“The prizes next are ordered to the field, For the bold champions who the cæstus wield; A stately mule, as yet by toil unbroke, Of six years’ age, unconscious of the yoke, Is to the circus led and firmly bound: Next stands a goblet, massive, large, and round. Achilles, rising, thus: ‘Let Greece excite Two heroes equal to this hardy fight; Who dares the foe with lifted arms provoke, And rush beneath the swift descending stroke, On whom Apollo shall the palm bestow, And whom the Greeks supreme by conquest know, This mule his dauntless labours shall repay: The vanquished bear the massy bowl away.’ This dreadful combat great Epeus chose. High o’er the crowd, enormous bulk! he rose, And seized the beast, and thus began to say: ‘Stand forth some man to bear the bowl away! Price of his ruin; for who dares deny This mule my right, the undoubted victor I? Others, ’tis owned, in fields of battle shine, But the first honours of this fight are mine. For who excels in all? Then let my foe Draw near, but first his certain fortune know, Secure, this hand shall his whole frame confound, Mash all his bones, and all his body pound: So let his friends be nigh, a needful train, To heave the battered carcase off the plain.’ The giant spoke; and in a stupid gaze The host beheld him, silent with amaze! ’Twas thou, Euryalus! who durst aspire To meet his might, and emulate thy sire, The great Megestheus, who, in days of yore, In Theban games the noblest trophy bore— (The games ordain’d dead Œdipus to grace), And singly vanquished the Cadmæan race. Him great Tydides urges to contend, Warm with the hopes of conquest for his friend: Officious with the cincture girds him round; And to his wrists _the gloves of death_ are bound. Amid the circle now each champion stands, And poises high in air his iron hands: With clashing gauntlets now they fiercely close, Their crackling jaws re-echo to the blows, And painful sweat from all their members flows. At length Epeus dealt a weighty blow Full on the cheek of his unwary foe; Beneath the ponderous arm’s resistless sway Down dropp’d he nerveless, and extended lay. As a large fish, when winds and waters roar, By some huge billow dash’d against the shore, Lies panting: not less battered with the wound The bleeding hero pants upon the ground. To rear his fallen foe the victor lends, Scornful, his hand, and gives him to his friends. Whose arms support him reeling through the throng,