The panting chief to Pallas lifts his soul:
"Assist, O goddess I" thus in thought he prayed,
And, present at his thought, descends the Maid.
Buoyed by her heavenly force, he seems to swim,
And feels a pinion lifting every limb.
All fierce, and ready now the prize to gain,
Unhappy Ajax stumbles on the plain,
O'erturned by Pallas, where the slippery shore
Was clogged with slimy dung, and mingled gore;
The self-same place beside Patroclus' pyre,
Where late the slaughtered victims fed the fire:
Besmeared with filth, and blotted o'er with clay,
Obscene to sight, the rueful racer lay:
The well-fed bull, the second prize, he shared,
And left the urn Ulysses' rich reward.
Then, grasping by the horn the mighty beast,
The baffled hero thus the Greeks addressed:
"Accursed fate! the conquest I forgo;
A mortal I, a goddess was my foe:
She urged her favourite on the rapid way,
And Pallas, not Ulysses, won the day."
Thus sourly wailed he, sputtering dirt and gore;
A burst of laughter echoed through the shore.
Antilochus, more humorous than the rest,
Takes the last prize and takes it with a jest:
"Why with our wiser elders should we strive?
The gods still love them, and they always thrive.
Ye see, to Ajax I must yield the prize;
He to Ulysses, still more aged and wise;
A green old age unconscious of decays,
That proves the hero born in better days!
Behold his vigour in this active race!
Achilles only boasts a swifter pace:
For who can match Achilles? He who can,
Must yet be more than hero, more than man."
The effect succeeds the speech. Pelides cries,
"Thy artful praise deserves a better prize.
Nor Greece in vain shall hear thy friend extolled;
Receive a talent of the purest gold."
The youth departs content. The host admire
The son of Nestor, worthy of his sire.
Next these a buckler, spear, and helm he brings,
Cast on the plain the brazen burthen rings:
Arms, which of late divine Sarpedon wore,
And great Patroclus in short triumph bore.
"Stand forth, the bravest of our host," he cries,
"Whoever dares deserve so rich a prize!
Now grace the lists before our army's sight
Page:Homer - Iliad, translation Pope, 1909.djvu/425
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900—948
BOOK XXIII
423
![](http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/7/7c/Homer_-_Iliad%2C_translation_Pope%2C_1909.djvu/page425-1024px-Homer_-_Iliad%2C_translation_Pope%2C_1909.djvu.jpg)