Book V

Meanwhile Aeneas upon the mid sea-way
Held steadfast with his fleet, and cut through waves
That scowled beneath the north wind, glancing oft
Back to the city-walls, now all aglow
With poor Elissa’s funeral-flames. What cause
Has lit so fierce a fire, is hid from sight;
But outraged love’s fierce anguish, and the thought
Of what a frantic woman can, lead on
The Teucrians’ hearts to presages of woe.
Soon as their galleys gained the open deep.
And now no longer land appeared, but lo!
Ocean on all sides, and on all sides sky.
There stood a dark-blue storm-cloud o’er his head,
Laden with night and tempest, and the wave
Shuddered beneath the gloom. From the high poop
The very helmsman, Palinurus, cries:

“Alas! why have such clouds encircled heaven?
What next, O Father Neptune?” Having said.
Straightway he bids them trim the rigging taut.
And bend to their stout oars, and to the wind
Slants sail, and speaks: “High-souled Aeneas, e’en
Though Jupiter should pledge me on his word,
Hope could I never to reach Italy
In such a sky. The winds veer round, and roar
Athwart, upgathering from the murky west.
And all the air is thickening into cloud.
Make head against it, or strive hard enow
We cannot. Since fortune betters us, be ours
To follow, and at her bidding shape our way.
Nor far thy brother Eryx” friendly shores
And ports Sicanian deem I, if the stars,
Erst noted, with due memory I retrace.”
Then answered good Aeneas: “For my part I
Have long since seen the winds will have it so,
And that all vainly thou withstand’st them: turn
The vessels’ course. Could there be any land
To me more welcome, or where gladlier I
Would beach the weary ships, than that which holds
My Dardan friend, Acestes, and laps round
In its embrace my sire Anchises’ dust?”
This said, they make for harbour; and the gales,
Now favouring, stretch the canvas; swiftly rides
Their fleet upon the flood; and glad of heart
At length they steer into the well-known shore.
But from a high far hill-top, marvelling
At their arrival, and the friendly barks,
Acestes speeds to meet them, bristling o’er
With javelins and a Libyan she-bear’s fell.
Him to the river-god Crimisus erst
A Trojan mother bare: nor heedless now
Of his old lineage, their return he greets.
Gives them glad welcome of his rustic wealth.
And soothes their weariness with friendly cheer.
When the next day-beam in the utmost east
Had put the stars to rout, from the whole shore
Aeneas calls a gathering of his friends.
And from a mounded hillock speaks: “Great sons
Of Dardanus, from heaven’s high race derived,
A year’s course, with its months accomplished, now
Is rounding to a close, since we in earth
My divine father’s bones and relics hid,
And mourning altars consecrated. Now,
Or I misdeem, the day is here, which I
Shall ever hold, for so ye gods have willed,
Sacred to grief and honour without end.
This were I passing ’mid Gaetulian shoals
An outcast, ay, or ta’en at unawares
In Argive waters, or Mycenae’s town,
Still had I quit my yearly vows, and pomp
Of solemn ordinance, and with their gifts
Heaped high the altars. Now, beyond all hope,
Not undesigned nor all unwilled of heaven,
I take it, by my sire’s own dust and bones
We stand, safe-wafted to the friendly port.
Up, then, and all glad homage let us pay!
Sue we for winds, and may he grant that I
May build a city, and offer year by year
These rites in temples hallowed to his name!
Two head of steers Acestes, sprung from Troy,
Gives every ship by tale: bid to the feast
The hearth-gods, not your sires’ alone, but those
Our host Acestes worships. Furthermore,
If the ninth dawn bring kindly day to men,
And with her beams disclose the world, then I
Will contests for the Phrygian folk ordain.
First of the swift fleet; then — whoe’er excels
In speed of foot, or, dauntless in his strength,
Steps forth, a champion in the javelin-bout.
And light-winged arrows, or with raw-hide gloves
Bold to do battle — let them all appear.
And look for palms to be the victor’s prize.
Now hush ye, all: with garlands bind the brow.”
Thus spake he, and about his temples twined
His mother’s myrtle. So does Helymus,
So, ripe of age, Acestes, so the lad
Ascanius, and the rest thereafter. He
Strode from the council to the tomb, thronged round
With many thousands, ’midst of a vast train.
Here, meet libation, on the ground he pours
Two goblets of pure wine, of fresh milk two.
Two of the blood of victims; and he flings
Bright flowers, and cries: “Hail, sacred sire, once more!
Hail, dust of him once rescued, but in vain.
And shade and spirit of my father! not
With thee was it vouchsafed to seek the bounds
And destined fields of Italy, nor yet
Ausonian Tiber, whatsoe’er it be.”
He spake, and ceased, when from the shrine’s recess
A slippery serpent trailed seven monstrous coils.
Plied seven times, fold on fold, and quietly
Twined round the tomb, and o’er the altars slid.
Whose back with dark blue spots was pied, his scales
Lit with the gleam of dappled gold; as when
The cloud-bow flings a thousand shifting tints
In the sun’s eye. Aeneas at the sight
Stood wonder-struck: at last, with lengthy train
Gliding among the bowls and polished cups.
It tasted of the viands, and once more,
All harmless, sought the shelter of the tomb.
Leaving the altars it had lipped. Hereat
He to his father all the more renews
The interrupted rites, doubtful the while
Or genius of the spot to deem it, or
His sire’s attendant spirit: two young sheep
He duly slaughters, and as many swine.
As many black-backed heifers, and poured forth
The wine-bowl, and on great Anchises’ shade
Called, and the ghost let loose from Acheron.
His friends withal, as each had substance, bring
Glad gifts, and heap the altars, and slay steers.
Others in turn set caldrons on, and, stretched
Along the greensward, lay live coals beneath
The spits, and roast the flesh.
The expected day
Was come, the ninth dawn in a cloudless sky,
Drawn by the steeds of Phaethon: report
And great Acestes’ name the neighbouring folk
Had summoned; in blithe groups they thronged the shore.
To see the children of Aeneas, some too
Prepared to join the contest. Full in sight.
And midmost of the ring, are first disposed
The prizes, sacred tripods, and green wreaths.
And palms to crown the victors, arms, and robes
With purple dyed, and talent-weights of gold
And silver: and from a hillock in the midst
The trumpet’s note proclaims the sports begun.
For the first contest, matched with heavy oars.
Enter four vessels picked from all the fleet.
Mnestheus with keen crew drives swift Pristis on —
Mnestheus-of-Italy to be, from whom
Takes name the race of Memmius — Gyas next
The huge Chimaera of huge bulk, in mass
A city, which the Dardan youth propel
With triple sweep, a threefold tier of oars
Rising together: on the Centaur’s might
Sergestus, whence the Sergian house is named,
Cloanthus upon dark blue Scylla rides.
From whom thy race, Cluentius of Rome.
Far seaward fronts the foaming shores a rock
Oft drowned and beaten by the billowy swell,
What time the wild north-westers hide the stars;
In calm it sleeps, reared on still waves, a plain,
And standing-ground to sunny seagulls dear.
Here a green ilex-goal their sire Aeneas
Sets up for signal, that the crews might know
Whence to return and their long circuit bend.
Then lots they cast for places; and the chiefs
Themselves upon the poop shine forth afar.
Glorious in gold and purple; for the rest,
The crews are crowned with wreaths of poplar-spray.
And steeped in oil their naked shoulders shine.
They man the thwarts, arms stretched to oars, full stretch
Await the signal: drains each bounding heart
Quick-knocking fear, and the wild thirst for praise.
Then, when the shrill trump sounded, in a trice
All from their bounds leapt forward; a sea-shout
Strikes heaven; the floods foam, churned with indrawn arms.
Abreast they cleave the furrows; the whole main yawns
Convulsed with oars and triple-pointed beaks.
Not in such heady race the two-horsed cars.
Poured from the bounds, grip course and go, nor shake
Their billowy reins above such scouring teams
The drivers, hanging forward to the lash.
Then with applause of men, shouts, favouring cheers,
The whole grove rings: the pent shore rolls along,
And the hills, smitten, buffet back the din.
Outspeeds the rest, and skims the forward wave,
’Mid crowd and tumult, Gyas: follows him
Cloanthus, lustier-oared, but the pine’s weight
Retards him: next, and at like interval,
Pristis and Centaur strive for foremost place.
Now Pristis has it, and now the Centaur huge
Outstrips and overhauls her; and now both
Ride, beak and beak, together, and with long keel
Cleave the salt billows: by this they neared the rock,
And had the goal in grasp, when Gyas, now first.
And of the half-course victor, loudly hails
Menoetes, his ship’s pilot: “Whither away
So far to starboard? hither steer, hug shore;
Let the oar graze the larboard cliff, and leave
The deep for others! “He said; Menoetes still.
Fearing blind rocks, steers off toward open sea:

