lost Patroclus lies, For ever snatch'd from our desiring eyes! Take thou this token of a grateful heart, Though 'tis not thine to hurl the distant dart, The quoit to toss, the ponderous mace to wield, Or urge the race, or wrestle on the field: Thy pristine vigour age has overthrown, But left the glory of the past thy own." He said, and placed the goblet at his side; With joy the venerable king replied: "Wisely and well, my son, thy words have proved A senior honour'd, and a friend beloved! Too true it is, deserted of my strength, These wither'd arms and limbs have fail'd at length. Oh! had I now that force I felt of yore, Known through Buprasium and the Pylian shore! Victorious then in every solemn game, Ordain'd to Amarynces' mighty name; The brave Epeians gave my glory way, Ćtolians, Pylians, all resign'd the day. I quell'd Clytomedes in fights of hand, And backward hurl'd Ancaeus on the sand, Surpass'd Iphyclus in the swift career, Phyleus and Polydorus with the spear. The sons of Actor won the prize of horse, But won by numbers, not by art or force: For the famed twins, impatient to survey Prize after prize by Nestor borne away, Sprung to their car; and with united pains One lash'd the coursers, while one ruled the reins. Such once I was! Now to these tasks succeeds A younger race, that emulate our deeds: I yield, alas! (to age who must not yield?) Though once the foremost hero of the field. Go thou, my son! by generous friendship led, With martial honours decorate the dead: While pleased I take the gift thy hands present, (Pledge of benevolence, and kind intent,) Rejoiced, of all the numerous Greeks, to see Not one but honours sacred age and me: Those due distinctions thou so well canst pay, May the just gods return another day!" Proud of the gift, thus spake the full of days: Achilles heard him, prouder of the praise. The prizes next are order'd to the field, For the