Book V

Meanwhile Aeneas, now well launched away,

steered forth with all the fleet to open sea,

on his unswerving course, and ploughed the waves,

sped by a driving gale; but when his eyes

looked back on Carthage , they beheld the glare

of hapless Dido's fire. Not yet was known

what kindled the wild flames; but that the pang

of outraged love is cruel, and what the heart

of desperate woman dares, they knew too well,

and sad foreboding shook each Trojan soul.

Soon in mid-sea, beyond all chart of shore,

when only seas and skies were round their way,

full in the zenith loomed a purple cloud,

storm-laden, dark as night, and every wave

grew black and angry; from his Iofty seat

the helmsman Palinurus cried, “Alas!

What means this host of storms encircling heaven?

What, Neptune, wilt thou now?” He, having said,

bade reef and tighten, bend to stronger stroke,

and slant sail to the wind; then spake again:

“High-souled Aeneas, not if Jove the King

gave happy omen, would I have good hope

of making Italy through yonder sky.

Athwart our course from clouded evening-star

rebellious winds run shifting, and the air

into a cloud-wrack rolls. Against such foes

too weak our strife and strain! Since now the hand

of Fortune triumphs, let us where she calls

obedient go. For near us, I believe,

lies Eryx ' faithful and fraternal shore:

here are Sicilian havens, if my mind

of yon familiar stars have knowledge true.”

then good Aeneas: “For a friendly wind

long have I sued, and watched thee vainly strive.

Shift sail! What happier land for me and mine,

or for our storm-beat ships what safer shore,

than where Dardanian Acestes reigns;

the land whose faithful bosom cherishes

Anchises' ashes?” Heedful of his word,

they landward steer, while favoring zephyrs fill

the spreading sail. On currents swift and strong

the fleet is wafted, and with thankful soul

they moor on Sicily 's familiar strand.

From a far hill-top having seen with joy

the entering ships, and knowing them for friends,

good King Acestes ran to bid them hail.

Garbed in rough pelt of Libyan bear was he,

and javelins he bore, in sylvan guise:

for him the river-god Crimisus sired

of Trojan wife. Remembering in his heart

his ancient blood, he greeted with glad words

the wanderers returned; bade welcome to

his rude abundance, and with friendly gifts

their weariness consoled. The morrow morn,

soon as the new beams of a golden day

had banished every star, Aeneas called

a council of his followers on the shore,

and from a fair green hillock gave this word:

“Proud sons of Dardanus, whose lofty line

none but the gods began! This day fulfils

the annual cycle of revolving time,

since the dear relics of my god-like sire

to earth we gave, and with dark offerings due

built altars sorrowful. If now I err not,

this is my day—ye gods have willed it so! —

for mourning and for praise. Should it befall

me exiled in Gaetulia's wilderness,

or sailing some Greek sea, or at the walls

of dire Mycenae , still would I renew

unfailing vows, and make solemnity

with thankful rites, and worshipful array,

at altars rich with gifts. But, lo, we come,

beyond all hope, where lie the very bones

of my great sire. Nor did it come to pass

without divine intent and heavenly power,

that on these hospitable shores we stand.

Up, then! For we will make a festal day,

imploring lucky winds! O, may his spirit

grant me to build my city, where his shrines

forever shall receive perpetual vows

made in his name! This prince of Trojan line,

Acestes, upon every ship bestows

a pair of oxen. To our offerings call

the powers that bless the altars and the fires

of our ancestral hearth; and join with these

the gods of good Acestes. Presently,

when the ninth dawn shall bring its beam benign

to mortal men, and show the radiant world,

or all my Teucrian people I ordain

a holiday of games; the flying ships

shall first contend; then swiftest runners try

a foot-race; after that the champions bold

who step forth for a cast of javelins,

or boast the soaring arrow; or fear not

the boxing-bout, with gauntlet of thick thongs.

This summons is for all; let all have hope

to earn some noble palm! And from this hour

speak but well-boding words, and bind your brows

with garlands green.” So saying, he twined a wreath

of his own mother's myrtle-tree, to shade

his sacred brow; the hero Helymus,

and King Acestes for his tresses gray,

like coronals took on; Ascanius

and all the warrior youth like emblems wore.

Then in th' attendant throng conspicuous,

with thousands at his side, the hero moved

from place of council to his father's tomb.

There on the ground he poured libation due,

two beakers of good wine, of sweet milk two,

two of the victim's blood—and scattered flowers

of saddest purple stain, while thus he prayed:

“Hail, hallowed sire! And hail, ye ashes dear

of him I vainly saved! O soul and shade

of my blest father! Heaven to us denied

to find together that predestined land

of Italy , or our Ausonian stream

of Tiber—ah! but where?” He scarce had said,

when from the central shrine a gliding snake,

coiled seven-fold in seven spirals wide,

twined round the tomb and trailed innocuous o'er

the very altars; his smooth back was flecked

with green and azure, and his changeful scales

gleamed golden, as the cloud-born rainbow flings

its thousand colors from th' opposing sun.