“Whither away so wide? Make for the rocks,
Menoetes! “Gyas shouts and calls again;
And, glancing back, Cloanthus he beholds,
Now hard astern, holding the nearer course.
’Twixt Gyas’ vessel and the roaring rocks
He to the left skims inward, suddenly
Passes his leader, leaves the goal behind,
And gains the safe smooth water. Then indeed
Grief in the young man’s frame blazed fierce and high.
Nor did his cheeks lack tears, and heedless both
Of his own honour and his comrades’ lives,
Laggard Menoetes sheer from the high poop
Into the sea he flings; himself instead
The tiller takes, pilot and captain too.
Cheers on his men, and shoreward turns the helm.
But from the sea-floor scarce at length cast up,
Menoetes, heavy now with age, and soaked
In his wet garments, to the cliff-top climbs.
And on the dry rock sat. The Teucrian folk
Laughed at him falling, swimming, and laugh now
To see the salt waves from his chest disgorged.
Here the two last, Sergestus, Mnestheus, feel
Kindle glad hope within them to outstrip
The lagging Gyas. Sergestus gains the lead
And nears the crag, yet overlaps he not
A whole keel’s length, but part alone, and part
The jealous Pristis presses with her beak.
Then, through his vessel striding, ’midst the crew,
Mnestheus exhorts them: “Rise to the oar, now, now.
Comrades of Hector, whom in Troy’s last hour ‘
I chose to be my fellows; now put forth
That strength, that spirit, which erst ye showed amidst
Gaetulian quicksands, on the Ionian Sea,
And Malea’s chasing waves. No more seek I,
Mnestheus, the foremost place, nor strive to win;
Yet oh! — but let them conquer, to whom thou,
Neptune, hast granted it. Count we it shame
Last to arrive! thus far, my countrymen.
Prevail ye, and ward off disgrace! “They bend
Forward, and strive their utmost: the brass poop
Quivers beneath their mighty strokes; the floor
Runs from beneath them: then thick panting shakes
Limbs and dry lips: the sweat flows out in streams.
A mere chance brought them the much-wished-for place;
For while Sergestus, mad at heart, drives close
In toward the rocks, and draws to dangerous ground,
Hapless, upon projecting reefs he stuck.
The cliffs were jarred; on a sharp crag the oars
Smote with a crash, and the prow struck and hung.
Upleap the crew loud-shouting, fast aground,
Bring iron-shod boat-hooks and sharp-pointed poles.
And from the billows pluck their broken oars.
Mnestheus exults, and, keener by success.
Scuds with swift oar-sweep, and a prayer to the winds,
Down the slope seas, and scours the open main.
As, from her cave roused suddenly, a dove.
Whose home and sweet brood lie in the crannied rock.
Flies fieldward borne, with clamorous pinion-clap
Scared from her cell: soon, gliding in calm air.
She skims the sky-way swift on moveless wing.
So Mnestheus, Pristis so, of her own will
Cleaves the last water, so mere speed of way
Carries her flying. And first he leaves behind
Sergestus, struggling on the lofty rock.
And in the shoals, calling in vain for aid.
And learning to make way with broken oars.
Then Gyas and his Chimaera vast of bulk
He overtakes: she yields, of helmsman reft.
And now, and close upon the goal, remains
Alone Cloanthus: him he makes for, him,
Striving with utmost strength, pursues. Ah! then
The shouts redouble; all goad him to the chase
With eager cheers: heaven echoes to their din.
These deem it shame, except they hold their own —
The glory they have won — would barter life
Itself for fame: those thrive upon success;
They can because they think they can; and so
Perchance e’en now they would have ta’en the prize.
Prow matched with prow, had not Cloanthus stretched
Clasped hands across the deep, and poured forth prayers.
Calling the gods to hear his vows. “Ye gods
That sway the main, over whose waves I run,
Gladly before your altars on this shore,
I, vow-beholden, will a white bull set,
Into the salt flood fling his entrails far.
And pour clear-flowing wine.” He spake, and him
Under the deep waves all the Nereid-band
Heard, and the choir of Phorcus, and with them
The maiden Panopea; and himself
The sire Portunus with his mighty hand
Pushed him upon his way. To shore she flies
Swifter than south wind or a winged shaft.
And has found shelter in the port’s recess.
Then, duly summoning all, Anchises’ son
Proclaims Cloanthus victor by loud voice
Of herald, and with green bay-leaf binds his brow;
And to the crews three bullocks of their choice
He gives, and wine, and a great talent-weight
Of silver, to bear off, and to the chiefs
Themselves adds special honours, for the first
A gold-wrought scarf, and twice around it ran
Broad Meliboean purple, in winding wave.
Therein embroidered is the royal boy
On leafy Ida, as he tires the stag
With javelin and the chase, keen, like to one
