by Homer
Stands more in cunning than in power. A pilot doth avert
His vessel from the rock and wrack, toss’d with the churlish winds,
By skill not strength. So sorts it here: one charioteer that finds
Want of another’s power in horse, must in his own skill set
An overplus of that to that; and so the proof will get
Still, that still rests within a man more grace than pow’r without.
He that in horse and chariots trusts is often hurl’d about
This way and that, unhandsomely, all heav’n wide of his end.
He better skill’d, that rules worse horse, will all observance bend
Right on the scope still of a race, bear near, know ever when to rein,
When give rein, as his foe before (well noted in his vein
Of manage, and his steeds’ estate) presents occasion.
I’ll give the instance now, as plain as if thou saw’st it done:
Here stands a dry stub of some tree, a cubit from the ground
(Suppose the stub of oak or larch, for either are so sound
That neither rots with wet); two stones, white (mark you), white for view,
Parted on either side the stub; and these lay where they drew
The way into a strait, the race betwixt both lying clear.
Imagine them some monument of one long since tomb’d there,
Or that they had been lists of race for men of former years,
As now the lists Achilles sets may serve for charioteers
Many years hence. When near to these the race grows, then as right
Drive on them as thy eye can judge; then lay thy bridle’s weight
Most of thy left side, thy right horse then switching, all thy throat
(Spent in encouragements) give him, and all the rein let float
About his shoulders: thy near horse will yet be he that gave
Thy skill the prize; and him rein so, his head may touch the nave
Of thy left wheel – but then take care thou runn’st not on the stone
(With wrack of horse and chariot) which so thou bear’st upon.
Shipwreck within the hav’n avoid by all means; that will breed
Others delight, and thee a shame. Be wise then, and take heed
(My lov’d son) get but to be first at turning in the course;
He lives not that can cote thee then, not if he back’d the horse
The gods bred, and Adrastus own’d. Divine Arion’s speed
Could not outpace thee, or the horse Laomedon did breed,
Whose race is famous, and fed here.’ Thus sate Neleides,
When all that could be said, was said. And then Meriones
Set fitly forth his fair-man’d horse. All leap’d to chariot;
And every 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
Renowned Phoenix, 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 winged 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 sometimes graz’d,
And sometimes jump’d up to the air; yet still sate 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 burn’d
With fire that from their nostrils flew. And then their lord had turn’d
The race for him, or giv’n it doubt, if Phoebus 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
Struck at the centre, his speech lost. And then the turned race
Fell to Tydides: before all his conquering 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 Aethe. 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:
‘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: Idomeneus’ 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, uttering 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 outraid with affright:
Stand up, try you your eyes, for mine hold with the second sight.
This seems to me th’ Aetolian 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 hoped: 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 Idomeneus 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 hold a tripod with thee here,
Or cauldron, and our general make our equal arbiter,
Those horse are first, that when thou pay’st thou then mayst know.’ This fir’d
Oileades 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 which 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, amidst the lists they stood, sweat trickling down apace
Their high manes and their prominent breast; and down jump’d 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 maintain’d 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) than 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.
Aethe 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 liberal hands. This prize I will not yield;
Who bears this (whatsoever man) he bears a tried 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
Asteropaeus, 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, received. 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, uttering this: ‘Antilochus! Till now
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 won 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 righ
t: 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 scourged 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,
Ascribe to much more youth in me than you; you more in age,
And more in excellence, know well the outraies 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,
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,
O Menelaus, answering thus: ‘Antilochus, I now
(Though I were angry) yield to thee, because I see th’ hast wit,
When I thought not; thy youth hath got the mastery 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 easily 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 Noëmon to lead thence, and then receiv’d beside
The cauldron. Next, Meriones, for fourth game, was to have
Two talents gold. The fifth (unwon) renown’d Achilles gave
To reverend Nestor, being a bowl to set on either end,
