First brawny wrestlers, shining from the bath, Wary and watchful, quick with arm and eye, After long play clinch close, arms twined, knees locked, Each nerve and muscle strained, and stand as still As if a bronze from Vulcan's fabled shop, Or else by power of magic changed to stone In that supremest moment, when a breath Or feather's weight would tip the balanced scale; And when they fall the shouts from hill to hill Sound like the voices of the mighty deep, As wave on wave breaks on the rock-bound shore. Then boxers, eye to eye and foot to foot, One arm at guard, the other raised to strike. The hurlers of the quoit next stand in line, Measure the distance with experienced eye, Adjust the rings, swing them with growing speed, Until at length on very tiptoe poised, Like Mercury just lighted on the earth, With mighty force they whirl them through the air. And then the spearmen, having for a mark A lion rampant, standing as in life, So distant that it seemed but half life-size, Each vital part marked with a little ring. And when the spears were hurled, six trembling stood Fixed in the beast, piercing each vital part, Leaving the victory in even scale. For these was set far off a lesser mark, Until at length by chance, not lack of skill, The victory so long in doubt was won. And then again the people wildly shout, The prince victor and nobly vanquished praised. Next runners, lithe and light, glide round the plain, Whose flying feet like Mercury's seemed winged, Their chests expanded, and their swinging arms Like oars to guide and speed their rapid course; And as they passed along the people cheered Each well-known master of the manly art.