sumptuous cars, and fling The charioteers contending for the prize Upon the dusty track. With angry words The fair-haired Menelaus chided thus:—
“Antilochus, there is no man so prone As thou to mischief, and we greatly err, We Greeks, who call thee wise. Go now, and yet Thou shalt not take the prize without an oath.”
Again he spake, encouraging his steeds: “Check not your speed, nor sorrowfully stand: Their feet and knees will fail with weariness Before your own; they are no longer young.”
He spake; the coursers, honoring his voice. Ran with fresh speed, and soon were near to those Of Nestor’s son. Meantime the assembled Greeks Sat looking where the horses scoured the plain And filled the air with dust. Idomeneus, The lord of Crete, descried the coursers first, For on a height he sat above the crowd. He heard the chief encouraging his steeds, And knew him, and he marked before the rest A courser, chestnut-colored save a spot Upon the middle of the forehead, white, And round as the full moon. And then he stood Upright, and from his place harangued the Greeks:—