Panting, whom Jove’s swift armour-bearer snatched
Aloft from Ida with crook’d talons: see!
His aged guardians stretch vain hands on high,
And the hounds’ baying goes fiercely up to heaven.
But to the hero who gat second place
In prowess, a corslet linked with polished hooks
Of gold twilled triple, which his own victor hand
Had from Demoleos on swift Simois’ bank
Torn beneath lofty Troy, he gives to bear,
A glory and defence in battle. It
Scarce could the carls Phegeus and Sagaris,
Shoulder to shoulder, heave with all its folds;
But clad in it of yore Demoleos drave
Full speed the flying Trojans. The third prize
He makes twin brazen caldrons, and cups wrought
Of cunning silver, rough with tracery-work.
And now, thus dowered, and glorying in their gifts,
Brow-bound with purple fillets, all went forth.
When, from the cruel rock with much ado
’Scaped hardly, oars lost, crippled of one tier,
’Mid laughter urging his inglorious bark,
Sergestus came. As oft at unawares
A serpent, caught upon the heaped highway.
Which or a brazen wheel hath crossed aslant,
Or heavy-smiting traveller left half dead
And mangled with a stone, now trying to flee
Twists his long body into coils, in vain.
Part still defiant, and, with fiery eyes,
Rearing aloft the hissing throat; but part
Maimed by the wound retards him, as he wreaths
Joint upon joint, self-knotted and convolved.
So oared, the ship came slowly labouring on.
Yet she spreads sail, and, full sail, enters port.
Aeneas with promised boon Sergestus dowers,
Glad for ship saved and rescued crew: to him
Is given a slave, skilled in Minerva’s craft,
The Cretan Pholoe, twin boys at her breast.
Then good Aeneas, the race despatched, moves on
Into a grassy plain, by sloping hills
Girdled with forest; and amidst the vale
There was an amphitheatre, whereto
The prince with many thousands strode, and sat
On a high mound, the centre of the throng.
Here in fleet foot-race whoso list to strive
He lures with prizes, sets the guerdon forth.
Teucrians, Sicanians, mixed, from all sides flock:
See! foremost Nisus and Euryalus!
Euryalus famed for beauty and fresh youth,
Nisus for the fair love he bore the boy.
Next followed, reared from Priam’s noble stem,
Princely Diores: after him, together,
Salius and Patron, Acarnanian one,
One of Arcadia’s blood, a Tegean born.
Then two Trinacrian comers, Helymus
And Panopes, to forest-life inured.
Comrades of old Acestes; many more
To boot, whom rumour doth in darkness hide.
Then in their midst Aeneas spake: “My words
Take now to heart, and give me cheerful heed.
None of all here will I let giftless go.
Two Gnosian javelins bright with burnished steel.
And an axe silver-chased, I’ll give to bear;
Be this one meed to all. The foremost three
Shall receive prizes, and be bound about
The head with pale green olive. Let the first,
As victor, have a horse with trappings proud;
The next an Amazonian quiver, and filled
With Thracian arrows, which a broad gold belt
Circles, a smooth-gemmed buckle clasps; the third
Depart contented with this Argive helm.”
This said, they take their stand, and suddenly,
The signal heard, catch at the course, and leave
The barriers, like a cloud poured forth, their eyes
Fixed on the finish. First draws ahead, darts far
Beyond all rivals Nisus, swifter he
Than wind or wings of lightning; next to him,
But next at a long distance, on his track
Comes Salius; then, some space between them left.
The third, Euryalus; Euryalus
Has Helymus behind him, close on whom
Flies see! Diores, heel now grazing heel.
And shoulders jostling; and, were more space left.
He would slip past him, and leave doubt behind.
And now, the course nigh finished, with breath spent,
They neared the goal, when Nisus by ill luck
Slips in some blood chance-spilt upon the ground
From slaughtered steers, that soaked the greensward. Here
Just flushed with triumph, he could not keep his feet.
Tripped by the ground they trod on, but fell prone
Right in the foul dung and slain victims’ gore.
Yet of Euryalus, yet of his heart’s love
Not he forgetful! for in Salius’ path
He casts him, rising through the slush, who, rolled
Over and over, on the thick soil lay.
Forth darts Euryalus, and the first place holds.
Winner by his friend’s gift, and speeds him on
’Mid favouring shouts and tumult. Next to him
Comes following Helymus, and, now third prize,
Diores. But here Salius with loud shouts
Fills the whole concourse of the mighty ring
And gazing sires in front, reclaims the prize
Snatched from his hand by craft. Euryalus
Is strong in favour, and the grace of tears.
And worth, seen comelier in a lovely form.
Backs him Diores too with loud appeal,
Who, to a prize succeeding, has for nought
Gained the last guerdon, if the foremost place
To Salius be restored. Then Sire Aeneas:

