Deluged, and disappointment chok'd his voice.

  Then, far outstripping all, Tydides push'd

  His steeds beyond, which Pallas fill'd with power

  That she might make the glorious prize his own.

  Him follow'd Menelaus amber-hair'd,

  The son of Atreus, and his father's steeds

  Encouraging, thus spake Antilochus.

  Away — now stretch ye forward to the goal.

  I bid you not to an unequal strife

  With those of Diomede, for Pallas them

  Quickens that he may conquer, and the Chief

  So far advanced makes competition vain.

  But reach the son of Atreus, fly to reach

  His steeds, incontinent; ah, be not shamed

  For ever, foil'd by Æthe, by a mare!

  Why fall ye thus behind, my noblest steeds?

  I tell you both, and ye shall prove me true,

  No favor shall ye find at Nestor's hands,

  My valiant sire, but he will thrust his spear

  Right through you, should we lose, for sloth of yours,

  Or by your negligence, the nobler prize.

  Haste then — pursue him — reach the royal Chief —

  And how to pass him in yon narrow way

  Shall be my care, and not my care in vain.

  He ended; they, awhile, awed by his voice,

  With more exertion ran, and Nestor's son

  Now saw the hollow strait mark'd by his sire.

  It was a chasm abrupt, where winter-floods,

  Wearing the soil, had gullied deep the way.

  Thither Atrides, anxious to avoid

  A clash of chariots drove, and thither drove

  Also, but somewhat devious from his track,

  Antilochus. Then Menelaus fear'd,

  And with loud voice the son of Nestor hail'd.

  Antilochus, at what a madman's rate

  Drivest thou! stop — check thy steeds — the way is here

  Too strait, but widening soon, will give thee scope

  To pass me by; beware, lest chariot close

  To chariot driven, thou maim thyself and me.

  He said; but still more rapid and the scourge

  Plying continual, as he had not heard,

  Antilochus came on. Far as the quoit

  By some broad-shoulder'd youth for trial hurl'd

  Of manhood flies, so far Antilochus

  Shot forward; but the coursers fell behind

  Of Atreus' son, who now abated much

  By choice his driving, lest the steeds of both

  Jostling, should overturn with sudden shock

  Both chariots, and themselves in dust be roll'd,

  Through hot ambition of the foremost prize.

  Him then the hero golden-hair'd reproved.

  Antilochus! the man lives not on earth

  Like thee for love of mischief. Go, extoll'd

  For wisdom falsely by the sons of Greece.

  Yet, trust me, not without an oath, the prize

  Thus foully sought shall even now be thine.

  He said, and to his coursers call'd aloud.

  Ah be not tardy; stand not sorrow-check'd;

  Their feet will fail them sooner far than yours,

  For years have pass'd since they had youth to boast.

  So he; and springing at his voice, his steeds

  Regain'd apace the vantage lost. Meantime

  The Grecians, in full circus seated, mark'd

  The steeds; they flying, fill'd with dust the air.

  Then, ere the rest, Idomeneus discern'd

  The foremost pair; for, on a rising ground

  Exalted, he without the circus sat,

  And hearing, though remote, the driver's voice

  Chiding his steeds, knew it, and knew beside

  The leader horse distinguish'd by his hue,

  Chestnut throughout, save that his forehead bore

  A splendid blazon white, round as the moon.

  He stood erect, and to the Greeks he cried.

  Friends! Chiefs and senators of Argos' host!

  Discern I sole the steeds, or also ye?

  The horses, foremost now, to me appear

  Other than erst, and I descry at hand

  A different charioteer; the mares of late

  Victorious, somewhere distant in the race

  Are hurt; I plainly saw them at the first

  Turning the goal, but see them now no more;

  And yet with eyes inquisitive I range

  From side to side the whole broad plain of Troy.