Aeneas breathless watched the serpent wind

among the bowls and cups of polished rim,

tasting the sacred feast; where, having fed,

back to the tomb all harmless it withdrew.

Then with new zeal his sacrifice he brings

in honor of his sire; for he must deem

that serpent the kind genius of the place,

or of his very father's present shade

some creature ministrant. Two lambs he slew,

the wonted way, two swine, and, sable-hued,

the yoke of bulls; from shallow bowl he poured

libation of the grape, and called aloud

on great Anchises' spirit, and his shade,

from Acheron set free. Then all the throng,

each from his separate store, heap up the shrines

with victims slain; some range in order fair

the brazen cauldrons; or along the grass,

scattered at ease, hold o'er the embers bright

the spitted flesh and roast it in the flames.

Arrived the wished-for day; through cloudless sky

the coursers of the Sun's bright-beaming car

bore upward the ninth morn. The neighboring folk

thronged eager to the shore; some hoped to see

Aeneas and his warriors, others fain

would their own prowess prove in bout and game.

Conspicuous lie the rewards, ranged in sight

in the mid-circus; wreaths of laurel green,

the honored tripod, coronals of palm

for conquerors' brows, accoutrements of war,

rare robes of purple stain, and generous weight

of silver and of gold. The trumpet's call

proclaimed from lofty mound the opening games.

First, side by side, with sturdy, rival oars,

four noble galleys, pride of all the fleet,

come forward to contend. The straining crew

of Mnestheus bring his speedy Pristis on, —

Mnestheus in Italy erelong the sire

of Memmius' noble line. Brave Gyas guides

his vast Chimaera, a colossal craft,

a floating city, by a triple row

of Dardan sailors manned, whose banks of oars

in triple order rise. Sergestus, he

of whom the Sergian house shall after spring,

rides in his mighty Centaur. Next in line,

on sky-blue Scylla proud Cloanthus rides —

whence thy great stem, Cluentius of Rome !

Fronting the surf-beat shore, far out at sea

rises a rock, which under swollen waves

lies buffeted unseen, when wintry storms

mantle the stars; but when the deep is calm,

lifts silently above the sleeping wave

its level field,—a place where haunt and play

flocks of the sea-birds, Iovers of the sun.

Here was the goal; and here Aeneas set

a green-leaved flex-tree, to be a mark

for every captain's eye, from whence to veer

the courses of their ships in sweeping curves

and speed them home. Now places in the line

are given by lot. Upon the lofty sterns

the captains ride, in beautiful array

of Tyriao purple and far-flaming gold;

the crews are poplar-crowned, the shoulders bare

rubbed well with glittering oil; their straining arms

make long reach to the oar, as on the thwarts

they sit attentive, listening for the call

of the loud trumpet; while with pride and fear

their hot hearts throb, impassioned for renown.

Soon pealed the signal clear; from all the line

instant the galleys bounded, and the air

rang to the rowers, shouting, while their arms

pulled every inch and flung the waves in foam;

deep cut the rival strokes; the surface fair

yawned wide beneath their blades and cleaving keels.

Not swifter scour the chariots o'er the plain,

sped headlong from the line behind their teams

of mated coursers, while each driver shakes

loose, rippling reins above his plunging pairs,

and o'er the lash leans far. With loud applause

vociferous and many an urgent cheer

the woodlands rang, and all the concave shores

back from the mountains took the Trojan cry

in answering song. Forth-flying from his peers,

while all the crowd acclaims, sped Gyas' keel

along the outmost wave. Cloanthus next

pushed hard upon, with stronger stroke of oars

but heavier ship. At equal pace behind

the Pristis and the Centaur fiercely strive

for the third place. Now Pristis seems to lead,

now mightier Centaur past her flies, then both

ride on together, prow with prow, and cleave

long lines of foaming furrow with swift keels.

Soon near the rock they drew, and either ship

was making goal,—when Gyas, in the lead,

and winner of the half-course, Ioudly hailed

menoetes, the ship's pilot: “Why so far

to starboard, we? Keep her head round this way!

Hug shore! Let every oar-blade almost graze

that reef to larboard! Let the others take

the deep-sea course outside!” But while he spoke,

Menoetes, dreading unknown rocks below,

veered off to open sea. “Why steer so wide?

Round to the rock, Menoetes!” Gyas roared, —

again in vain, for looking back he saw

cloanthus hard astern, and ever nearer,

who, in a trice, betwixt the booming reef

and Gyas' galley, lightly forward thrust

the beak of Scylla to the inside course,

and, quickly taking lead, flew past the goal

to the smooth seas beyond. Then wrathful grief

flamed in the warrior's heart, nor was his cheek

unwet with tears; and, reckless utterly

of his own honor and his comrades, lives,

he hurled poor, slack Menoetes from the poop

headlong upon the waters, while himself,

pilot and master both, the helm assuming,

urged on his crew, and landward took his way.

