Touch’d at the song, Ulysses straight resign’d
To soft affliction all his manly mind. 
Before his eyes the purple vest he drew,
Industrious to conceal the falling dew;
But when the music paused, he ceased to shed
The flowing tear, and raised his drooping head;
And, lifting to the gods a goblet crown’d,
He pour’d a pure libation to the ground.

Transported with the song, the listening train
Again with loud applause demand the strain;
Again Ulysses veil’d his pensive head. 
Again unmann’d, a shower of sorrows shed;
Conceal’d he wept; the king observed alone
The silent tear, and heard the secret groan;
Then to the bard aloud—­“O cease to sing,
Dumb be thy voice and mute the harmonious string;
Enough the feast has pleased, enough the power
Of heavenly song has crown’d the genial hour! 
Incessant in the games your strength display,
Contest, ye brave the honours of the day! 
That pleased the admiring stranger may proclaim
In distant regions the Phaeacian fame: 
None wield the gauntlet with so dire a sway,
Or swifter in the race devour the way;
None in the leap spring with so strong a bound,
Or firmer, in the wrestling, press the ground.”

Thus spoke the king; the attending peers obey;
In state they move, Alcinous lends the way;
His golden lyre Demodocus unstrung,
High on a column in the palace hung;
And guided by a herald’s guardian cares,
Majestic to the lists of Fame repairs.

Now swarms the populace:  a countless throng,
Youth and boar age; and man drives man along. 
The games begin; ambitious of the prize,
Acroneus, Thoon, and Eretmeus rise;
The prize Ocyalus and Prymneus claim,
Anchialus and Ponteus, chiefs of fame. 
There Proreus, Nautes, Eratreus, appear
And famed Amphialus, Polyneus’ heir;
Euryalus, like Mars terrific, rose,
When clad in wrath he withers hosts of foes;
Naubolides with grace unequall’d shone,
Or equall’d by Laodamas alone. 
With these came forth Ambasineus the strong: 
And three brave sons, from great Alcinous sprung.

Ranged in a line the ready racers stand,
Start from the goal, and vanish o’er the strand: 
Swift as on wings of winds, upborne they fly,
And drifts of rising dust involve the sky. 
Before the rest, what space the hinds allow
Between the mule and ox, from plough to plough,
Clytonius sprung:  he wing’d the rapid way,
And bore the unrivall’d honours of the day. 
With fierce embrace the brawny wrestlers join;
The conquest, great Euryalus, is thine. 
Amphialus sprung forward with a bound,
Superior in the leap, a length of ground. 
From Elatreus’ strong arm the discus flies,
And sings with unmatch’d force along the skies. 
And Laodam whirls high, with dreadful sway,
The gloves of death, victorious in the fray.

While thus the peerage in the games contends,
In act to speak, Laodamas ascends.