wift 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 AEthe 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 heaven by sacrifice,
And vows omitted forfeited the prize.
If yet (distinction to thy friend to show,
And please a soul desirous to bestow)
Some gift must grace Eumelus, view thy store
Of beauteous handmaids, steeds, and shining ore;
An ample present let him thence receive,
And Greece shall praise thy generous thirst to give.
But this my prize I never shall forego;
This, who but touches, warriors! is my foe."

Thus spake the youth; nor did his words offend;
Pleased with the well-turn'd flattery of a friend,
Achilles smiled: "The gift proposed (he cried),
Antilochus! we shall ourself provide.
With plates of brass the corslet cover'd o'er,
(The same renown'd Asteropaeus wore,)
Whose glittering margins raised with silver shine,
(No vulgar gift,) Eumelus! shall be thine."

He said: Automedon at his command
The corslet brought, and gave it to his hand.
Distinguish'd by his friend, his bosom glows
With generous joy: then Menelaus rose;
The herald placed the sceptre in his hands,
And still'd the clamour of the shouting bands.
Not without cause incensed at Nestor's son,
And inly grieving, thus the king begun:

"The praise of wisdom, in thy youth obtain'd,
An act so rash, Antilochus! has stain'd.
Robb'd of my glory and my just reward,
To y