But now, with heavy limbs that hardly won

his rescue from the deep, engulfing wave,

up the rude rock graybeard Menoetes climbed

with garment dripping wet, and there dropped down

upon the cliff's dry top. With laughter loud

the Trojan crews had watched him plunging, swimming,

and now to see his drink of bitter brine

spewed on the ground, the sailors laughed again.

But Mnestheus and Sergestus, coming last,

have joyful hope enkindled in each heart

to pass the laggard Gyas. In the lead

Sergestus' ship shoots forth; and to the rock

runs boldly nigh; but not his whole long keel

may pass his rival; the projecting beak

is followed fast by Pristis' emulous prow.

Then, striding straight amidships through his crew,

thus Mnestheus urged them on: “O Hector's friends!

Whom in the dying hours of Troy I chose

for followers! Now stand ye to your best!

Put forth the thews of valor that ye showed

in the Gaetulian Syrtes, or that sea

Ionian, or where the waves race by

the Malean promontory! Mnestheus now

hopes not to be the first, nor do I strive

for victory. O Father Neptune, give

that garland where thou wilt! But O, the shame

if we are last! Endure it not, my men!

The infamy refuse!” So, bending low,

they enter the home-stretch. Beneath their stroke

the brass-decked galley throbs, and under her

the sea-floor drops away. On, on they fly!

Parched are the panting lips, and sweat in streams

pours down their giant sides; but lucky chance

brought the proud heroes what their honor craved.

For while Sergestus furiously drove

his ship's beak toward the rock, and kept inside

the scanty passage, by his evil star

he grounded on the jutting reef; the cliffs

rang with the blow, and his entangled oars

grated along the jagged granite, while

the prow hung wrecked and helpless. With loud cry

upsprang the sailors, while the ship stood still,

and pushed off with long poles and pointed iron,

or snatched the smashed oars from the whirling tide.

Mnestheus exults; and, roused to keener strife

by happy fortune, with a quicker stroke

of each bright rank of oars, and with the breeze

his prayer implored, skims o'er the obedient wave

and sweeps the level main. Not otherwise

a startled dove, emerging o'er the fields

from secret cavern in the crannied hill

where her safe house and pretty nestlings lie,

soars from her nest, with whirring wings—but soon

through the still sky she takes her path of air

on pinions motionless. So Pristis sped

with Mnestheus, cleaving her last stretch of sea,

by her own impulse wafted. She outstripped

Sergestus first; for he upon the reef

fought with the breakers, desperately shouting

for help, for help in vain, with broken oars

contriving to move on. Then Mnestheus ran

past Gyas, in Chimaera's ponderous hulk,

of pilot now bereft; at last remains

Cloanthus his sole peer, whom he pursues

with a supreme endeavor. From the shore

burst echoing cheers that spur him to the chase,

and wild applause makes all the welkin ring.

The leaders now with eager souls would scorn

to Iose their glory, and faint-hearted fail

to grasp a prize half-won, but fain would buy

honor with life itself; the followers too

are flushed with proud success, and feel them strong

because their strength is proven. Both ships now

with indistinguishable prows had sped

to share one prize,—but with uplifted hands

spread o'er the sea, Cloanthus, suppliant,

called on the gods to bless his votive prayer:

“Ye gods who rule the waves, whose waters be

my pathway now; for you on yonder strand

a white bull at the altar shall be slain

in grateful tribute for a granted vow;

and o'er the salt waves I will scatter far

the entrails, and outpour the flowing wine.”

He spoke; and from the caverns under sea

Phorcus and virgin Panopea heard,

and all the sea-nymphs' choir; while with strong hand

the kindly God of Havens rose and thrust

the gliding ship along, that swifter flew

than south wind, or an arrow from the string,

and soon made land in haven safe and sure.

Aeneas then, assembling all to hear,

by a far-sounding herald's voice proclaimed

Cloanthus victor, and arrayed his brows

with the green laurel-garland; to the crews

three bulls, at choice, were given, and plenteous wine

and talent-weight of silver; to the chiefs

illustrious gifts beside; the victor had

a gold-embroidered mantle with wide band

of undulant Meliboean purple rare,

where, pictured in the woof, young Ganymede

through Ida's forest chased the light-foot deer

with javelin; all flushed and panting he.

