When all that could be said was said. And then Meriones; 2
Set fifthly forth his fair-man’d horse. All leap’d to chariot;
And ev’ry man then for the start cast in his proper lot.
Achilles drew; Antilochus the lot set foremost forth;
Eumelus next; Atrides third; Meriones the fourth;
The fifth and last was Diomed, far first in excellence.
All stood in order, and the lists Achilles fix’d far thence
In plain field; and a seat ordain’d fast by, in which he set
Renownéd Phœnix, that in grace of Peleus was so great,
To see the race, and give a truth of all their passages.
All start together, scourg’d, and cried, and gave their business
Study and order. Through the field they held a wingéd pace.
Beneath the bosom of their steeds a dust so dimm’d the race,
It stood above their heads in clouds, or like to storms amaz’d.
Manes flew like ensigns with the wind. The chariots sometime graz’d,
And sometimes jump’d up to the air; yet still sat fast the men,
Their spirits ev’n panting in their breasts with fervour to obtain.
But when they turn’d to fleet again, then all men’s skills were tried,
Then stretch’d the pasterns of their steeds. Eumelus’ horse in pride
Still bore their sov’reign. After them came Diomed’s coursers close,
Still apt to leap their chariot, and ready to repose
Upon the shoulders of their king their heads; his back ev’n burned
With fire that from their nostrils flew; and then their lord had turn’d
The race for him, or giv’n it doubt, if Phœbus had not smit
The scourge out of his hands, and tears of helpless wrath with it
From forth his eyes, to see his horse for want of scourge made slow,
And th’ others, by Apollo’s help, with much more swiftness go.
Apollo’s spite Pallas discern’d, and flew to Tydeus’ son,
His scourge reach’d, and his horse made fresh. Then took her angry run
At king Eumelus, brake his gears; his mares on both sides flew,
His draught-tree fell to earth, and him the toss’d-up chariot threw
Down to the earth, his elbows torn, his forehead, all his face
Strook at the centre, his speech lost. And then the turnéd race
Fell to Tydides; before all his conqu’ring horse he drave,
And first he glitter’d in the race; divine Athenia gave
Strength to his horse, and fame to him. Next him drave Sparta’s king.
Antilochus his father’s horse then urg’d with all his sting
Of scourge and voice: “Run low,” said he, “stretch out your limbs, and fly;
With Diomed’s horse I bid not strive, nor with himself strive I;
Athenia wings his horse, and him renowns; Atrides’ steeds
Are they ye must not fail but reach; and soon, lest soon succeeds
The blot of all your fames, to yield in swiftness to a mare,
To female Æthe. What’s the cause, ye best that ever were,
That thus ye fail us? Be assur’d, that Nestor’s love ye lose
For ever, if ye fail his son. Through both your both sides goes
His hot steel, if ye suffer me to bring the last prize home.
Haste, overtake them instantly; we needs must overcome.
This harsh way next us, this my mind will take, this I despise
For peril, this I’ll creep through. Hard the way to honour lies,
And that take I, and that shall yield.” His horse by all this knew
He was not pleas’d, and fear’d his voice, and for a while they flew.
But straight more clear appear’d the strait Antilochus foresaw,
It was a gasp the earth gave, forc’d by humours cold and raw,
Pour’d out of Winter’s wat’ry breast, met there, and cleaving deep
All that near passage to the lists. This Nestor’s son would keep,
And left the roadway, being about. Atrides fear’d, and cried: 3
“Antilochus, thy course is mad; contain thy horse, we ride
A way most dangerous; turn head, betime take larger field,
We shall be splitted.” Nestor’s son with much more scourge impell’d
His horse for this, as if not heard; and got as far before
As any youth can cast a quoit. Atrides would no more;
He back again, for fear himself, his goodly chariot,
And horse together, strew’d the dust, in being so dusty hot
Of thirsted conquest. But he chid, at parting, passing sore:
“Antilochus,” said he, “a worse than thee earth never bore.
Farewell, we never thought thee wise that were wise; but not so
Without oaths shall the wreath, be sure, crown thy mad temples.
Go.”
Yet he bethought him, and went too, thus stirring up his steeds:
“Leave me not last thus, nor stand vex’d. Let these fail in the speeds
Of feet and knees, not you. Shall these, these old jades, past the flow’r
Of youth that you have, pass you?” This the horse fear’d, and more pow’r
Put to their knees, straight getting ground. Both flew, and so the rest.
All came in smokes, like spirits. The Greeks, set, to see who did best,
Without the race, aloft, now made a new discovery,
Other than that they made at first. Idomenëus’ eye
Distinguish’d all, he knew the voice of Diomed, seeing a horse
Of special mark, of colour bay, and was the first in course,
His forehead putting forth a star, round like the moon, and white.
Up stood the Cretan, utt’ring this: “Is it alone my sight,
Princes and captains, that discerns another lead the race
With other horse than led of late? Eumelus made most pace
With his fleet mares, and he began the flexure as we thought;
Now all the field I search, and find nowhere his view; hath nought
Befall’n amiss to him? Perhaps he hath not with success
Perform’d his flexure; his reins lost, or seat, or with the tress
His chariot fail’d him, and his mares have outray’d with affright.
