That man shall fall, man's might is vain to save.
Another day, when in the early morn,
The chariot race was held upon the course,
Orestes came with many a charioteer.
One an Achaean, one a Spartan, was;
Two with their cars from distant Lybia came;
Orestes with his steeds of Thessaly
The fifth, the sixth was an Aetolian,
With bright bay steeds; then a Magnesian,
Then with white steeds an Aeneanian came;
Athens, the god-built city, sent the ninth;
In the tenth chariot a Boeotian rode.
Taking their stand, each where his lot was drawn,
And as the masters of the games ordained,
At trumpet's sound they started, and at once,
All shouting to their steeds, they shook the reins
To urge them onwards, while the course was filled
With din of rattling chariots; rose the dust
In clouds, the racers, mingled in a throng,
Plied, each of them, the goad unsparingly,
To clear the press of cars and snorting steeds,
So close, they felt the horses' breath behind,
And all the whirling wheels were flecked with foam.
Orestes showed his skill once and again,
Grazing the pillar at the course's end,
The near horse well in hand, his mate let go.
So far had all the chariots safely run;
But now the hard-mouthed Aeneanian steeds
O'erpowered their driver, and in wheeling round,
Just as, the sixth stretch past, the seventh began,