“Your gifts, my lads, remain assured, and none
Changes the order of the prize: let me
Pity my friend’s unmerited mishap.”
So saying, he gives to Salius the vast fell
Of a Gaetulian lion, with rough hair
Heavy, and claws of gold. Then Nisus; “If
Such be defeat’s reward, and those that fell
Win pity of thee, what worthy recompense
Hast left for Nisus? The first crown was mine
By merit and exploit, had not the luck,
That frowned on Salius, fallen alike on me.”
And with the word he shows his face and limbs
Smeared with wet filth. At him the gracious sire
Laughed, and a shield bade bring, the workmanship
Of Didymaon, by the Danai once
From Neptune’s sacred portal torn. With this
He dowers the noble youth, a princely prize.
Then, the race ended, and the gifts dispensed,
“Come now,” he cries, “and if in any breast
Be courage and prompt heart, let him approach,
Bind on the gloves, and lift his arms.” So saying,
He names a twofold guerdon for the fray,
A steer for the winner, garlanded with gold.
Sword and proud helm, the vanquished to appease.
No pause: at once in all his giant strength
Uplifts him Dares, and stands forth to view
’Mid murmurs of the crowd, he who alone
Would match with Paris, and at the tomb wherein
Lies mightiest Hector conquering Butes smote —
Who with his vast bulk bore him to the field,
Of the Bebrycian house of Amycus —
And stretched him dying upon the tawny sand.
Such was this Dares, who lifts high his head
First for the fray, displays his shoulders broad.
Launches his arms out, and spars right and left,
Lashing the air with buffets. Him to match
They seek another; but out of all that throng
No one durst face the champion, don the gloves.
So, deeming all men from the prize withdrew.
Promptly he plants him at Aeneas’ feet.
Tarrying no more, then by the left horn grasps
The bull, and speaks: “O goddess-born, if none
Durst risk the fight, what end to waiting, say.
How long befits it I stand loitering here?
Bid me lead off the prize.” The Dardans all.
Shouting with one voice, bade the promised boon
Be rendered to their champion. Hereupon
Acestes with stern words Entellus chides,
As he sat next him on the grassy couch:

