The Fall of Troy [36]
Thetis unto him A chariot and fleet steeds, which theretofore Mighty Patroclus from the ranks of Troy Drave, when he slew Sarpedon, seed of Zeus, These to his henchmen gave Idomeneus To drive unto the ships: himself remained Still sitting in the glorious athlete-ring. Then Phoenix to the stalwart Argives cried: "Now to Idomeneus the Gods have given A fair prize uncontested, free of toil Of mighty arms and shoulders, honouring The elder-born with bloodless victory. But lo, ye younger men, another prize Awaiteth the swift play of cunning hands. Step forth then: gladden great Peleides' soul."
He spake, they heard; but each on other looked, And, loth to essay the contest, all sat still, Till Neleus' son rebuked those laggard souls: "Friends, it were shame that men should shun the play Of clenched hands, who in that noble sport Have skill, wherein young men delight, which links Glory to toil. Ah that my thews were strong As when we held King Pelias' funeral-feast, I and Acastus, kinsmen joining hands, When I with godlike Polydeuces stood In gauntlet-strife, in even-balanced fray, And when Ancaeus in the wrestlers' ring Mightier than all beside, yet feared and shrank From me, and dared not strive with me that day, For that ere then amidst the Epeian men -- No battle-blenchers they! -- I had vanquished him, For all his might, and dashed him to the dust By dead Amaryncus' tomb, and thousands round Sat marvelling at my prowess and my strength. Therefore against me not a second time Raised he his hands, strong wrestler though he were; And so I won an uncontested prize. But now old age is on me, and many griefs. Therefore I bid you, whom it well beseems, To win the prize; for glory crowns the youth Who bears away the meed of athlete-strife."
Stirred by his gallant chiding, a brave man Rose, son of haughty godlike Panopeus, The man who framed the Horse, the bane of Troy, Not long thereafter. None dared meet him now In play of fists, albeit in deadly craft Of war, when Ares rusheth through the field, He was not cunning. But for strife of hands The fair prize uncontested had been won By stout Epeius -- yea, he was at point To bear it thence unto the Achaean ships; But one strode forth to meet him, Theseus' son, The spearman Acamas, the mighty of heart, Bearing already on his swift hands girt The hard hide-gauntlets, which Evenor's son Agelaus on his prince's hands had drawn With courage-kindling words. The comrades then Of Panopeus' princely son for Epeius raised A heartening cheer. He like a lion stood Forth in the midst, his strong hands gauntleted With bull's hide hard as horn. Loud rang the cheers From side to side of that great throng, to fire The courage of the mighty ones to clash Hands in the gory play. Sooth, little spur Needed they for their eagerness for fight. But, ere they closed, they flashed out proving blows To wot if still, as theretofore, their arms Were limber and lithe, unclogged by toil of war; Then faced each other, and upraised their hands With ever-watching eyes, and short quick steps A-tiptoe, and with ever-shifting feet, Each still eluding other's crushing might. Then with a rush they closed like thunder-clouds Hurled on each other by the tempest-blast, Flashing forth lightnings, while the welkin thrills As clash the clouds and hollow roar the winds; So 'neath the hard hide-gauntlets clashed their jaws. Down streamed the blood, and from their brows the sweat Blood-streaked made on the flushed cheeks crimson bars. Fierce without pause they fought, and never flagged Epeius, but threw all his stormy strength Into his onrush. Yet did Theseus' son Never lose heart, but baffled the straight blows Of those strong hands, and by his fighting-craft Flinging them right and left, leapt in, brought home A blow to his eyebrow, cutting to the bone. Even then with counter-stroke Epeius reached Acamas' temple, and hurled him to the ground. Swift he sprang up, and on his stalwart foe Rushed, smote his head: as he rushed in again, The other, slightly swerving, sent his left Clean to his brow; his right, with all his
He spake, they heard; but each on other looked, And, loth to essay the contest, all sat still, Till Neleus' son rebuked those laggard souls: "Friends, it were shame that men should shun the play Of clenched hands, who in that noble sport Have skill, wherein young men delight, which links Glory to toil. Ah that my thews were strong As when we held King Pelias' funeral-feast, I and Acastus, kinsmen joining hands, When I with godlike Polydeuces stood In gauntlet-strife, in even-balanced fray, And when Ancaeus in the wrestlers' ring Mightier than all beside, yet feared and shrank From me, and dared not strive with me that day, For that ere then amidst the Epeian men -- No battle-blenchers they! -- I had vanquished him, For all his might, and dashed him to the dust By dead Amaryncus' tomb, and thousands round Sat marvelling at my prowess and my strength. Therefore against me not a second time Raised he his hands, strong wrestler though he were; And so I won an uncontested prize. But now old age is on me, and many griefs. Therefore I bid you, whom it well beseems, To win the prize; for glory crowns the youth Who bears away the meed of athlete-strife."
Stirred by his gallant chiding, a brave man Rose, son of haughty godlike Panopeus, The man who framed the Horse, the bane of Troy, Not long thereafter. None dared meet him now In play of fists, albeit in deadly craft Of war, when Ares rusheth through the field, He was not cunning. But for strife of hands The fair prize uncontested had been won By stout Epeius -- yea, he was at point To bear it thence unto the Achaean ships; But one strode forth to meet him, Theseus' son, The spearman Acamas, the mighty of heart, Bearing already on his swift hands girt The hard hide-gauntlets, which Evenor's son Agelaus on his prince's hands had drawn With courage-kindling words. The comrades then Of Panopeus' princely son for Epeius raised A heartening cheer. He like a lion stood Forth in the midst, his strong hands gauntleted With bull's hide hard as horn. Loud rang the cheers From side to side of that great throng, to fire The courage of the mighty ones to clash Hands in the gory play. Sooth, little spur Needed they for their eagerness for fight. But, ere they closed, they flashed out proving blows To wot if still, as theretofore, their arms Were limber and lithe, unclogged by toil of war; Then faced each other, and upraised their hands With ever-watching eyes, and short quick steps A-tiptoe, and with ever-shifting feet, Each still eluding other's crushing might. Then with a rush they closed like thunder-clouds Hurled on each other by the tempest-blast, Flashing forth lightnings, while the welkin thrills As clash the clouds and hollow roar the winds; So 'neath the hard hide-gauntlets clashed their jaws. Down streamed the blood, and from their brows the sweat Blood-streaked made on the flushed cheeks crimson bars. Fierce without pause they fought, and never flagged Epeius, but threw all his stormy strength Into his onrush. Yet did Theseus' son Never lose heart, but baffled the straight blows Of those strong hands, and by his fighting-craft Flinging them right and left, leapt in, brought home A blow to his eyebrow, cutting to the bone. Even then with counter-stroke Epeius reached Acamas' temple, and hurled him to the ground. Swift he sprang up, and on his stalwart foe Rushed, smote his head: as he rushed in again, The other, slightly swerving, sent his left Clean to his brow; his right, with all his