But lo! Jove's thunder-bearing eagle fell,

and his strong talons snatched from Ida far

the royal boy, whose aged servitors

reached helpless hands to heaven; his faithful hound

bayed fiercely at the air. To him whose worth

the second place had won, Aeneas gave

a smooth-linked golden corselet, triple-chained,

of which his own victorious hand despoiled

Demoleos, by the swift, embattled stream

of Simois, under Troy ,—and bade it be

a glory and defence on valor's field;

scarce might the straining shoulders of two slaves,

Phegeus and Sagaris, the load endure,

yet oft Demoleos in this armor dressed

charged down full speed on routed hosts of Troy .

The third gift was two cauldrons of wrought brass,

and bowls of beaten silver, cunningly

embossed with sculpture fair. Bearing such gifts,

th' exultant victors onward moved, each brow

bound with a purple fillet. But behold!

Sergestus, from the grim rock just dragged off

by cunning toil, one halting rank of oars

left of his many lost, comes crawling in

with vanquished ship, a mockery to all.

As when a serpent, on the highway caught,

some brazen wheel has crushed, or traveller

with heavy-smiting blow left half alive

and mangled by a stone; in vain he moves

in writhing flight; a part is lifted high

with hissing throat and angry, glittering eyes;

but by the wounded part a captive still

he knots him fold on fold: with such a track

the maimed ship labored slow; but by her sails

she still made way, and with full canvas on

arrived at land. Aeneas then bestowed

a boon upon Sergestus, as was meet

for reward of the ship in safety brought

with all its men; a fair slave was the prize,

the Cretan Pholoe, well taught to weave,

and twin boy-babes upon her breast she bore.

Then good Aeneas, the ship-contest o'er,

turned to a wide green valley, circled round

with clasp of wood-clad hills, wherein was made

an amphitheatre; entering with a throng

of followers, the hero took his seat

in mid-arena on a lofty mound.

For the fleet foot-race, now, his summons flies, —

he offers gifts, and shows the rewards due.

The mingling youth of Troy and Sicily

hastened from far. Among the foremost came

the comrades Nisus and Euryalus,

Euryalus for beauty's bloom renowned,

Nisus for loyal love; close-following these

Diores strode, a prince of Priam's line;

then Salius and Patron, who were bred

in Acarnania and Arcady;

then two Sicilian warriors, Helymus

and Panopes, both sylvan bred and born,

comrades of King Acestes; after these

the multitude whom Fame forgets to tell.

Aeneas, so surrounded, thus spake forth:

“Hear what I purpose, and with joy receive!

of all your company, not one departs

with empty hand. The Cretan javelins

bright-tipped with burnished steel, and battle-axe

adorned with graven silver, these shall be

the meed of all. The three first at the goal

shall bind their foreheads with fair olive green,

and win the rewards due. The first shall lead,

victorious, yon rich-bridled steed away;

this Amazonian quiver, the next prize,

well-stocked with Thracian arrows; round it goes

a baldrick broad and golden,—in its clasp

a lustrous gem. The third man goes away

taking this helmet from the Argive spoil.”

They heard, and took their places. The loud horn

gave signal, and impetuous from the line,

swift as a bursting storm they sped away,

eyes fixed upon the goal. Far in advance

Nisus shot forward, swifter than the winds

or winged thunderbolt; the next in course,

next, but out-rivalled far, was Salius,

and after him a space, Euryalus

came third; him Helymus was hard upon;

and, look! Diores follows, heel on heel,

close at his shoulder—if the race be long

he sure must win, or claim a doubtful prize.

Now at the last stretch, spent and panting, all

pressed to the goal, when in a slime of blood

Nisus, hard fate! slipped down, where late the death

of victims slain had drenched the turf below.

Here the young victor, with his triumph flushed,

lost foothold on the yielding ground, and plunged

face forward in the pool of filth and gore;

but not of dear Euryalus was he

forgetful then, nor heedless of his friend;

but rising from the mire he hurled himself

in Salius' way; so he in equal plight

rolled in the filthy slough. Euryalus

leaped forth, the winner of the race by gift

of his true friend, and flying to the goal

stood first, by many a favoring shout acclaimed.

Next Helymus ran in; and, for the third, last prize,

Diores. But the multitude now heard

the hollowed hill-side ringing with wild wrath

from Salius, clamoring where the chieftains sate

for restitution of his stolen prize,

lost by a cheat. But general favor smiles

upon Euryalus, whose beauteous tears

commend him much, and nobler seems the worth

of valor clothed in youthful shape so fair.

Diores, too, assists the victor's claim,

with loud appeal—he too has won a prize,

and vainly holds his last place, if the first

to Salius fall. Aeneas then replied:

“Your gifts, my gallant youths, remain secure.

None can re-judge the prize. But to console

the misadventure of a blameless friend,

is in my power.” Therewith to Salius

an Afric lion's monstrous pelt he gave,

with ponderous mane, the claws o'erlaid with gold.

