He said; they all in silence heard his speech: Only Euryalus, a godlike chief, Son of Mecistheus, Talaion’s son, Stood forth opposing; he had once in Thebes Join’d in the fun’ral games of Œdipus, And there had vanquish’d all of Cadmian race. On him attended valiant Diomed, With cheering words, and wishes of success. Around his waist he fasten’d first the belt, Then gave the well-cut gauntlets for his hands. Of wild bull’s hide. When both were thus equipp’d, Into the centre of the ring they stepp’d: There, face to face, with sinewy arms uprais’d, They stood awhile, then clos’d; strong hand with hand Mingling, in rapid interchange of blows. Dire was the clatter of their jaws; the sweat Pour’d forth, profuse, from ev’ry limb; then rush’d Epeius on, and full upon the cheek, Half turn’d aside, let fall a stagg’ring blow; Nor stood Euryalus; but, legs and feet Knock’d from beneath him, prone to earth he fell; And as a fish, that flounders on the sand, Thrown by rude Boreas on the weedy beach, Till cover’d o’er by the returning wave; So flounder’d he beneath that stunning blow. But brave Epeius took him by the hand, And rais’d him up; his comrades crowded round And bore him from the field, with dragging steps, Spitting forth clotted gore, his heavy head Rolling from side to side; within his tent They laid him down, unconscious; to the ring Then back returning, bore away the cup. Achilles next before the Greeks display’d The prizes of the hardy wrestlers’ skill: The victor’s prize, a tripod vast, fire-proof, And at twelve oxen by the Greeks apprais’d; And for the vanquish’d man, a female slave Pric’d at four oxen, skill’d in household work. Then rose, and loudly to the Greeks proclaim’d, “Stand forth, whoe’er this contest will essay.” He said; and straight uprose the giant form Of Ajax Telamon; with him uprose Ulysses, skill’d in ev’ry crafty wile. Girt with the belt, within the ring they stood, And each, with stalwart grasp, laid hold on each; As stand two rafters of a lofty house, Each propping each, by skilful architect Design’d the tempest’s fury to withstand. Creak’d their backbones beneath the tug and strain Of those strong arms; their sweat pour’d down like rain; And bloody weals of livid purple hue Their sides and shoulders streak’d, as sternly they For vict’ry and the well-wrought tripod strove. Nor could Ulysses Ajax overthrow, Nor Ajax bring Ulysses to the ground, So stubbornly he stood; but when the Greeks Were weary of the long-protracted strife, Thus to Ulysses mighty Ajax spoke: “Ulysses sage, Laertes’ godlike son, Or lift thou me, or I will thee uplift: The issue of our struggle rests with Jove.”