the Pylian sage: "Lest thirst of glory your brave souls divide, What chief shall combat, let the gods decide. Whom heaven shall choose, be his the chance to raise His country's fame, his own immortal praise." The lots produced, each hero signs his own: Then in the general's helm the fates are thrown,(181) The people pray, with lifted eyes and hands, And vows like these ascend from all the bands: "Grant, thou Almighty! in whose hand is fate, A worthy champion for the Grecian state: This task let Ajax or Tydides prove, Or he, the king of kings, beloved by Jove." Old Nestor shook the casque. By heaven inspired, Leap'd forth the lot, of every Greek desired. This from the right to left the herald bears, Held out in order to the Grecian peers; Each to his rival yields the mark unknown, Till godlike Ajax finds the lot his own; Surveys the inscription with rejoicing eyes, Then casts before him, and with transport cries: "Warriors! I claim the lot,