  Either the charioteer hath slipp'd the reins,

  Or rounded not successfully the goal

  Through want of guidance. Thrown, as it should seem,

  Forth from his seat, he hath his chariot maim'd,

  And his ungovern'd steeds have roam'd away.

  Arise and look ye forth yourselves, for I

  With doubtful ken behold him; yet the man

  Seems, in my view, Ætolian by descent,

  A Chief of prime renown in Argos' host,

  The hero Tydeus' son, brave Diomede,

  But Ajax Oïliades the swift

  Him sharp reproved. Why art thou always given

  To prate, Idomeneus? thou seest the mares,

  Remote indeed, but posting to the goal.

  Thou art not youngest of the Argives here

  So much, nor from beneath thy brows look forth

  Quick-sighted more than ours, thine eyes abroad.

  Yet still thou pratest, although silence more

  Should suit thee, among wiser far than thou.

  The mares which led, lead still, and he who drives

  Eumelus is, the same who drove before.

  To whom the Cretan Chief, angry, replied.

  Ajax! whom none in wrangling can excel

  Or rudeness, though in all beside thou fall

  Below the Argives, being boorish-rough,

  Come now — a tripod let us wager each,

  Or caldron, and let Agamemnon judge

  Whose horses lead, that, losing, thou may'st learn.

  He said; then sudden from his seat upsprang

  Swift Ajax Oïliades, prepared

  For harsh retort, nor had the contest ceased

  Between them, but had grown from ill to worse,

  Had not himself, Achilles, interposed.

  Ajax — Idomeneus — abstain ye both

  From bitter speech offensive, and such terms

  As ill become you. Ye would feel, yourselves,

  Resentment, should another act as ye.

  Survey the course, peaceable, from your seats;

  The charioteers, by competition wing'd,

  Will soon themselves arrive, then shall ye know

  Distinctly, both who follows and who leads.

  He scarce had said, when nigh at hand appear'd

  Tydides, lashing, as he came, his steeds

  Continual; they with hoofs uplifted high

  Their yet remaining ground shorten'd apace,

  Sprinkling with dusty drops at every stroke

  Their charioteer, while close upon their heels

  Radiant with tin and gold the chariot ran,

  Scarce tracking light the dust, so swift they flew.

  He stood in the mid-circus; there the sweat

  Rain'd under them from neck and chest profuse,

  And Diomede from his resplendent seat

  Leaping, reclined his scourge against the yoke.

  Nor was his friend brave Sthenelus remiss,

  But, seizing with alacrity the prize,

  Consign'd the tripod and the virgin, first,

  To his own band in charge; then, loosed the steeds.

  Next came, by stratagem, not speed advanced

  To that distinction, Nestor's son, whom yet

  The hero Menelaus close pursued

  Near as the wheel runs to a courser's heels,

  Drawing his master at full speed; his tail

  With its extremest hairs the felly sweeps

  That close attends him o'er the spacious plain,

  So near had Menelaus now approach'd

  Antilochus; for though at first he fell

  A full quoit's cast behind, he soon retrieved

  That loss, with such increasing speed the mare

  Bright-maned of Agamemnon, Æthe, ran;

  She, had the course few paces more to both

  Afforded, should have clearly shot beyond

  Antilochus, nor dubious left the prize.

  But noble Menelaus threw behind

  Meriones, companion in the field,

  Of King Idomeneus, a lance's flight,

  For slowest were his steeds, and he, to rule

  The chariot in the race, least skill'd of all.

  Last came Eumelus drawing to the goal,

  Himself, his splendid chariot, and his mares

  Driving before him. Peleus' rapid son

  Beheld him with compassion, and, amid

  The Argives, in wing'd accents thus he spake.

  Here comes the most expert, driving his steeds

  Before him. Just it were that he received

  The second prize; Tydides claims the first.

  He said, and all applauded the award.

  Then had Achilles to Eumelus given

  The mare (for such the pleasure seem'd of all)

  Had not the son of mighty Nestor risen,

  Antilochus, who pleaded thus his right.