“Entellus, once most valiant, but in vain.
Wilt thou such gifts see tamely borne away,
And strike no blow? Where now, we ask, that god,
Thy master, Eryx, idly vaunted? Where
The fame that filled Trinacria, and those spoils
Still hanging from thy roof-tree?”:

“It is not that the love of fame is sped,
Nor fear hath cast out honour; but indeed
Chilled is my blood and dulled by sluggish eld,
And all my body’s strength numbed and outworn.
If, which erst was, wherein yon braggart still
Boldly exults, if now that youth were mine,
I had not stayed for prize or noble steer
To lure me forward, nor heed I the gifts.
So saying, twin gauntlets of vast weights he hurls
Into the midst, wherewith keen Eryx wont
Advance his hand to battle, and bind his arms
With the tough hide. Astonied were all hearts;
So vast the seven huge ox-hides that lay stiff
With in-sewed lead and iron. More than all,
Dares himself stands dazed, and far recoils:
This way and that high-souled Anchises’ son
Poises and turns the thongs’ enormous folds.
Then the old man with deep-drawn accents spake:

“What then if one had seen the gloves and arms
Of Hercules himself, and the grim fight
Upon this very strand? Those weapons once
Thy brother Eryx wore: thou seest them yet
Blood-stained and brain-bespattered: he with these
Stood against great Alcides; to these I
Myself was used, while sounder blood gave strength.
Ere snowy age had sprinkled both my brows.
But if the Trojan Dares shun these arms
Of ours, and good Aeneas be set thereon.
Backed by Acestes’ sanction, fight we fair.
I waive the hides of Eryx, calm thy dread,
And do thou doff the Trojan gloves.” So saying,
He from his shoulder flings the twofold robe.
Bares his huge limb-joints, mighty bones and thews.
And stands gigantic in the arena’s midst.
Then equal gloves the sire, Anchises’ son,
Brought, and with like arms bound the hands of both.
Straining on tip-toe, each at once took stand.
And raised his arms undaunted high toward heaven.
Their towering heads far from the blow withdrawn.
Fist with fist mingling, they provoke the fray.
One nimbler-footed, and relying on youth,
One strong in bulk of body; but his slow knees
Totter and quake, and all his mighty frame
Heaves with a painful panting. Many a blow
The champions idly bandy, each with each.
Many they rain on hollow flank, and make
Loud music on their chests; round ear and brow
The quick fist plays, jaws crackle with hard blows.
Ponderous in the selfsame posture stands
Unmoved Entellus, with his body alone
And watchful eye shunning the strokes. The other —
As who with engines batters a tall town,
Or sits down armed before some mountain-hold —
Tries this approach and that, and, hovering round
Artful at every point, plies him in vain
With manifold assault. Entellus then.
With right hand threatening and uplifted high.
Rose to the blow: the other with quick glance
Foresaw descending, and with nimble frame
Slipped out of reach and foiled it. All his strength
Entellus spent on air, and, self-impelled.
By his own heaviness heavily to the earth
Fell with prodigious weight; so falls at times
On Erymanthus or on Ida’s height
A hollow pine-tree by the roots uptorn.”
Teucrians, Trinacrians, by one impulse urged.
Leap from their seats; a shout goes up to heaven;
And first Acestes hastes, and pityingly
Lifts from the earth his age-mate and his friend.
But he, nor checked nor daunted by the fall.
Returns yet keenlier to the fray; wrath goads
To violence: shame and conscious valour, too.
Kindle his strength; and all on fire he drives
Dares at headlong speed the whole course through.
Raining his buffets now with right, now left:
No stop, no respite: thick as hail, when clouds
Fall rattling on the roof, so pelt the blows
He showers on Dares, and with either hand
Pounds him and spins. Then Sire Aeneas brooked
Wrath go no further, nor Entellus yet
Rage on in bitterness of heart, but bade
The battle end, and rescued the spent strength
Of Dares, and thus speaks with soothing words:

