and so gay, That draw the burning chariot of the day. Old as I am, to age I scorn to yield, And daily mingle in the martial field; But sure till now no coursers struck my sight Like these, con****uous through the ranks of fight. Some god, I deem, conferred the glorious prize, Bless'd as ye are, and favourites of the skies; The care of him who bids the thunder roar, And her, whose fury bathes the world with gore." "Father! not so, (sage Ithacus rejoin'd,) The gifts of heaven are of a nobler kind. Of Thracian lineage are the steeds ye view, Whose hostile king the brave Tydides slew; Sleeping he died, with all his guards around, And twelve beside lay gasping on the ground. These other spoils from conquer'd Dolon came, A wretch, whose swiftness was his only fame; By Hector sent our forces to explore, He now lies headless on the sandy shore." Then o'er the trench the bounding coursers flew; The joyful Greeks with loud acclaim pursue. Straight t