  Achilles! acting as thou hast proposed,

  Thou shalt offend me much, for thou shalt take

  The prize from me, because the Gods, his steeds

  And chariot-yoke disabling, render'd vain

  His efforts, and no failure of his own.

  It was his duty to have sought the Gods

  In prayer, then had he not, following on foot

  His coursers, hindmost of us all arrived.

  But if thou pity him, and deem it good,

  Thou hast much gold, much brass, and many sheep

  In thy pavilion; thou hast maidens fair,

  And coursers also. Of thy proper stores

  Hereafter give to him a richer prize

  Than this, or give it now, so shall the Greeks

  Applaud thee; but this mare yield I to none;

  Stand forth the Grecian who desires to win

  That recompense, and let him fight with me.

  He ended, and Achilles, godlike Chief,

  Smiled on him, gratulating his success,

  Whom much he loved; then, ardent, thus replied.

  Antilochus! if thou wouldst wish me give

  Eumelus of my own, even so I will.

  I will present to him my corslet bright

  Won from Asteropæus, edged around

  With glittering tin; a precious gift, and rare.

  So saying, he bade Automedon his friend

  Produce it from the tent; he at his word

  Departing, to Achilles brought the spoil,

  Which at his hands Eumelus glad received.

  Then, stung with grief, and with resentment fired

  Immeasurable, Menelaus rose

  To charge Antilochus. His herald gave

  The sceptre to his hand, and (silence bidden

  To all) the godlike hero thus began.

  Antilochus! oh heretofore discreet!

  What hast thou done? Thou hast dishonor'd foul

  My skill, and wrong'd my coursers, throwing thine,

  Although inferior far, by fraud before them.

  Ye Chiefs and Senators of Argos' host!

  Impartial judge between us, lest, of these,

  Some say hereafter, Menelaus bore

  Antilochus by falsehood down, and led

  The mare away, because, although his steeds

  Were worse, his arm was mightier, and prevail'd.

  Yet hold — myself will judge, and will to all

  Contentment give, for I will judge aright.

  Hither, Antilochus, illustrious youth!

  And, as the law prescribes, standing before

  Thy steeds and chariot, holding too the scourge

  With which thou drovest, lay hand on both thy steeds,

  And swear by Neptune, circler of the earth,

  That neither wilfully, nor yet by fraud

  Thou didst impede my chariot in its course.

  Then prudent, thus Antilochus replied.

  Oh royal Menelaus! patient bear

  The fault of one thy junior far, in years

  Alike unequal and in worth to thee.

  Thou know'st how rash is youth, and how propense

  To pass the bounds by decency prescribed,

  Quick, but not wise. Lay, then, thy wrath aside;

  The mare now given me I will myself

  Deliver to thee, and if thou require

  A larger recompense, will rather yield

  A larger much than from thy favor fall

  Deservedly for ever, mighty Prince!

  And sin so heinously against the Gods.

  So saying, the son of valiant Nestor led

  The mare, himself, to Menelaus' hand,

  Who with heart-freshening joy the prize received.

  As on the ears of growing corn the dews

  Fall grateful, while the spiry grain erect

  Bristles the fields, so, Menelaus, felt

  Thy inmost soul a soothing pleasure sweet!

  Then answer thus the hero quick return'd.

  Antilochus! exasperate though I were,

  Now, such no longer, I relinquish glad

  All strife with thee, for that at other times

  Thou never inconsiderate wast or light,

  Although by youthful heat misled to-day.

  Yet safer is it not to over-reach

  Superiors, for no other Grecian here

  Had my extreme displeasure calm'd so soon;

  But thou hast suffer'd much, and much hast toil'd,

  As thy good father and thy brother have,

  On my behalf; I, therefore, yield, subdued

  By thy entreaties, and the mare, though mine,

  Will also give thee, that these Grecians all

  May know me neither proud nor hard to appease.