“Unhappy man! what craze hath caught thy soul?
Dost not perceive that here is alien strength,
Gods turned against thee? yield to heaven!” He spake,
And with the word broke off the fight; but him
Dragging faint knees, his head to either side
Lolling, and spitting from his mouth thick gore
And blood-commingled teeth, his trusty friends
Lead to the ships: the helmet and the sword,
When summoned, they receive, the palm and bull
Leave to Entellus. Then the victor speaks.
Elate with pride, and glorying in the bull:

“O goddess-born, and you, ye Teucrians, mark
Both what was once my body’s youthful might,
And Dares from what death your rescue saves.”
He spake, and fronting the steer’s forehead full.
Which stood there, prize of battle, drew aback
His right hand, levelled the tough gloves, and swung
Straight betwixt both horns, towering to the blow,
Crushed the skull inward, and dashed out the brain;
On earth stretched lifeless, quivering, the bull falls.
Then with deep utterance he spake over it:

“This better life, for death of Dares due,
Eryx, I pay thee, with this triumph crowned.
The gauntlets and the boxer’s art lay by.”
Forthwith Aeneas to the swift arrow-match
Invites who will, and sets the prizes forth;
Then from Serestus’ ship with mighty hand
The mast uprears, and by a rope passed round
Suspends a fluttering dove from the tall top,
As target for their points. The men are met;
The lot thrown lies within a brazen helm.
And for first place outleaps, with favouring cheer,
The son of Hyrtacus, Hippocoon; next,
Late victor in the ship-race, Mnestheus comes,
Mnestheus now garlanded with olive green.
Eurytion was the third, brother to thee,
O most renowned Pandarus, who of old,
Bidden the treaty to confound, wert first
To hurl thy dart amid the Achaean ranks.
Last in the helmet’s depth Acestes lay.
Still bold of hand the tasks of youth to try.
Then, each for self, with sinewy might they bend
Their curving bows, pluck shaft from quiver; and first
The bolt of the son of Hyrtacus through heaven
Cleaves the fleet breezes from the whizzing string,
Arrives, and sticks in the mast-tree fair and full.
Quivered the mast, the bird clapped wings in fear.
And all the region rang with loud applause.
Next took his stand keen Mnestheus, bow drawn home.
High-pointing, with one level of shaft and eye;
He, luckless, the bird’s self with bolt to strike
Skilled not, and cut the noose and hempen cord,
Foot-bound whereby to the tall mast she hung:
Into the south winds and black clouds she flew.
Then, bow long since held ready, and bolt on string,
With a quick prayer to his brother to hear his vows,
Eurytion marked the dove, now triumphing
In the free sky, and, as she clapped her wings
Under a dark cloud, pierced her. Dead she fell,
And left her. life among the stars of heaven,
Down-trailing with the arrow in her side.
Acestes, the prize lost, alone remained,
Yet upward aimed his bolt into the air,
Showing an old sire’s skill and sounding bow.
Here on their eyes a sudden portent falls,
To prove of mighty presage; the event
Taught them its vastness in the after-time.
And awful seers their omen sang too late.
For, on its flight amid the floating clouds,
The reed took fire, and traced a path in flame.
And into thin air burnt itself away;
As oft from heaven unfixed shoot flying stars,
And trail their locks behind them. All, aghast,
Stood rooted, and implored the gods of heaven,
Trinacrian folk and Teucrian: nor did great
Aeneas spurn the omen, but his arms
Cast about glad Acestes, whom he loads
With mighty gifts, thus speaking: “Take them, sire;
For by such tokens great Olympus’ king
To thee no lot-drawn honour hath decreed.
From old Anchises’ self this gift be thine,
A bowl embossed with figures, which of yore
Cisseus the Thracian as a noble gift
Gave to my sire Anchises, of his love
The record and the pledge to bear.” This said,
He wreathes his temples with green bay, and hails
First, before all, Acestes victor, nor
Did kind Eurytion grudge the rank preferred.
Albeit but he struck down the bird from heaven.
Next for the prize comes in who cut the cord.
Last with fleet arrow he that pierced the pine.
But Sire Aeneas, ere the sports were sped,
Calls to his side Epytides, the squire
Who watched o’er young Iulus, and thus speaks
Into his faithful ear: “Hie thee, and bid
Ascanius, if his boyish band he now
Have ready, and his manoeuvring troop arrayed,
Lead forth the squadron in his grandsire’s name.
And show himself in arms.” He spake, and with
His own voice orders all the crowd withdraw.
Flooding the long course, and the field be cleared.
The boys ride in, before their fathers’ eyes
Glittering on bridled horses in array,
By all Trinacria’s chivalry and Troy’s
Hailed with admiring murmurs, as they go.
The locks of all a trim wreath duly binds,
Each bears two cornel spear-shafts tipped with steel,
Some polished quivers upon the shoulder; high
On breast, along the throat there runs a hoop
Pliant of twisted gold. The companies
Of horse are three; three chiefs ride to and fro,
And, following each, a band of twice six boys.
The troop trisected, with like leaders, shine.
One youthful squadron a child-Priam leads
To victory, and recalls his grandsire’s name.
Thy glorious seed, Polites, soon to swell
The tribes of Italy; a Thracian steed
Bears him, with white spots dappled, that displays
White-stepping pasterns, and white-towering brow.
The next is Atys, from whom trace their line
The Latin Atii; the child Atys, loved
Of his boy-friend Iulus. Last appears.
In beauty before all, lulus’ self
On a Sidonian horse, fair Dido’s gift,
Of her heart’s love, the record and the pledge.
The remnant ride Trinacrian steeds of old
Acestes. With a cheer the Dardan folk
Welcome the timid lads, and gaze with joy.
Tracing the features of their sires of old.
When the gay cavalcade had ridden the round
Of the whole concourse under their friends’ eyes,
And all were ready, Epytides from far
Shouted the signal and cracked loud his whip.
They rushed apart symmetric, in three troops
With open ranks dividing, and once more
Wheel at the order, and charge point to point.
Then other onsets and retreats they try
In quarters opposite, and interweave
Circle with circle, each with each, and wake
The semblance of armed warfare, now expose
Their backs in flight, now point their levelled spears.
Now with peace plighted, as close comrades ride.
As erst the labyrinth in lofty Crete
Had, as folk tell, a way with blind walls woven,
And a dark trap with thousand paths perplexed,
Whose maze unsearched and irretraceable
Might baulk all clues for following, such the course.
Wherein the Trojan boys their steps involve,
Weaving the sportive web of flight and fray:
As dolphins, swimming through the watery seas,
Carpathian cleave or Libyan, and make sport
Amid the waves. Such use of horsemanship,
Such games as these, Ascanius, as he girt
With walls his Alba Longa, first revived.
And trained the ancient Latins to the mode
Of his own boyhood with the youth of Troy;
The Albans taught their sons; from whom bequeathed
Majestic Rome received and kept alive
The ancestral rite: now, named from Troy, the lads
Are called the Trojan troop. Thus far were held
The games in honour of the sacred sire.
Here Fortune changing first revoked her faith.
Whilst they with various pastime to the tomb
Render due rites, Saturnian Juno now
Sends Iris from on high to Ilium’s fleet,
And breathes fair winds to waft her, rife with schemes,
Still of her ancient smart insatiate. She,
Speeding along her myriad-tinted bow.
Shoots down the swift track, maid beheld of none.
She views the mighty throng, and scans the shore
And sees the harbour void,- the fleet forsook.
But far withdrawn upon a lonely beach
The Trojan dames wept for Anchises’ loss,
And, weeping, all together eyed the deep.
Ah, what vast floods, what weary length of sea
Was still before them, with one voice they cry.
They crave a city, the travail of the main
Sick of enduring. So into their midst.
Well versed in harm, she flings her, doffs the face
And garb of goddess, becomes Beroe,
The aged wife of Tmarian Doryclus,
Who once had lineage, and a name, and sons;
So ’mid the Dardan mothers makes her way.