But Nisus cried: “If such a gift be found

for less than victory, and men who fall

are worthy so much sorrow, pray, what prize

shall Nisus have? For surely I had won

the proudest of the garlands, if one stroke

of inauspicious fortune had not fallen

on Salius and me.” So saying, he showed

his smeared face and his sorry limbs befouled

with mire and slime. Then laughed the gracious sire,

and bade a shield be brought, the cunning work

of Didymaon, which the Greeks tore down

from Neptune's temple; with this noble gift

he sent the high-born youth upon his way.

The foot-race over and the gifts disbursed,

“Come forth!” he cries, “if any in his heart

have strength and valor, let him now pull on

the gauntlets and uplift his thong-bound arms

in challenge.” For the reward of this fight

a two-fold gift he showed: the victor's meed,

a bullock decked and gilded; but a sword

and glittering helmet to console the fallen.

Straightway, in all his pride of giant strength,

Dares Ioomed up, and wondering murmurs ran

along the gazing crowd; for he alone

was wont to match with Paris, he it was

met Butes, the huge-bodied champion

boasting the name and race of Amycus,

Bythinian-born; him felled he at a blow,

and stretched him dying on the tawny sand.

Such Dares was, who now held high his head,

fierce for the fray, bared both his shoulders broad,

lunged out with left and right, and beat the air.

Who shall his rival be? Of all the throng

not one puts on the gauntlets, or would face

the hero's challenge. Therefore, striding forth,

believing none now dare but yield the palm,

he stood before Aeneas, and straightway

seized with his left hand the bull's golden horn,

and cried, “O goddess-born, if no man dares

to risk him in this fight, how Iong delay?

how Iong beseems it I should stand and wait?

Bid me bear off my prize.” The Trojans all

murmured assent, and bade the due award

of promised gift. But with a brow severe

Acestes to Entellus at his side

addressed upbraiding words, where they reclined

on grassy bank and couch of pleasant green:

“O my Entellus, in the olden days

bravest among the mighty, but in vain!

Endurest thou to see yon reward won

without a blow? Where, prithee, is that god

who taught thee? Are thy tales of Eryx vain?

Does all Sicilia praise thee? Is thy roof

with trophies hung?” The other in reply:

“My jealous honor and good name yield not

to fear. But age, so cold and slow to move,

makes my blood laggard, and my ebbing powers

in all my body are but slack and chill.

O, if I had what yonder ruffian boasts—

my own proud youth once more! I would not ask

the fair bull for a prize, nor to the lists

in search of gifts come forth.” So saying, he threw

into the mid-arena a vast pair

of ponderous gauntlets, which in former days

fierce Eryx for his fights was wont to bind

on hand and arm, with the stiff raw-hide thong.

All marvelled; for a weight of seven bulls' hides

was pieced with lead and iron. Dares stared

astonished, and step after step recoiled;

high-souled Anchises' son, this way and that,

turned o'er the enormous coil of knots and thongs;

then with a deep-drawn breath the veteran spoke:

“O, that thy wondering eyes had seen the arms

of Hercules, and what his gauntlets were!

Would thou hadst seen the conflict terrible

upon this self-same shore! These arms were borne

by Eryx . Look; thy brother's!—spattered yet

with blood, with dashed-out brains! In these he stood

when he matched Hercules. I wore them oft

when in my pride and prime, ere envious age

shed frost upon my brows. But if these arms

be of our Trojan Dares disapproved,

if good Aeneas rules it so, and King

Acestes wills it, let us offer fight

on even terms. Let Eryx ' bull's-hide go.

Tremble no more! But strip those gauntlets off —

fetched here from Troy .” So saying, he dropped down

the double-folded mantle from his shoulders,

stripped bare the huge joints, the huge arms and thews,

and towered gigantic in the midmost ring.

Anchises' son then gave two equal pairs

of gauntlets, and accoutred with like arms

both champions. Each lifted him full height

on tiptoe; each with mien unterrified

held both fists high in air, and drew his head

far back from blows assailing. Then they joined

in struggle hand to hand, and made the fray

each moment fiercer. One was light of foot

and on his youth relied; the other strong

in bulk of every limb, but tottering

on sluggish knees, while all his body shook

with labor of his breath. Without avail

they rained their blows, and on each hollow side,

each sounding chest, the swift, reverberate strokes

fell without pause; around their ears and brows

came blow on blow, and with relentless shocks

the smitten jaws cracked loud. Entellus stands

unshaken, and, the self-same posture keeping,

only by body-movement or quick eye

parries attack. Dares (like one in siege

against a mountain-citadel, who now will drive

with ram and engine at the craggy wall,

now wait in full-armed watch beneath its towers)

tries manifold approach, most craftily

invests each point of vantage, and renews

his unsuccessful, ever various war.