  So saying, the mare he to Noëmon gave,

  Friend of Antilochus, and, well-content,

  The polish'd caldron for his prize received.

  The fourth awarded lot (for he had fourth

  Arrived) Meriones asserted next,

  The golden talents; but the phial still

  Left unappropriated Achilles bore

  Across the circus in his hand, a gift

  To ancient Nestor, whom he thus bespake.

  Thou also, oh my father! this accept,

  Which in remembrance of the funeral rites

  Of my Patroclus, keep, for him thou seest

  Among the Greeks no more. Receive a prize,

  Thine by gratuity; for thou shalt wield

  The cestus, wrestle, at the spear contend,

  Or in the foot-race (fallen as thou art

  Into the wane of life) never again.

  He said, and placed it in his hands. He, glad,

  Receiving it, in accents wing'd replied.

  True, oh my son! is all which thou hast spoken.

  These limbs, these hands, young friend! (their vigor lost)

  No longer, darted from the shoulder, spring

  At once to battle. Ah that I could grow

  Young yet again, could feel again such force

  Athletic, as when in Buprasium erst

  The Epeans with sepulchral pomp entomb'd

  King Amarynceus, where his sons ordain'd

  Funereal games in honor of their sire!

  Epean none or even Pylian there

  Could cope with me, or yet Ætolian bold.

  Boxing, I vanquish'd Clytomedes, son

  Of Enops; wrestling, the Pleuronian Chief

  Ancæus; in the foot-race Iphiclus,

  Though a fleet runner; and I over-pitch'd

  Phyleus and Polydorus at the spear.

  The sons of Actor in the chariot-race

  Alone surpass'd me, being two for one,

  And jealous both lest I should also win

  That prize, for to the victor charioteer

  They had assign'd the noblest prize of all.

  They were twin-brothers, and one ruled the steeds,

  The steeds one ruled, the other lash'd them on.

  Such once was I; but now, these sports I leave

  To younger; me submission most befits

  To withering age, who then outshone the best.

  But go. The funeral of thy friend with games

  Proceed to celebrate; I accept thy gift

  With pleasure; and my heart is also glad

  That thou art mindful evermore of one

  Who loves thee, and such honor in the sight

  Yield'st me of all the Greeks, as is my due.

  May the Gods bless thee for it more and more!

  He spake, and Peleus' son, when he had heard

  At large his commendation from the lips

  Of Nestor, through the assembled Greeks return'd.

  He next proposed, not lightly to be won,

  The boxer's prize. He tether'd down a mule,

  Untamed and hard to tame, but strong to toil,

  And in her prime of vigor, in the midst;

  A goblet to the vanquish'd he assign'd,

  Then stood erect and to the Greeks exclaim'd.

  Atridæ! and ye Argives brazen-greaved!

  I call for two bold combatants expert

  To wage fierce strife for these, with lifted fists

  Smiting each other. He, who by the aid

  Of Phœbus shall o'ertome, and whom the Greeks

  Shall all pronounce victorious, leads the mule

  Hence to his tent; the vanquish'd takes the cup.

  He spake, and at his word a Greek arose

  Big, bold, and skillful in the boxer's art,

  Epeüs, son of Panopeus; his hand

  He on the mule imposed, and thus he said.

  Approach the man ambitious of the cup!

  For no Achaian here shall with his fist

  Me foiling, win the mule. I boast myself

  To all superior. May it not suffice

  That I to no pre-eminence pretend

  In battle? To attain to foremost praise

  Alike in every art is not for one.

  But this I promise, and will well perform —

  My blows shall lay him open, split him, crush

  His bones to splinters, and let all his friends,

  Attendant on him, wait to bear him hence,

  Vanquish'd by my superior force in fight.

  He ended, and his speech found no reply.

  One godlike Chief alone, Euryalus,

  Son of the King Mecisteus, who, himself,

  Sprang from Talaion, opposite arose.