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Rh His match is sought, but sought in vain:

Not one of all that mighty train

Has nerve the champion to defy

And round his hands the gauntlets tie.

So, filled with overweening might,

And thinking all declined the fight,

Before the chief he takes his stand,

Lays on the bullock's horn his hand,

And thus in triumph cries:

'Why, goddess-born, this vain delay?

If none dare venture on the fray,

How long shall justice be deferred?

'T were decent now to give the word

And bid me take the prize.'

With shouts the Trojan host agreed

And claimed their champion's promised meed.

Now with rebuke Acestes plies

Entellus, who beside him lies

Upon the grassy sward:

'Entellus, whom erewhile we thought

Our bravest hero, all for nought,

And will you then the strife forego,

And see borne off without a blow

The champion's proud reward?

Where now the pupil's loyal pride

In mighty Eryx deified,

The fame that spread Trinacria o'er,

The trophies hanging from your door?'

'Nay,' cries the chief, 'no coward dread

Has made ambition hide her head:

But strength is slack in limbs grown old,

And aged blood runs dull and cold.

Had I the thing I once possessed,

Which makes yon braggart rear his crest,