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 observ'd 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 destin'd 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!" (Oileus rashly thus replies)
"Thy tongue too hastily confers the prize;
Of those who view the course, not sharpest-ey'd,
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, incens'd, 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,
And be the king the judge. The most unwise
Will learn their rashness, when they pay the prize."

He said and Ajax, by mad passion borne,
Stern had reply'd; fierce scorn enhancing scorn
To fell extremes: but Thetis' godlike son
Awful amidst them rose, and thus begun:

Forbear, ye chiefs! reproachful to contend;
Much would you blame, should others thus offend:
And lo! th' 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 urg'd their rapid pace So swift, it seem'd a flight, and not a race. Now victor at the goal Tydides stands,

Quits his bright car, and springs upon the sands;
From the hot steeds the sweaty torrents stream;
The well-ply'd whip is hung athwart the beam:
With joy brave Sthenelus receives the prize,
The tripod-vase, and daine 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,
O'er-past Atrides) second in the course."
Behind, Atrides urg'd 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,
With tardier coursers, and inferior skill.
Last came, Admetus! thy unhappy son :
Slow dragg'd the steeds his batter'd chariot on :
Achilles saw, and pitying thus begun :

"Behold! the man whose matchless art surpast 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."

The Greeks consent with loud applauding cries; And then Eumelus had received the prize: But youthful Nestor, jealous of his fame, Th' award opposes, and asserts his claim. "Think not," he cries, "I tamely will resign, O Peleus' sou! the mare so justly mine. What if the gods, the skilful to confound, [ground? Have thrown the horse and horseman to the Perhaps be sought not Heaven by sacrifice, And vows omitted forfeited the prize. If yet (distinction to thy friend to show, And please a soul desirous to bestow) Some gift must grace Eumelus; view thy store Of beauteous handmaids, steeds, and shining ore; 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 any foe."

Thus spake the youth; nor did his words offend; Pleas'd with the well-turn'd flattery of a friend, Achilles smil'd: "The gift propos'd," he cry'd, "Antilochus! we shall ourself provide. With plates of brass the corselet cover'd o'er, (The same renown'd Asteropæus wore) Whose glittering margins rais'd 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 Menelaus rose; The herald plac'd the sceptre in his hands, And still'd the clamour of the shouting bands. Not without cause incens'd at Nestor's son, And inly grieving, thus the king begun : "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 declar'd:
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 th' ill-gotten prize?
Rise if thou dar'st, before thy chariot stand,
The driving scourge high-lifted in thy hand;
And touch thy steeds, and swear, thy whole in-

tent

Was but to conquer, not to circumvent.
Swear by that god whose liquid arms surround
The globe, and whose dread earthquakes heave the
ground."

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

So spoke Antilochus: and at the word
The mare contested to the king restor❜d.
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 our souls, O generous youth! agree,
'Tis now Atrides' turn to yield to thee.
Rash heat, perhaps, a moment might control,
Not break, the settled temper of thy soul.
Not but (my friend) 'tis still the wiser way
To wave 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, pleas'd his passion to command,
Resign'd the courser to Noëman'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.
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,
But left the glory of the past thy own."

He said, and plac'd the goblet at his side; With joy the venerable king reply'd: "Wisely and well, my son, thy words have prov'd A senior honour'd, and a friend belov'd!

Too true it is, deserted of my strength,
These wither'd arms and limbs have fail'd at
Oh! had I now that force 1 felt of yore, [length
Known through Buprasium and the Pylian shore!
Victorious then in every solenin game,
Ordain'd to Amarynce's mighty name;
The brave Epcians gave my glory way,
Etolians, Pylians, all resign the day.
I quell'd Clytomedes in fights of hand,
And backward hurl'd Ancæus on the sand,
Surpast Iphyclus in the swift career,
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 fam'd twins, impatient to survey
Prize after prize by Nestor borne away,
Sprung to their car; and with united pains
One lash'd the coursers, while one rul'd 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 pleas'd I take the gift thy hands present
(Pledge of benevolence, and kind intent);
Rejoic'd, 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 cestus 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 dare the foe with lifted arms provoke, 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 Epëus chose; High o'er the crowd, enormous bulk! he rose, And seiz'd the beast, and thus began to say: "Stand forth some man, to bear the bowl away! (Prize of his ruin :) for who dares deny This mule my right; th' undoubted victor I? Others, 'tis own'd, in fields of battle skine, 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 carcase 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 Oedipus to grace) And singly vanquish'd the Cadmaan race. Him great Tydides urges to contend,

Warm'd with the hopes of conquest for his friend;

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,
Fall on the cheek of his unwary foe;
Beneath that ponderous arm's resistless sway
Down dropt 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;

Nodding, his head hangs down his shoulder o'er;
His mouth and nostrils pour the clotted gore;
Wrapt 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.

Scarce did the chief the vigorous strife propose,
When tower-like Ajax and Ulysses rose.
Amid the ring each nervous rival stands,
Embracing rigid with implicit hauds :

Close lock'd above, their heads and arms are mixt;
Below, their planted feet at distance fixt:
Like two strong rafters which the builder forms,
Proof to the wintery wind 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,

Ye both have won : let others who excel,
Now prove that prowess you have prov'd so well.”
The hero's words the willing chiefs obey,
From their tir'd bodies wipe the dust away,
And, cloth'd 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,
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 spar'd,
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.
A well-fed ox was for the second plac'd ;
And half a talent mest 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."
The hero said, and, starting from his place,
Oilean Ajax rises to the race;
Ulysses next; and he whose speed surpast
His youthful equals, Nestor's son the last.
Rang'd in a line the ready racers stand;
Pelides points the barrier with his hand :
All start at once; Oileus 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;
Th' 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.

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):
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 shar'd,
And left the urn Ulysses' rich reward.
Then, grasping by the horn the mighty beast,
The baffled hero thus the Greeks addrest :

"Accursed fate! the conquest I forego;
A mortal I, a goddess was my foe;
She urg'd her favourite on the rapid way,
And Pallas, not Ulysses, won the day."
Thus sourly wail'd he, sputtering dirt and