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 you, O Grecians! be my wrong declared: So not a leader shall our conduct blame, Or judge me envious of a rival's fame. But shall not we, ourselves, the truth maintain? What needs appealing in a fact so plain? What Greek shall blame me, if I bid thee rise, And vindicate by oath th' ill-gotten prize? Rise if thou darest, before thy chariot stand, The driving scourge high-lifted in thy hand; And touch thy steeds, and swear thy whole intent Was but to conquer, not to circumvent. Swear by that god whose liquid arms sur