Page:Homer - Iliad, translation Pope, 1909.djvu/414

412 Which late obeyed the Dardan chief's command,

When scarce a god redeemed him from his hand.

Then Menelaiis his Podargus brings,

And the famed courser of the king of kings:

Whom rich Echepolus, more rich than brave,

To 'scape the wars, to Agamemnon gave,

Æthe her name, at home to end his days,

Base wealth preferring to eternal praise.

Next him Antilochus demands the course,

With beating heart, and cheers his Pylian horse.

Experienced Nestor gives his son the reins,

Directs his judgment, and his heat restrains;

Nor idly warns the hoary sire, nor hears

The prudent son with unattending ears:

"My son, though youthful ardour fire thy breast,

The gods have loved thee, and with arts have blessed.

Neptune and Jove on thee conferred the skill

Swift round the goal to turn the flying wheel.

To guide thy conduct, little precept needs;

But slow, and past their vigour, are my steeds.

Fear not thy rivals, though for swiftness known,

Compare those rivals' judgment, and thy own:

It is not strength, but art, obtains the prize,

And to be swift is less than to be wise:

'Tis more by art, than force of numerous strokes,

The dexterous woodman shapes the stubborn oaks;

By art the pilot, through the boiling deep

And howling tempests, steers the fearless ship;

And 'tis the artist wins the glorious course,

Not those who trust in chariots and in horse.

Is vain, unskilful, to the goal they strive,

And short, or wide, the ungoverned courser drive:

While with sure skill, though with inferior steeds,

The knowing racer to his end proceeds;

Fixed on the goal his eye fore-runs the course,

His hand unerring steers the steady horse,

And now contracts, or now extends, the rein,

Observing still the foremost on the plain.

Mark then the goal, 'tis easy to be found;

Yon aged trunk, a cubit from the ground;

Of some once-stately oak the last remains,

Or hardy fir, unperished with the rains;

Enclosed with stones, conspicuous from afar,

And round, a circle for the wheeling car.

Some tomb perhaps of old, the dead to grace;

Or then, as now, the limit of a race.

Bear close to this, and warily proceed,

A little bending to the left-hand steed;

But urge the right, and give him all the reins;