625
Their yet remaining ground shorten’d apace,
Sprinkling with dusty drops at every stroke
Their charioteer, while close upon their heels
Radiant with tin and gold the chariot ran,
Scarce tracking light the dust, so swift they flew. 630
He stood in the mid-circus; there the sweat
Rain’d under them from neck and chest profuse,
And Diomede from his resplendent seat
Leaping, reclined his scourge against the yoke. 
Nor was his friend brave Sthenelus remiss, 635
But, seizing with alacrity the prize,
Consign’d the tripod and the virgin, first,
To his own band in charge; then, loosed the steeds. 
Next came, by stratagem, not speed advanced
To that distinction, Nestor’s son, whom yet 640
The hero Menelaus close pursued
Near as the wheel runs to a courser’s heels,
Drawing his master at full speed; his tail
With its extremest hairs the felly sweeps
That close attends him o’er the spacious plain, 645
So near had Menelaus now approach’d
Antilochus; for though at first he fell
A full quoit’s cast behind, he soon retrieved
That loss, with such increasing speed the mare
Bright-maned of Agamemnon, AEthe, ran; 650
She, had the course few paces more to both
Afforded, should have clearly shot beyond
Antilochus, nor dubious left the prize. 
But noble Menelaus threw behind
Meriones, companion in the field, 655
Of King Idomeneus, a lance’s flight,
For slowest were his steeds, and he, to rule
The chariot in the race, least skill’d of all. 
Last came Eumelus drawing to the goal,
Himself, his splendid chariot, and his mares 660
Driving before him.  Peleus’ rapid son
Beheld him with compassion, and, amid
The Argives, in wing’d accents thus he spake. 
Here comes the most expert, driving his steeds
Before him.  Just it were that he received 665
The second prize; Tydides claims the first. 
He said, and all applauded the award. 
Then had Achilles to Eumelus given
The mare (for such the pleasure seem’d of all)
Had not the son of mighty Nestor risen, 670
Antilochus, who pleaded thus his right. 
Achilles! acting as thou hast proposed,
Thou shalt offend me much, for thou shalt take
The prize from me, because the Gods, his steeds
And chariot-yoke disabling, render’d vain 675
His efforts, and no failure of his own. 
It was his duty to have sought the Gods
In prayer, then had he not, following on foot
His coursers, hindmost of us all arrived. 
But if thou pity him, and deem it good, 680
Thou hast much gold, much brass, and many sheep
In thy pavilion; thou hast maidens fair,
And coursers also.  Of thy proper stores
Hereafter give to him a richer prize