Turn’d back the rough winds to their homes, the Thracian billow rings
Their high retreat, ruffled with cuffs of their triumphant wings.
Pelides then forsook the pile, and to his tired limb
Chose place of rest; where laid, sweet sleep fell to his wish on him –
When all the king’s guard (waiting then, perceiving will to rise
In that great session) hurried in, and op’d again his eyes
With tumult of their troop, and haste. A little then he rear’d
His troubled person, sitting up, and this affair referr’d
To wish’d commandment of the kings: ‘Atrides, and the rest
Of our commanders general, vouchsafe me this request
Before your parting: give in charge the quenching with black wine
Of this heap’s reliques, every brand the yellow fire made shine.
And then let search Patroclus’ bones, distinguishing them well –
As well ye may; they keep the midst, the rest at random fell
About th’ extreme part of the pile. Men’s bones and horses mix’d
Being found, I’ll find an urn of gold t’ inclose them; and betwixt
The air and them two kels of fat lay on them, and to rest
Commit them, till mine own bones seal our love, my soul deceas’d.
The sepulchre I have not charg’d to make of too much state,
But of a model something mean, that you of younger fate
(When I am gone) may amplify with such a breadth and height
As fits your judgments and our worths.’ This charge receiv’d his weight
In all observance: first they quench’d, with sable wine, the heap
As far as it had fed the flame. The ash fell wondrous deep,
In which his consorts, that his life religiously lov’d,
Search’d, weeping, for his bones: which found, they conscionably prov’d
His will made to Aeacides, and what his love did add.
A golden vessel, double fat, contain’d them: all which (clad
In veils of linen, pure and rich) were solemnly convey’d
T’Achilles’ tent. The platform then about the pile they laid
Of his fit sepulchre, and rais’d a heap of earth, and then
Offer’d departure. But the prince retain’d there still his men,
Employing them to fetch from fleet rich tripods for his games,
Cauldrons, horse, mules, broad-headed beeves, bright steel, and brighter dames.
The best at horse-race, he ordain’d a lady for his prize,
Generally praiseful: fair and young, and skill’d in housewi
f
’
ries
Of all kind fitting; and withal a trivet, that inclos’d
Twenty-two measures room, with ears. The next prize he propos’d
Was (that which then had high respect) a mare of six years old,
Unhandled, horsed with a mule, and ready to have foal’d.
The third game was a cauldron, new, fair, bright, and could for size
Contain two measures. For the fourth, two talents’ quantities
Of finest gold. The fifth game was a great new standing cup,
To set down both ways. These brought in, Achilles then stood up,
And said: ‘Atrides and my lords, chief horsemen of our host,
These games expect ye. If myself should interpose my most
For our horse-race, I make no doubt but I should take again
These gifts propos’d. Ye all know well of how divine a strain
My horses are, and how eminent. Neptune’s gift they are
To Peleus; of his to me. Myself then will not share
In gifts giv’n others, nor my steeds breathe any spirit to shake
Their airy pasterns; so they mourn for their kind guider’s sake,
Late lost, that us’d with humorous oil to slick their lofty manes,
Clear water having cleans’d them first, and (his bane being their banes)
Those lofty manes now strew the earth, their heads held shaken down.
You then that trust in chariots, and hope with horse to crown
Your conquering temples, gird yourselves; now fame and prize stretch for,
All that have spirits.’ This fir’d all: the first competitor
Was king Eumelus, whom the art of horsemanship did grace,
Son to Admetus; next to him rose Diomed to the race,
That under reins rul’d Trojan horse, of late forc’d from the son
Of lord Anchises, himself freed of near confusion
By Phoebus. Next to him set forth the yellow-headed king
Of Lacedaemon, Jove’s high seed; and in his managing
Podargus and swift Aethe trod, steeds to the king of men –
Aethe giv’n by Echepolus, the Anchisiaden,
A bribe to free him from the war resolv’d for Ilion.
So Delicacy feasted him, whom Jove bestow’d upon
A mighty wealth; his dwelling was in brode Sicyone.
Old Nestor’s son, Antilochus, was fourth for chivalry
In this contention: his fair horse were of the Pylian breed,
And his old father (coming near) inform’d him (for good speed)
With good race notes, in which himself could good instruction give:
‘Antilochus, though young thou art, yet thy grave virtues live
Belov’d of Neptune and of Jove: their spirits have taught thee all
The art of horsemanship, for which the less thy merits fall
In need of doctrine. Well thy skill can yield a chariot
In all fit turning, yet thy horse their slow feet handle not
As fits thy manage, which makes me cast doubts of thy success.
I well know all these are not seen in art of this address
More than thyself: their horses yet superior are to thine,
For their parts: thine want speed to make discharge of a design
To please an artist. But go on, show but thy art and heart
At all points, and set them against their horse’s heart and art;
Good judges will not see thee lose. A carpenter’s desert
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