Closing Cadences

Abstract Then he stood up and spoke to the Argives: ’Son of Atreus, and you other well-greaved Achaians, these prizes set out in your gathering here are the prizes that await the charioteers. Now if we Achaians were holding these games at any other man’s death, I would certainly take first place and carry the prize away to my hut. You know how far my horses excel all others, as they are immortal horses, given by Poseidon to my father Peleus, and he then handed them to me. But I and my strong-footed horses will stay here, out of the race. They have lost their great and glorious charioteer, that gentle man who so often would pour soft olive oil down over their manes after washing them in bright water. So they stand there grieving for him, and their manes trail on the ground-there is sorrow in their hearts, and they will not move. But the rest of you get ready now, any Achaian in the camp who is confident in his horses and strongly-made chariot.