horses scarcely touch the fields: His car amidst the dusty whirlwind roll'd, Bright with the mingled blaze of tin and gold, Refulgent through the cloud: no eye could find 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; 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, 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 The following 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 Ćthe her lost ground regain'd, 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 dragged the steeds his batter'd chariot on: 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) To him the second honours of the day." The Greeks consent with loud-applauding cries, And then Eumelus had received the prize, But youthful Nestor, jealous of his fame, The award opposes, and asserts his claim. "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