Not break, the settled temper of thy soul. Not but (my friend) 'tis still the wiser way To waive contention with superior sway; 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 merit and thy own: Generous alike, for me, the sire and son 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 pleased his passion to command, Resign'd the courser to Noemon's hand, 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 reverend Nestor bears. 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! Take thou this token of a grateful heart, Though 'tis not thine to hurl the distant dart, The quoit to toss, the ponderous mace to wield, Or urge the race, or wrestle on the field: Thy pristine vigour age has overthrown, 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 proved A senior honour'd, and a friend beloved! 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 through Buprasium and the Pylian shore! Victorious then in every solemn game, Ordain'd to Amarynces' mighty name; The brave Epeians gave my glory way, Ćtolians, Pylians, all resign'd the day. I quell'd Clytomedes in fights of hand, And backward hurl'd Ancaeus on the sand, Surpass'd Iphyclus in the swift career, Phyleus and Polydorus with the spear.