“O hapless women, whom no Greek hand in war
Dragged ’neath your native walls to death,” she cries,
“O race ill-starred, for what destruction, say.
Doth fate reserve ye? Since Troy’s overthrow.
The seventh summer wheels her course, the while.
Borne over seas and traversing all lands.
So many inhospitable rocks and climes.
We chase the still receding Italy
On the vast ocean, by its billows tossed.
Here are our brother Eryx’ bounds, our host
Acestes: who forbids to cast up walls.
And give a city to our countrymen?
O fatherland, and household gods in vain
Snatched from the foeman, shall no city bear
Troy’s name for ever? Nowhere shall I see
A Simois or a Xanthus, Hector’s streams?
Nay up, and help me burn the ill-omened ships!
For in my sleep the seer Cassandra’s shade
Appeared, methought, and offered blazing brands.
Here look for Troy; here is your home,’ quoth she.
The hour is ripe for action; prodigies
So mighty brook no tarriance. Lo ye, four
Altars to Neptune! and the god himself
Supplies the firebrand and the will.” So saying,
She, snatching first the deadly flame, upreared
Aloft her right hand, brandished with main strength,
And threw it. Brain-wildered were the Trojan dames,
And heart-astonied. Then, of many, one
In years their eldest, Pyrgo, royal nurse
Of all those sons of Priam, cries, “See you not.
This is no Beroe, no Rhoeteian wife
Of Doryclus, good mothers! Mark the signs
Of heavenly beauty, and the glowing eyes:
What breath about her! what a glance she hath!
What tone of voice, and stateliness of step!
Nay, I myself left Beroe but e’en now
Sick, chafing that she only in such rite
Should lack a part, nor to Anchises pay
The honours due to him.” So spake she. But
The matrons, wavering at the first, ’gan eye
The ships with looks malign halting between
Infatuate passion for their present land
And realms that called them with the voice of fate.
But on poised wings the goddess borne through heaven
Cut, flying, a mighty bow beneath the clouds.
Then, by the portent crazed, and frenzy-spurred,
All from their hearths’ recesses, with one shout,
Snatch fire; some strip the altars, and fling on
Leaf, brushwood, bough. With loose rein Vulcan riots
O’er thwarts and oars and sterns of painted pine.
To Anchises’ barrow and the circus-seats
Brings word Eumelus of the fleet on fire.
Themselves glance back, and see the pitchy reek
Float in a cloud. And first Ascanius,
Then gaily leading his manoeuvring troop,
Rode at full speed to the disordered camp.
E’en as he was, nor can his breathless guards
Detain him. “What new frenzy is this? “he cries,
“Or whither now, say whither are ye bound.
My wretched countrywomen? ’Tis no foe.
No hostile camp of Argives, that ye burn,
But your own hopes. See, it is I, your own
Ascanius! “and before his feet he flung
The empty helmet, wherewith armed but now
He woke in sport the counterfeit of war.
At once Aeneas, at once the Teucrian train
Speed to the spot. But scattering o’er the beach,
This way and that the affrighted women fly,
Make for the woods by stealth, and wheresoe’er
The rocks are caverned: now they loathe the deed.
And daylight, know their own with altered eye
And Juno’s power is shaken from their soul.
But not for that the conflagration’s blaze
Slacks its resistless fury: the tow glows
Beneath the wet wood, spewing forth slow smoke;
The creeping heat devours the keels, a plague
That sinks through all the vessel’s hull, nor strength
Of men, nor showers of water can avail.
Then good Aeneas from off his shoulders rent
The raiment, and besought the gods for aid,
With outstretched hands: “Almighty Jupiter,
If all the Trojans, to a man, not yet
Thou hatest, if thy goodness of old time
Recks aught of human woes, grant that the flames
Now ’scape our fleet, O father, and pluck thou
The Teucrians’ shrunken power from ruin. Else
Level thy thunderbolt, and what remains
Hurl down to death, if such be my desert.
And overwhelm us here with thy right hand.”
Scarce had he spoken, when with outpoured showers
A black storm rages, incontrollable;
Earth trembles to the thunder, hill and plain;
From the whole welkin a wild water-flood
Comes rushing, pitch-black from the thickening south;
The ships are filled, and over; the half-burnt
Timbers are soaked; till all the heat is quenched,
And, four keels lost, all else escape the plague.
But Sire Aeneas, stunned by the shrewd chance,
Shuffled and turned the mighty load of care
Within his breast, now this way, and now that,
Whether to settle in Sicilian fields.
Heedless of fate, or grasp Italia’s shore.
Then aged Nautes, whom of all men most
Tritonian Pallas taught, and with much lore
Made famous — she it was declared to him
That which or heaven’s high wrath portended, or
Fate’s course required — he thus bespake Aeneas
With comfortable words: “O goddess-born
Pull or repel they, follow we the fates;
Betide what will, fortune in every phase
Is conquered but by bearing. Here thou hast
Acestes of the Dardan stock divine:
Him take, a willing yoke-fellow, to share
Thy counsels; unto him deliver those
Who are left shipless, or have’ weary grown
Both of thy fortunes and the great emprise.
Men full of years, and mothers wearied out
With ocean, and whate’er of weak thou hast,
Fearful of danger, choose, and in this land
Give ramparts to the weary ones. Their town,
Grant thou the name, Acesta shall be called.”
Fired by such words from his friend’s aged lips.
Then was his soul with care on care distraught.
And black night, chariot-lifted, held the sky.
When sudden lo! the likeness of his sire
Anchises seemed to glide from heaven, and speak
With such-like utterance: “Son, than life to me
Dearer, while life was mine, son, sorely tasked
By Ilium’s destinies, hither I come
At Jove’s command, who from thy fleet drave off
The fire, and hath at length ta’en pity on thee
Out of high heaven. Obey the goodly rede
Now given by aged Nautes; men of choice,
The bravest hearts, lead on to Italy;
Hardy the race, and rude of life, which thou
In Latium must war-under. First nathless
Approach the infernal halls of Dis, and through
Avernus’ depth seek colloquy with me.
My son. For guilty Tartarus holds me not,
Nor the sad ghosts, but in Elysium,
’Mid fair assemblies of the blest I dwell.
Thither with plenteous bloodshed of black kine
The Sibyl pure shall lead thee. Then shalt thou
Learn all thy kindred, and what walls are given.
And now farewell! dank night her midway course
Is wheeling, and the Orient’s panting steeds
Breathe pitiless upon me.” He had said.
And passed, like vapour, into empty air.

“Ah! whither hurrying, whither whirled away?”
Exclaims Aeneas, “whom fliest thou, or who
Bars thee from my embraces? “With that word
He wakes the embers and the slumbering fire,
And with pure meal and brimming censer pays
Honour to Troy’s Lar and hoar Vesta’s shrine.
Straight summons he his friends, Acestes first,
Of Jove’s command and his dear sire’s behest
Instructs them, and what purpose now stands fixed
Within his soul. No hindering the design,
Nor thwarts his word Acestes. They transfer
The matrons to their city, and set on shore
Who would, such souls as crave not high renown.
Themselves repair the thwarts, and shape afresh
The fire-gnawed ship-beams, and fit oars and ropes.
Few, but a pulse of manhood quick for war.
Aeneas meanwhile is marking with a plough
The city-boundaries, and assigning homes,
Bids here an Ilium, here a Troy to be.
Trojan Acestes, glorying in his realm,
Proclaims a court, and to the assembled sires
Gives laws. To Venus of Idalium then
Nigh to the stars, on Eryx’ top, they found
A dwelling, and Anchises’ tomb endow
With priest and grove of widespread sanctity.
Now the whole race nine days have wassail held.
And to the altars is due honour done:
Calm winds have laid the ocean, and once more
Auster with quickening breath invites to sea.
Uprises hark! along the winding shore
A mighty wail: clasped in each other’s arms
They linger out the hours of night and day.
Now e’en the matrons, e’en the men, who late
Shuddered at ocean’s face, scarce brooked its name,
Fain would set forth, bear all the toil of flight.
Them kind Aeneas soothes with friendly words,
And, weeping, to Acestes’ care consigns.
His kinsman. Then to Eryx he bids slay
Three heifers, and a ewe lamb to the storms.
And duly loose the moorings. He himself,
Bound with trim olive-leaves about his head.
Stands high upon the prow, and holds a bowl.
Into the salt waves flings the entrails far.
And pours clear-flowing wine. Rising astern,
A breeze escorts them on their way. The crews
With emulous oar-strokes sweep the ocean plain.
Venus meanwhile, to cares a prey, thus pleads
With Neptune, and pours out her heart’s complaint:

