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ULYSSES WITH THE PHÆACIANS
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vent to an ungracious taunt. Their guest, he says, is plainly no hero, nor versed in the noble science of athletics; he must be some skipper of a merchantman, "whose talk is all of cargoes." He brings down upon himself a grand rebuke from Ulysses:—

"Man, thou hast not said well; a fool thou art. Not all fair gifts to all cloth God divide, Eloquence, beauty, and a noble heart. One seems in mien poor, but his feebler part God crowns with language, that men learn to love The form, so feelingly the sweet words dart Within them. First in councils he doth prove, And, 'mid the crowd observant, like a god doth move.
"Another, though in mould of form and face Like the immortal gods he seems to be, Hath no wise word to crown the outward grace So is thine aspect fair exceedingly, Wherein no blemish even a god might see; Yet is thine understanding wholly vain."

Then the hero who has thrown the mighty Ajax in the wrestling-ring, who is swifter of foot than any Greek except Achilles, and who has been awarded that matchless hero's arms as the prize of valour against all competitors,—rises in his wrath, and gives his gay entertainers a taste of his quality. Not deigning even to throw off his mantle, he seizes a huge stone quoit, and hurls it, after a single swing, far beyond the point reached by any of the late competitors. The astonished islanders crouch to the ground as it sings through the air above their heads. Once roused, Ulysses launches out into the self-assertion which has been remarked as being common to all

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