Thus end the games, and the procession forms,
  The king and elders first, contestants next,
  And last the prince; each victor laurel-crowned,
  And after each his prize, while all were given
  Some choice memorial of the happy day—­
  Cinctures to all athletes to gird the loins
  And falling just below the knee, the belt
  Of stoutest leather, joined with silver clasps,
  The skirt of softest wool or finest silk,
  Adorned with needlework and decked with gems,
  Such as the modest Aryans always wore
  In games intended for the public view,
  Before the Greeks became degenerate,
  And savage Rome compelled those noble men
  Whose only crime was love of liberty,
  By discipline and numbers overwhelmed,
  Bravely defending children, wife and home,
  Naked to fight each other or wild beasts,
  And called this brutal savagery high sport
  For them and for their proud degenerate dames,
  Of whom few were what Caesar’s wife should be. 
  The athletes’ prizes all were rich and rare,
  Some costly emblem of their several arts. 
  The archers’ prizes all were bows; the first
  Made from the horns of a great mountain-goat
  That long had ranged the Himalayan heights,
  Till some bold hunter climbed his giddy cliffs
  And brought his unsuspecting victim down. 
  His lofty horns the bowsmith root to root
  Had firmly joined, and polished, bright,
  And tipped with finest gold, and made a bow
  Worthy of Sinhahamu’s[1] mighty arm. 
  The other prizes, bows of lesser strength
  But better suited to their weaker arms. 
  A chariot, the charioteers’ first prize,[2]
  Its slender hubs made strong with brazen bands,
  The spokes of whitest ivory polished bright,
  The fellies ebony, with tires of bronze,
  Each axle’s end a brazen tiger’s head,
  The body woven of slender bamboo shoots
  Intwined with silver wire and decked with gold. 
  A mare and colt of the victorious breed
  The second prize, more worth in Timour’s eyes. 
  Than forty chariots, though each were made
  Of ebony or ivory or gold,
  And all the laurel India ever grew. 
  The third, a tunic of soft Cashmere wool,
  On which, by skillful needles deftly wrought,
  The race itself as if in life stood forth. 
  The fourth, a belt to gird the laggard’s loins
  And whip to stimulate his laggard steeds.

  And thus arrayed they moved once round the course,
  Then to the palace, as a fitter place
  For beauty’s contest than the open plain;
  The singers chanting a triumphal hymn,
  While many instruments, deep toned and shrill,
  And all the multitude, the chorus swell.