experienced Merion took the word; And skilful Teucer: in the helm they threw Their lots inscribed, and forth the latter flew. Swift from the string the sounding arrow flies; But flies unbless'd! No grateful sacrifice, No firstling lambs, unheedful! didst thou vow To Phoebus, patron of the shaft and bow. For this, thy well-aim'd arrow turn'd aside, Err'd from the dove, yet cut the cord that tied: Adown the mainmast fell the parted string, And the free bird to heaven displays her wing: Sea, shores, and skies, with loud applause resound, And Merion eager meditates the wound: He takes the bow, directs the shaft above, And following with his eye the soaring dove, Implores the god to speed it through the skies, With vows of firstling lambs, and grateful sacrific The dove, in airy circles as she wheels, Amid the clouds the piercing arrow feels; Quite through and through the point its passage found, And at his feet fell bloody to the ground. The wounded bird, ere yet she breathed her last, With flagging wings alighted on the mast, A moment hung, and spread her pinions there, Then sudden dropp'd, and left her life in air. From the pleased crowd new peals of thunder rise, And to the ships brave Merion bears the prize. To close the funeral games, Achilles last A massy spear amid the circle placed, And ample charger of unsullied frame, With flowers high-wrought, not blacken'd yet by flame. For these he bids the heroes prove their art, Whose dexterous skill directs the flying dart. Here too great Merion hopes the noble prize; Nor here disdain'd the king of men to rise. With joy Pelides saw the honour paid, Rose to the monarch, and respectful said: "Thee first in virtue, as in power supreme, O king of nations! all thy Greeks proclaim; In every martial game thy worth attest, And know thee both their greatest and their best. Take then the prize, but let brave Merion bear This beamy javelin in thy