Add perjury to fraud, and make it thine.’
Then to his steeds with all his force he cries:
‘Be swift, be vig’rous, and regain the prize!
Your rivals, destitute of youthful force, 525
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 530
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 sat; from whence with sure survey
He well observ’d the Chief who led the way, 535
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: 540
‘Are yonder horse discern’d by me alone?
Or can ye, all, another Chief survey,
And other steeds, than lately led the way?
Those, tho’ the swiftest, by some God withheld,
Lie sure disabled in the middle field: 545
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 550
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.’ 555
‘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, 560
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:
‘Barb’rous of words! and arrogant of mind! 565
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 570
Will learn their rashness, when they pay the price.’
He said: and Ajax, by mad passion borne,
Stern had replied; fierce scorn enhancing scorn
To fell extremes. But Thetis’ godlike son,
Awful, amidst them rose; and thus begun: 575
‘Forbear, ye Chiefs! reproachful to contend:
Much would ye blame, should others thus offend:
And lo! th’ approaching steeds your contest end.’
No sooner had he spoke, but, thund’ring near,
Drives, thro’ a stream of dust, the charioteer; 580
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 thro’ the cloud: no eye could find 585
The track his flying wheels had left behind:
And the fierce coursers urged 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; 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, 595
The Chief himself unyokes the panting steeds.
Young Nestor follows (who by art, not force,
O’erpass’d Atrides), second in the course.
Behind, Atrides urged the race, more near
Than to the courser in his swift career 600
The foll’wing 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 Æthe her lost ground regain’d, 605
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; 610
Achilles saw, and pitying thus begun:
‘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) 615
To him the second honours of the day.’
The Greeks consent with loud applauding cries,
And then Eumelus had receiv’d the prize,
But youthful Nestor, jealous of his fame,
Th’ award opposes, and asserts his claim: 620
‘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 Heav’n by sacrifice, 625
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; 630
An ample present let him thence receive,
And Greece shall praise thy gen’rous 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; 635
Pleas’d with the well-turn’d flattery of a friend,
Achilles smiled: ‘The gift proposed’ (he cried),
‘Antilochus! we shall ourselves provide.
With plates of brass the corslet cover’d o’er
(The same renown’d Asteropæus wore), 640
Whose glitt’ring margins rais’d with silver shine
(No vulgar gift), Eumelus, shall be thine.’
He said: Automedon at his command
The corslet brought, and gave it to his hand.
Distinguish’d by his friend, his bosom glows 645
With gen’rous joy; then Menelaus rose;
The herald placed 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: 650
‘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, 655
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
&nbs
p; And vindicate by oath th’ ill-gotten prize? 660
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 665
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 670
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) 675
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, 680
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 gen’rous youth! agree; 685
‘T is 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) t’ is still the wiser way
To waive contention with superior sway: 690
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 merits, and thy own:
Gen’rous alike, for me the sire and son 695
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 Noëmon’s hand, 700
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 rev’rend Nestor bears, 705
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! 710
Take thou this token of a grateful heart:
Tho’ ‘t is not thine to hurl the distant dart,
The quoit to toss, the pond’rous mace to wield,
Or urge the race, or wrestle on the field:
Thy pristine vigour age has overthrown, 715
But left the glory of the past thy own.’
He said, and placed the goblet at his side:
With joy the venerable King replied:
‘Wisely and well, my son, thy words have prov’d
A senior honour’d and a friend belov’d! 720
Too true it is, deserted of my strength,
These wither’d arms and limbs have fail’d at length.
Oh! had I now that force I felt of yore,
Known thro’ Buprasium and the Pylian shore!
Victorious then in ev’ry solemn game, 725
Ordain’d to Amarynces’ mighty name;
The brave Epeians gave my glory way,
Ætolians, Pylians, all resign’d the day.
I quell’d Clytomedes in fights of hand,
And backward hurled Ancæus on the sand, 730
Surpassed Iphiclus 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 famed twins, impatient to survey 735
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: 740
I yield, alas! (to age who must not yield?)
Tho’ once the foremost hero of the field.
Go thou, my son! by gen’rous friendship led,
With martial honours decorate the dead;
While pleas’d I take the gift thy hands present 745
(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.’ 750
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, 755
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; 760
Who dares his 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 labour shall repay; 765
The vanquish’d bear the massy bowl away.’
The dreadful combat great Epeüs 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! 770
(Price of his ruin) for who dares deny
This mule my right? th’ undoubted victor I.
Others, ‘t is 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 775
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.’ 780
The Giant spoke; and in a stupid gaze
The host beheld him, silent with amaze!
‘T was thou, Euryalus! who durst aspire
To meet his might, and emulate thy sire,
The great Mecistheus; who in days of yore 785
In Theban games the noblest trophy bore
(The games ordain’d dead Œdipus to grace),
And singly vanquish’d the Cadmean 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, 795
Their crackling jaws re-echo to the blows,
And painful sweat from all their members flows.
At length Epeüs dealt a weighty blow
Full on the cheek of his unwary foe;
Beneath that pond’rous arm’s resistl
ess sway 800
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. 805
To rear his fallen foe the victor lends,
Scornful, his hand; and gives him to his friends;
Whose arms support him, reeling thro’ the throng.
And dragging his disabled legs along;
Nodding, his head hangs down, his shoulder o’er; 810
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: 815
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 vig’rous strife propose, 820
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: 825
Like two strong rafters, which the builder forms
Proof to the wintry winds and howling storms,
Their tops connected, but at wider space
Fix’d on the centre stands their solid base.
Now to the grasp each manly body bends; 830
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; 835
Nor could the strength of Ajax overthrow
The watchful caution of his artful foe.
While the long strife ev’n tired the lookers-on,
Thus to Ulysses spoke great Telamon:
‘Or let me lift thee, Chief, or lift thou me: 840
Prove we our force, and Jove the rest decree.’
He said: and, straining, heav’d him off the ground
With matchless strength: that time Ulysses found
The strength t’ evade, and where the nerves combine
His ankle struck: the giant fell supine; 845
Ulysses foll’wing, on his bosom lies;
Shouts of applause run rattling thro’ the skies.
Ajax to lift, Ulysses next essays,
He barely stirr’d him, but he could not raise;
His knee lock’d fast, the foe’s attempt denied; 850
And, grappling close, they tumble side by side.
Alexander Pope - Delphi Poets Series Page 118