Then, rising to the stroke, Entellus poised

aloft his ponderous right; but, quick of eye,

the other the descending wrath foresaw

and nimbly slipped away; Entellus so

wasted his stroke on air, and, self-o'erthrown,

dropped prone to earth his monstrous length along,

as when on Erymanth or Ida falls

a hollowed pine from giant roots uptorn.

Alike the Teucrian and Trinacrian throng

shout wildly; while Acestes, pitying, hastes

to lift his gray companion. But, unchecked,

undaunted by his fall, the champion brave

rushed fiercer to the fight, his strength now roused

by rage, while shame and courage confident

kindle his soul; impetuous he drives

Dares full speed all round the ring, with blows

redoubled right and left. No stop or stay

gives he, but like a storm of rattling hail

upon a house-top, so from each huge hand

the champion's strokes on dizzy Dares fall.

Then Sire Aeneas willed to make a stay

to so much rage, nor let Entellus' soul

flame beyond bound, but bade the battle pause,

and, rescuing weary Dares, thus he spoke

in soothing words: “Ill-starred! What mad attempt

is in thy mind? Will not thy heart confess

thy strength surpassed, and auspices averse?

Submit, for Heaven decrees!” With such wise words

he sundered the fell strife. But trusty friends

bore Dares off: his spent limbs helpless trailed,

his head he could not lift, and from his lips

came blood and broken teeth. So to the ship

they bore him, taking, at Aeneas' word,

the helmet and the sword—but left behind

Entellus' prize of victory, the bull.

He, then, elate and glorying, spoke forth:

“See, goddess-born, and all ye Teucrians, see,

what strength was mine in youth, and from what death

ye have clelivered Dares.” Saying so,

he turned him full front to the bull, who stood

for reward of the fight, and, drawing back

his right hand, poising the dread gauntlet high,

swung sheer between the horns and crushed the skull;

a trembling, lifeless creature, to the ground

the bull dropped forward dead. Above the fallen

Entellus cried aloud, “This victim due

I give thee, Eryx , more acceptable

than Dares' death to thy benignant shade.

For this last victory and joyful day,

my gauntlets and my art I leave with thee.”

Forthwith Aeneas summons all who will

to contest of swift arrows, and displays

reward and prize. With mighty hand he rears

a mast within th' arena, from the ship

of good Sergestus taken; and thereto

a fluttering dove by winding cord is bound

for target of their shafts. Soon to the match

the rival bowmen came and cast the lots

into a brazen helmet. First came forth

Hippocoon's number, son of Hyrtacus,

by cheers applauded; Mnestheus was the next,

late victor in the ship-race, Mnestheus crowned

with olive-garland; next Eurytion,

brother of thee, O bowman most renowned,

Pandarus, breaker of the truce, who hurled

his shaft upon the Achaeans, at the word

the goddess gave. Acestes' Iot and name

came from the helmet last, whose royal hand

the deeds of youth dared even yet to try.

Each then with strong arm bends his pliant bow,

each from the quiver plucks a chosen shaft.

First, with loud arrow whizzing from the string,

the young Hippocoon with skyward aim

cuts through the yielding air; and lo! his barb

pierces the very wood, and makes the mast

tremble; while with a fluttering, frighted wing

the bird tugs hard,—and plaudits fill the sky.

Boldly rose Mnestheus, and with bow full-drawn

aimed both his eye and shaft aloft; but he

failing, unhappy man, to bring his barb

up to the dove herself, just cut the cord

and broke the hempen bond, whereby her feet

were captive to the tree: she, taking flight,

clove through the shadowing clouds her path of air.

But swiftly—for upon his waiting bow

he held a shaft in rest—Eurytion

invoked his brother's shade, and, marking well

the dove, whose happy pinions fluttered free

in vacant sky, pierced her, hard by a cloud;

lifeless she fell, and left in light of heaven

her spark of life, as, floating down, she bore

the arrow back to earth. Acestes now

remained, last rival, though the victor's palm

to him was Iost; yet did the aged sire,

to show his prowess and resounding bow,

hurl forth one shaft in air; then suddenly

all eyes beheld such wonder as portends

events to be (but when fulfilment came,

too late the fearful seers its warning sung):

for, soaring through the stream of cloud, his shaft

took fire, tracing its bright path in flame,

then vanished on the wind,—as oft a star

will fall unfastened from the firmament,

while far behind its blazing tresses flow.

Awe-struck both Trojan and Trinacrian stood,

calling upon the gods. Nor came the sign

in vain to great Aeneas. But his arms

folded the blest Acestes to his heart,

and, Ioading him with noble gifts, he cried:

“Receive them, sire! The great Olympian King

some peerless honor to thy name decrees

by such an omen given. I offer thee

this bowl with figures graven, which my sire,

good gray Anchises, for proud gift received

of Thracian Cisseus, for their friendship's pledge

and memory evermore.” Thereon he crowned

his brows with garland of the laurel green,

and named Acestes victor over all.

