid,
For ploughshares, wheels, and all the rural trade. 990
Stern Polypates stepp'd before the throng,
And great Leonteus, more than mortal strong:
Whose force with rival forces to oppose,
Up rose great Ajax: up Epëus rose.

Each stood in order: first Epëus threw :

High o'er the wondering crowds the whirling circle flew ;

930 Leonteus next a little space surpass'd,

940

Nor Greece in vain shall hear thy friend extoll'd:
Receive a talent of the purest gold.
The youth departs content. The host admire
The son of Nestor, worthy of his sire.
Next these, a buckler, spear, and helm, he brings;
Cast on the plain the brazen burden rings:
Arms, which of late divine Sarpedon wore,
And great Patroclus in short triumph bore.
Stand forth the bravest of our host! (he cries :)
Whoever dares deserve so rich a prize,
Now grace the lists before our army's sight,
And, sheath'd in steel, provoke his foe to fight.
Who first the jointed armour shall explore,
And stain his rival's mail with issuing gore,
The sword Asteropeus possess'd of old
(A Thracian blade distinct with studs of gold)
Shall pay the stroke, and grace the striker's side:
These arms in common let the chiefs divide :
For each brave champion, when the combat ends,
A sumptuous banquet at our tent attends.

Fierce at the word, up rose great Tydeus' son,
And the huge bulk of Ajax Telamon.
Clad in refulgent steel, on either hand,
The dreadful chiefs amid the circle stand:
Lowering they meet, tremendous to the sight;
Each Argive bosom beats with fierce delight.
Opposed in arms not long they idly stood,

1000

And third, the strength of godlike Ajax cast:
O'er both their marks it flew, till fiercely flung
From Polypatus' arm, the discus sung:
Far as a swain his whirling sheephook throws,
That distant falls among the grazing cows,
So past them all the rapid circle flies:
His friends (while loud applauses shake the skies)
With force conjoin'd heave off the weighty prize.

1010

Those who in skilful archery contend,
He next invites the twanging bow to bend:
And twice ten axes cast amidst the round
(Ten double-edged, and ten that singly wound.)
The mast, which late a first-rate galley bore,
The hero fixes in the sandy shore;
To the tall top a milk-white dove they tie,
The trembling mark at which their arrows fly.
Whose weapon strikes yon fluttering bird, shall

bear

These two-edged axes, terrible in war;
950 The single, he, whose shaft divides the cord.

He said; experienced Merion took the word;
And skilful Teucer: in the helm they threw
Their lots inscribed, and forth the latter flew.
Swift from the string the sounding arrow flies; 1020
But flies unblest! No grateful sacrifice,
No firstling lambs, unheedful! didst thou vow
To Phoebus, patron of the shaft and bow.
For this, thy well-aim'd arrow, turn'd aside,
Err'd from the dove, yet cut the cord that tied:
960 Adown the main-mast fell the parted string,
And the free bird to heaven displays her wing:
Seas, shores, and skies, with loud applause resound,
And Merion eager meditates the wound:
He takes the bow, directs the shaft above,
And following with his eyes the soaring dove,

But thrice they closed, and thrice the charge renew'd.
A furious pass the spear of Ajax made

Through the broad shield, but at the corselet stay'd: Implores the god to speed it through the skies,

Not thus the foe: his javelin aim'd above
The buckler's margin, at the neck he drove.
But Greece now trembling for her hero's life,
Bade share the honours, and surcease the strife.
Yet still the victor's due Tydides gains,
With him the sword and studded belt remains.

1030

With vows of firstling lambs, and grateful sacrifice,
The dove, in airy circles as she wheels,
Amid the clouds the piercing arrow feels;

970 Quite through and through the point its passage

found,

And at his feet fell bloody to the ground.

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