Stand up, try you your eyes, for mine hold with the second sight;
This seems to me th’ Ætolian king, the Tydean Diomed.”
“To you it seems so,” rusticly Ajax Oïleus said,
“Your words are suited to your eyes. Those mares lead still that led,
Eumelus owes them, and he still holds reins and place that did,
Not fall’n as you hop’d. You must prate before us all, though last
In judgment of all. Y’ are too old, your tongue goes still too fast,
You must not talk so. Here are those that better thee, and look
For first place in the censure.” This Idomenëus took
In much disdain, and thus replied: “Thou best in speeches worst,
Barbarous-languag’d, others here might have reprov’d me first,
Not thou, unfitt’st of all. I bold a tripod with thee here,
Or caldron, and our Gen’ral make our equal arbiter,
Those horse are first, that when thou pay’st thou then may’st know.” This fir’d
Oïliades more, and more than words this quarrel had inspir’d,
Had not Achilles rose, and us’d this pacifying speech:
“No more. Away with words in war. It toucheth both with breach
Of that which fits ye. Your deserts should others reprehend
That give such foul terms. Sit ye still, the men themselves will end
The strife betwixt you instantly, and either’s own load bear
On his own shoulders. Then to both the first horse will appear,
And wh
ich is second.” These words us’d, Tydides was at hand,
His horse ran high, glanc’d on the way, and up they toss’d the sand
Thick on their coachman; on their pace their chariot deck’d with gold
Swiftly attended, no wheel seen, nor wheel’s print in the mould.
Impress’d behind them. These horse flew a flight, not ran a race.
Arriv’d, amids the lists they stood, sweat trickling down apace
Their high manes and their prominent breasts; and down jumped
Diomed,
Laid up his scourge aloft the seat, and straight his prize was led
Home to his tent. Rough Sthenelus laid quick hand on the dame,
And handled trivet, and sent both home by his men. Next came
Antilochus, that won with wiles, not swiftness of his horse,
Precedence of the gold-lock’d king, who yet maintained the course
So close, that not the king’s own horse gat more before the wheel
Of his rich chariot, that might still the insecution feel
With the extreme hairs of his tail (and that sufficient close
Held to his leader, no great space it let him interpose
Consider’d in so great a field) that Nestor’s wily son
Gat of the king, now at his heels, though at the breach he won
A quoit’s cast of him, which the king again at th’ instant gain’d.
Æthe Agamemnonides, that was so richly man’d,
Gat strength still as she spent; which words her worth had prov’d with deeds,
Had more ground been allow’d the race; and coted far his steeds,
No question leaving for the prize. And now Meriones
A dart’s cast came behind the king, his horse of speed much less,
Himself less skill’d t’ importune them, and give a chariot wing.
Admetus’ son was last, whose plight Achilles pitying
Thus spake: “Best man comes last; yet right must see his prize not least,
The second his deserts must bear, and Diomed the best.”
He said, and all allow’d; and sure the mare had been his own,
Had not Antilochus stood forth, and in his answer shown
Good reason for his interest: “Achilles,” he replied,
“I should be angry with you much to see this ratified.
Ought you to take from me my right, because his horse had wrong,
Himself being good? He should have us’d, as good men do, his tongue
In pray’r to Their pow’rs that bless good, not trusting to his own,
Not to have been in this good last. His chariot overthrown
O’erthrew not me. Who’s last? Who’s first? Men’s goodness without these
Is not our question. If his good you pity yet, and please
Princely to grace it, your tents hold a goodly deal of gold,
Brass, horse, sheep, women; out of these your bounty may be bold,
To take a much more worthy prize than my poor merit seeks,
And give it here before my face, and all these, that the Greeks
May glorify your lib’ral hands. This prize I will not yield.
Who bears this, whatsoever man, he bears a triéd field.
His hand and mine must change some blows.” Achilles laugh’d, and said:
“If thy will be, Antilochus, I’ll see Eumelus paid
Out of my tents. I’ll give him th’ arms, which late I conquer’d in
Asteropæus, forg’d of brass, and wav’d about with tin;
‘Twill be a present worthy him.” This said, Automedon
He sent for them. He went and brought; and to Admetus’ son
Achilles gave them. He, well pleas’d, receiv’d them. Then arose
Wrong’d Menelaus, much incens’d with young Antilochus.
He bent to speak, a herald took his sceptre and gave charge
Of silence to the other Greeks; then did the king enlarge
The spleen he prison’d, utt’ring this: “Antilochus, till now 4
We grant thee wise, but in this act what wisdom utter’st thou?