Nor could Eurytion, noble youth, think ill

of honor which his own surpassed, though he,

he only, pierced the bird in upper air.

Next gift was his whose arrow cut the cord;

last, his whose light shaft clove the lofty pine.

Father Aeneas now, not making end

of game and contest, summoned to his side

Epytides, the mentor and true friend

of young Iulus, and this bidding gave

to his obedient ear: “Arise and go

where my Ascanius has lined his troop

of youthful cavalry, and trained the steeds

to tread in ranks of war. Bid him lead forth

the squadron in our sire Anchises' name,

and wear a hero's arms!” So saying, he bade

the course be cleared, and from the whole wide field

th' insurging, curious multitude withdrew.

In rode the boys, to meet their parents' eyes,

in even lines, a glittering cavalry;

while all Trinacria and the host from Troy

made loud applause. On each bright brow

a well-trimmed wreath the flowing tresses bound;

two javelins of corner tipped with steel

each bore for arms; some from the shoulder slung

a polished quiver; to each bosom fell

a pliant necklace of fine, twisted gold.

Three bands of horsemen ride, three captains proud

prance here and there, assiduous in command,

each of his twelve, who shine in parted lines

which lesser captains lead. One cohort proud

follows a little Priam's royal name —

one day, Polites, thy illustrious race

through him prolonged, shall greater glory bring

to Italy . A dappled Thracian steed

with snow-white spots and fore-feet white as snow

bears him along, its white face lifted high.

Next Atys rode, young Atys, sire to be

of th' Atian house in Rome , a boy most dear

unto the boy Iulus; last in line,

and fairest of the throng, Iulus came,

astride a steed from Sidon , the fond gift

of beauteous Dido and her pledge of love.

Close followed him the youthful chivalry

of King Acestes on Trinacrian steeds.

The Trojans, with exultant, Ioud acclaim,

receive the shy-faced boys, and joyfully

trace in the features of the sons their sires.

After, with smiling eyes, the horsemen proud

have greeted each his kin in all the throng,

Epytides th' appointed signal calls,

and cracks his lash; in even lines they move,

then, Ioosely sundering in triple band,

wheel at a word and thrust their lances forth

in hostile ranks; or on the ample field

retreat or charge, in figure intricate

of circling troop with troop, and swift parade

of simulated war; now from the field

they flee with backs defenceless to the foe;

then rally, lance in rest—or, mingling all,

make common front, one legion strong and fair.

As once in Crete , the lofty mountain-isle,

that-fabled labyrinthine gallery

wound on through lightless walls, with thousand paths

which baffled every clue, and led astray

in unreturning mazes dark and blind:

so did the sons of Troy their courses weave

in mimic flights and battles fought for play,

like dolphins tumbling in the liquid waves,

along the Afric or Carpathian seas.

This game and mode of march Ascanius,

when Alba Longa 's bastions proudly rose,

taught to the Latin people of the prime;

and as the princely Trojan and his train

were wont to do, so Alba to her sons

the custom gave; so glorious Rome at last

the heritage accepted and revered;

and still we know them for the “Trojan Band,”

and call the lads a “ Troy .” Such was the end

of game and contest at Anchises' grave.

Then fortune veered and different aspect wore.

For 'ere the sacred funeral games are done,

Saturnian Juno from high heaven sent down

the light-winged Iris to the ships of Troy ,

giving her flight good wind—still full of schemes

and hungering to avenge her ancient wrong.

Unseen of mortal eye, the virgin took

her pathway on the thousand-colored bow,

and o'er its gliding passage earthward flew.

She scanned the vast assemblage; then her gaze

turned shoreward, where along the idle bay

the Trojan galleys quite unpeopled rode.

But far removed, upon a lonely shore,

a throng of Trojan dames bewailed aloud

their lost Anchises, and with tears surveyed

the mighty deep. “O weary waste of seas!

What vast, untravelled floods beyond us roll!”

So cried they with one voice, and prayed the gods

for an abiding city; every heart

loathed utterly the long, laborious sea.

Then in their midst alighted, not unskilled

in working woe, the goddess; though she wore

nor garb nor form divine, but made herself

one Beroe , Doryclus' aged wife,

who in her happier days had lineage fair

and sons of noble name; in such disguise

she called the Trojan dames: “O ye ill-starred,

that were not seized and slain by Grecian foes

under your native walls! O tribe accursed,

what death is Fate preparing? Since Troy fell

the seventh summer flies, while still we rove

o'er cruel rocks and seas, from star to star,

from alien land to land, as evermore

we chase, storm-tossed, that fleeting Italy

across the waters wide. Behold this land

of Eryx , of Acestes, friend and kin;

what hinders them to raise a rampart here

and build a town? O city of our sires!