“Juno’s fell wrath and heart insatiable
Constrain me, Neptune, stoop to every prayer.
No lapse of time, no goodness can assuage.
Nor Jove’s command, nor fate itself, avail
To break and tame her. With outrageous hate
’Twas not enough from ’midst the Phrygian folk
To eat away their city, and drag them on
Through every retribution: what remains,
The very dust and bones of perished Troy,
She persecutes. Let her own heart resolve
The causes of such madness. Thou thyself
Art witness, on the Libyan waves but now
What sudden coil she raised — mixed all the seas
With heaven, upon the storms of Aeolus
Vainly relying, and dared it in thy realm.
See, too, Troy’s matrons goading into crime.
Their ships she hath burnt foully, forcing them.
With minished fleet, upon an unknown shore
To leave their comrades. Those that yet remain —
Let them, I pray thee of thy goodness, spread
Safe sail across the billows; let them reach
Laurentian Tiber, lawful if my suit.
If there the walls by destiny assigned.”
Then Saturn’s son, the lord of the deep sea,
Made answer: “Cytherea, ’tis full meet
Thou trust this realm of mine, that gave thee birth;
And I have earned it: often have I quelled
Such wrath and fury both of sea and sky,
Nor less on land, Xanthus and Simois
Attest, hath thine Aeneas been my care.
What time Achilles, the disheartened hosts
Of Troy pursuing, dashed them on their walls,
And many thousands did to death, till groaned
The choked-up rivers, nor could Xanthus find
A passage, and roll out to sea, then I
Seeing Aeneas with brave Peleus’ son
Ill-matched alike in strength and aid from heaven,
In a cloud’s hollow caught him, though full fain
From their foundation to cast down the walls
Of perjured Troy, that mine own hands had built.
Now too within me the same purpose holds;
Away with fear! unscathed he shall arrive
The Avernian havens, goal of thy desire;
One only shall there be, thou’lt seek in vain
Upon the flood, one life for many given.”
So soothing with his words the goddess’ heart
To gladness, the Sire yokes his steeds with gold,
Fastens to their wild mouths the foaming bit,
And, through his hands out-slackening all the reins.
Skims light the sea-top in his azure car.
Down sink the waves; the swelling water-floor
Beneath his thunderous wheel is levelled smooth;
The clouds fly routed through the vast of air.
Then to attend him came shapes manifold,
Monsters enormous, Glaucus’ aged choir,
Palaemon son of Ino, and the swift
Tritons, and Phorcus with his whole array;
Thetis upon the left, and Melite,
And maiden Panopea, and Nisaee,
Spio, Thalia, and Cymodoce.
Then lo! through Sire Aeneas’ tortured soul
Thrills the sweet solace of returning joy;
Quickly he bids each mast be reared, each sail
Stretched on the yardarms. All made taut the sheet
Together, with one accord, now left, now right.
Slackening the canvas; all together turn
And turn again the lofty sail-yard horns;
The winds, they wait for, bear the fleet along.
First, before all, leading the dense array,
Was Palinurus, others after him
Bidden to shape their course. Now dewy night
Had well-nigh reached the mid-way goal of heaven;
In slumber calm the crews relaxed their limbs
Beneath the oars, on the hard benches stretched.
When sleep slid lightly from the stars on high,
Parted the dusky air, and cleft the gloom.
Thee, Palinurus, seeking, and for thee
Fraught with a fatal dream, though innocent.
There on the high stern sat the god, and, like
To Phorbas, pours this utterance from his lips:

“O Palinurus, son of lasus.
See, of its own will ocean wafts the fleet;
The gales breathe equably; the hour is given
To slumber. Bow the head, and steal from toil
The weary eyes. Myself awhile will take
Thy task upon me.” With scarce lifted look,
To him speaks Palinurus: “Bid’st thou me
Mark not the sea’s smooth face and tranquil waves?
Put faith in such a monster? Wherefore trust
Aeneas to the false breezes, tempt again
The oft-rued treachery of a smiling sky?”
Such words he spake, and clutched and clung, nor aught
Let go the tiller, and held his upward eyes
Still fixed upon the stars: when lo! the god
O’er either temple shakes a bough besprent
With Lethe-dew, and drugged with Stygian power,
That loosed his swimming eyes, reluctant. Scarce
Had the first stealth of unexpected sleep
Slackened his limbs, when, bending from above.
Headlong it hurled him, half the stern torn off.
Rudder and all, into the weltering waves,
With many a cry to friends that could not aid.
But into empty air the vision’s self
Soared on the wing. Nathless the fleet unscathed
Speeds on its journey, and rides undismayed
In Father Neptune’s promise. And now it neared
The Siren-crags, found perilous of old.
Whitened with bones of many, while the rocks
With ceaseless surge were booming hoarse afar.
Soon as the sire perceived his vessel drift
Aimless for lack of helmsman, he himself
Over the midnight wave, with many a groan,
Steered her, sore shaken by his friend’s mischance:

“O all too trustful of the smiling face
Of sky and ocean, on an unknown shore,
And naked, Palinurus, thou wilt lie.”