Thou hast disgrac’d my virtue, wrong’d my horse, preferring thine
Much their inferiors. But go to, Princes, nor his nor mine
Judge of with favour, him nor me; lest any Grecian use
This scandal: ‘Menelaus won, with Nestor’s son’s abuse,
The prize in question, his horse worst; himself yet wan the best
By pow’r and greatness.’ Yet, because I would not thus contest
To make parts taking, I’ll be judge; and I suppose none here
Will blame my judgment, I’ll do right: Antilochus, come near,
Come, noble gentleman, ’tis your place, swear by th’ earth-circling
God,
(Standing before your chariot and horse, and that self rod
With which you scourg’d them in your hand) if both with will and wile
You did not cross my chariot.” He thus did reconcile
Grace with his disgrace, and with wit restor’d him to his wit:
“Now crave I patience. O king, whatever was unfit; 5
Ascribe to much more youth in me than you. You, more in age
And more in excellence, know well, the outrays that engage
All young men’s actions; sharper wits, but duller wisdoms, still
From us flow than from you; for which, curb, with your wisdom, will.
The prize I thought mine, I yield yours, and, if you please, a prize
Of greater value to my tent I’ll send for, and suffice
Your will at full, and instantly; for, in this point of time,
I rather wish to be enjoin’d your favour’s top to climb,
Than to be falling all my time from height of such a grace. 6
O Jove-lov’d king, and of the Gods receive a curse in place.”
This said, he fetch’d his prize to him; and it rejoic’d him so,
That as corn-ears shine with the dew, yet having time to grow,
When fields set all their bristles up; in such a ruff wert thou. 7
O Menelaus, answ’ring thus: “Antilochus, I now,
Though I were angry, yield to thee, because I see th’ hadst wit,
When I thought not; thy youth hath got the mast’ry of thy spirit.
And yet, for all this, ’tis more safe not to abuse at all
Great men, than, vent’ring, trust to wit to take up what may fall;
For no man in our host beside had eas’ly calm’d my spleen,
Stirr’d with like tempest. But thyself hast a sustainer been
Of much affliction in my cause; so thy good father too,
And so thy brother; at thy suit, I therefore let all go,
Give thee the game here, though mine own, that all these may discern
King Menelaus bears a mind at no part proud or stern.”
The king thus calm’d, Antilochus receiv’d, and gave the steed
To lov’d Noemon to lead thence; and then receiv’d beside
The caldron. Next, Meriones, for fourth game, was to have
Two talents’ gold. The fifth, unwon, renown’d Achilles gave
To rev’rend Nestor, being a bowl to set on either end;
Which through the press he carried him: “Receive,” said he, “old friend,
This gift as fun’ral monument of my dear friend deceas’d,
Whom never you must see again. I make it his bequest
To you as, without any strife, obtaining it from all.
Your shoulders must not undergo the churlish whoorlbat’s fall,
Wrastling is past you, strife in darts, the foot’s celerity;
Harsh age in his years fetters you, and honour sets you free.”
Thus gave he it. He took, and joy’d; but, ere he thank’d, he said:
“Now sure, my honourable son, in all points thou hast play’d
The comely orator; no more must I contend with nerv
es;
Feet fail, and hands; arms want that strength, that this and that swing serves
Under your shoulders. Would to heav’n, I were so young chinn’d now,
And strength threw such a many of bones, to celebrate this show,
As when the Epians brought to fire, actively honouring thus,
King Amaryncea’s funerals in fair Buprasius!
His sons put prizes down for him; where not a man match’d me
Of all the Epians, or the sons of great-soul’d Ætolie,
No, nor the Pylians themselves, my countrymen. I beat
Great Clytomedeus, Enops’ son, at buffets. At the feat
Of wrastling, I laid under me one that against me rose,
Ancæus, call’d Pleuronius. I made Iphiclus lose
The foot-game to me. At the spear, I conquer’d Polydore,
And strong Phylëus. Actor’s sons, of all men, only bore
The palm at horse-race, conquering with lashing on more horse,
And envying my victory, because, before their course,
All the best games were gone with me. These men were twins; one was
A most sure guide, a most sure guide; the other gave the pass
With rod and mettle. This was then. But now young men must wage
These works, and my joints undergo the sad defects of age;
Though then I was another man. At that time I excell’d 8
Amongst th’ heroes. But forth now; let th’ other rites be held
For thy deceas’d friend; this thy gift in all kind part I take,
And much it joys my heart, that still, for my true kindness’ sake,
You give me mem’ry. You perceive, in what fit grace I stand
Amongst the Grecians; and to theirs you set your graceful hand.
The Gods give ample recompense of grace again to thee,
For this and all thy favours!” Thus, back through the thrust drave he,
When he had stay’d out all the praise of old Neleides. 9
And now for buffets, that rough game, he order’d passages;
Proposing a laborious mule, of six years old, untam’d,
And fierce in handling, brought, and bound, in that place where they gam’d;
And, to the conquer’d, a round cup. Both which he thus proclaims:
“Atrides and all friends of Greece, two men, for these two games,
I bid stand forth. Who best can strike, with high contracted fists,
(Apollo giving him the wreath) know all about these lists,
Shall win a mule, patient of toil; the vanquish’d, this round cup.”
This utter’d; Panopëus’ son, Epëus, straight stood up,
The Complete Poetical Works of George Chapman Page 102