O venerated gods from haughty foes

rescued in vain! Will nevermore a wall

rise in the name of Troy ? Shall I not see

a Xanthus or a Simois, the streams

to Hector dear? Come now! I lead the way.

Let us go touch their baneful ships with fire!

I saw Cassandra in a dream. Her shade,

prophetic ever, gave me firebrands,

and cried, ‘Find Ilium so! The home for thee

is where thou art.’ Behold, the hour is ripe

for our great act! No longer now delay

to heed the heavenly omen. Yonder stand

four altars unto Neptune. 'T is the god,

the god himself, gives courage for the deed,

and swift-enkindling fire.” So having said,

she seized a dreadful brand; then, lifting high,

waved it all flaming, and with furious arm

hurled it from far. The Ilian matrons gazed,

bewildered and appalled. But one, of all

the eldest, Pyrgo, venerated nurse

of Priam's numerous sons, exclaimed, “Nay, nay!

This is no Beroe , my noble dames.

Doryclus knew her not. Behold and see

her heavenly beauty and her radiant eyes!

What voice of music and majestic mien,

what movement like a god! Myself am come

from Beroe sick, and left her grieving sore

that she, she only, had no gift to bring

of mournful honor to Anchises' shade.”

She spoke. The women with ill-boding eyes

looked on the ships. Their doubting hearts were torn

'twixt tearful passion for the beauteous isle

their feet then trod, and that prophetic call

of Fate to lands unknown. Then on wide wings

soared Iris into heaven, and through the clouds

clove a vast arch of light. With wonder dazed,

the women in a shrieking frenzy rose,

took embers from the hearth-stones, stole the fires

upon the altars—faggots, branches, brands —

and rained them on the ships. The god of fire,

through thwarts and oars and bows of painted fir,

ran in unbridled flame. Swift to the tomb

of Sire Anchises, to the circus-seats,

the messenger Eumelus flew, to bring

news of the ships on fire; soon every eye

the clouds of smoke and hovering flame could see.

Ascanius, who had led with smiling brow

his troops of horse, accoutred as he was,

rode hot-haste to the turmoil of the camp,

nor could his guards restrain . “What madness now?

What is it ye would do?” he cried. “Alas!

Ill-fated women! Not our enemies,

nor the dread bulwarks of the Greek ye burn,

but all ye have to hope for. Look at me,

your own Ascanius!” His helmet then

into their midst he flung, which he had worn

for pageantry of war. Aeneas, too,

with Trojan bands sped thither. But far off,

the women, panic-scattered on the shore,

fled many ways, and deep in caverned crags

or shadowed forests hid them, for they Ioathed

their deed and life itself; their thoughts were changed;

they knew their kin and husbands, and their hearts

from Juno were set free. But none the less

the burning and indomitable flames

raged without stay; beneath the ships' smeared sides

the hempen fuel puffed a lingering smoke,

as, through the whole bulk creeping, the slow fire

devoured its way; and little it availed

that strong men fought the fire with stream on stream.

Then good Aeneas from his shoulder rent

his garment, and with lifted hands implored

the help of Heaven. “O Jove omnipotent!

If thou not yet thy wrath implacable

on every Trojan pourest, if thou still

hast pity, as of old, for what men bear,

O, grant my fleet deliverance from this flame!

From uttermost destruction, Father, save

our desperate Trojan cause! Or even now —

last cruelty! thy fatal thunders throw.

If this be my just meed, let thy dread arm

confound us all.” But scarce the prayer is said,

when with a bursting deluge a dark storm

falls, marvellous to see; while hills and plains

with thunder shake, and to each rim of heaven

spreads swollen cloud-rack, black with copious rain

and multitudinous gales. The full flood pours

on every ship, and all the smouldering beams

are drenched, until the smoke and flames expire

and (though four ships be lost) the burning fleet

rides rescued from its doom. But smitten sore

by this mischance, Aeneas doubtfully

weighs in his heart its mighty load of cares,

and ponders if indeed he may abide

in Sicily , not heeding prophet-songs,

or seek Italian shores. Thereon uprose

Nautes, an aged sire, to whom alone

Tritonian Pallas of her wisdom gave

and made his skill renowned; he had the power

to show celestial anger's warning signs,

or tell Fate's fixed decree. The gifted man

thus to Aeneas comfortably spoke:

“O goddess-born, we follow here or there,

as Fate compels or stays. But come what may,

he triumphs over Fortune, who can bear

whate'er she brings. Behold, Acestes draws

from Dardanus his origin divine!

Make him thy willing friend, to share with thee

thy purpose and thy counsel. Leave with him

the crews of the lost ships, and all whose hearts

repine at thy high task and great emprise:

the spent old men, the women ocean-weary,

whate'er is feeble found, or faint of heart

in danger's hour,—set that apart, and give

such weary ones within this friendly isle

a city called Acesta,—if he will.”