Part 71 (1/2)
Then, grasping by the horn the hty beast, The baffled hero thus the Greeks address'd:
”Accursed fate! the conquest I forego; A ed 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 echoed 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 ed 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
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 hels: Arreat 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 arht
Who first the jointed arore, The sword Asteropaeus 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 tents attends”
Fierce at the word uprose great Tydeus' son, And the huge bulk of Ajax Telaent steel, on either hand, The dreadful chiefs aht; Each Argive boso they idly stood, But thrice they closed, and thrice the charge renew'd
A furious pass the spear of Ajax h the broad shi+eld, but at the corslet stay'd
Not thus the foe: his javelin aiin, at the neck he drove
But Greece, now tre 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 reround, A ht and size the circling Greeks admire, Rude frohty quoit Aetion wont to rear, And froiant by Achilles slain, he stow'd A his spoils this memorable load
For this, he bids those nervous artists vie, That teach the disk to sound along the sky
”Let hiht can hurl this bowl, arise; Who farthest hurls it, take it as his prize; If he be one enrich'd with large dorain, Small stock of iron needs that man provide; His hinds and swains whole years shall be supplied Frohshares, wheels, and all the rural trade”
Stern Polypoetes stepp'd before the throng, And great Leonteus, ; Whose force with rival forces to oppose, Uprose great Ajax; up Epeus rose
Each stood in order: first Epeus threw; High o'er the wondering crowds the whirling circle flew
Leonteus next a little space surpass'd; And third, the strength of Godlike Ajax cast
O'er both theirFro sheephook throws, That distant falls a 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
Those, who in skilful archery contend, He next invites the twanging bow to bend; And twice ten axes casts aly wound The alley bore, The hero fixes in the sandy shore; To the tall top amark at which their arrows fly
”Whose weapon strikes yon fluttering bird, shall bear These two-edged axes, terrible in war; 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 fro arrow flies; But flies unbless'd! 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: Adown the , And the free bird to heaven displays her wing: Sea, shores, and skies, with loud applause resound, And Merion eager meditates the wound: He takes the bow, directs the shaft above, And folloith his eye the soaring dove, Ih the skies, With vows of firstling larateful sacrific The dove, in airy circles as she wheels, Ah and through the point its passage found, And at his feet fell bloody to the ground
The wounded bird, ere yet she breathed her last, With flagging wings alighted on the , and spread her pinions there, Then sudden dropp'd, and left her life in air
From the pleased cro peals of thunder rise, And to the shi+ps brave Merion bears the prize