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 eyeslooked back on Carthage, they beheld the glareof hapless Dido's fire. Not yet was knownwhat kindled the wild flames; but that the pangof outraged love is cruel, and what the heartof 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 wavegrew black and angry; from his Iofty seatthe 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 Kinggave happy omen, would I have good hopeof making Italy through yonder sky.Athwart our course from clouded evening-starrebellious winds run shifting, and the airinto a cloud-wrack rolls. Against such foestoo weak our strife and strain! Since now the handof Fortune triumphs, let us where she callsobedient go. For near us, I believe,lies Eryx' faithful and fraternal shore:here are Sicilian havens, if my mindof yon familiar stars have knowledge true.”then good Aeneas: “For a friendly windlong 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 cherishesAnchises' ashes?” Heedful of his word,they landward steer, while favoring zephyrs fillthe spreading sail. On currents swift and strongthe fleet is wafted, and with thankful soulthey moor on Sicily's familiar strand.

From a far hill-top having seen with joythe 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 siredof Trojan wife. Remembering in his hearthis ancient blood, he greeted with glad wordsthe wanderers returned; bade welcome tohis rude abundance, and with friendly giftstheir weariness consoled. The morrow morn,soon as the new beams of a golden dayhad banished every star, Aeneas calleda council of his followers on the shore,and from a fair green hillock gave this word:“Proud sons of Dardanus, whose lofty linenone but the gods began! This day fulfilsthe annual cycle of revolving time,since the dear relics of my god-like sireto earth we gave, and with dark offerings duebuilt altars sorrowful. If now I err not,this is my day—ye gods have willed it so! —for mourning and for praise. Should it befallme exiled in Gaetulia's wilderness,or sailing some Greek sea, or at the wallsof dire Mycenae, still would I renewunfailing vows, and make solemnitywith thankful rites, and worshipful array,at altars rich with gifts. But, lo, we come,beyond all hope, where lie the very bonesof my great sire. Nor did it come to passwithout 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 spiritgrant me to build my city, where his shrinesforever shall receive perpetual vowsmade in his name! This prince of Trojan line,Acestes, upon every ship bestowsa pair of oxen. To our offerings callthe powers that bless the altars and the firesof our ancestral hearth; and join with thesethe gods of good Acestes. Presently,when the ninth dawn shall bring its beam benignto mortal men, and show the radiant world,or all my Teucrian people I ordaina holiday of games; the flying shipsshall first contend; then swiftest runners trya foot-race; after that the champions boldwho step forth for a cast of javelins,or boast the soaring arrow; or fear notthe boxing-bout, with gauntlet of thick thongs.This summons is for all; let all have hopeto earn some noble palm! And from this hourspeak but well-boding words, and bind your browswith garlands green.” So saying, he twined a wreathof his own mother's myrtle-tree, to shadehis sacred brow; the hero Helymus,and King Acestes for his tresses gray,like coronals took on; Ascaniusand all the warrior youth like emblems wore.Then in th' attendant throng conspicuous,with thousands at his side, the hero movedfrom 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 flowersof saddest purple stain, while thus he prayed:“Hail, hallowed sire! And hail, ye ashes dearof him I vainly saved! O soul and shadeof my blest father! Heaven to us deniedto find together that predestined landof Italy, or our Ausonian streamof 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'erthe very altars; his smooth back was fleckedwith green and azure, and his changeful scalesgleamed golden, as the cloud-born rainbow flingsits thousand colors from th' opposing sun.Aeneas breathless watched the serpent windamong 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 bringsin honor of his sire; for he must deemthat serpent the kind genius of the place,or of his very father's present shadesome creature ministrant. Two lambs he slew,the wonted way, two swine, and, sable-hued,the yoke of bulls; from shallow bowl he pouredlibation of the grape, and called aloudon great Anchises' spirit, and his shade,from Acheron set free. Then all the throng,each from his separate store, heap up the shrineswith victims slain; some range in order fairthe brazen cauldrons; or along the grass,scattered at ease, hold o'er the embers brightthe spitted flesh and roast it in the flames.

Arrived the wished-for day; through cloudless skythe coursers of the Sun's bright-beaming carbore upward the ninth morn. The neighboring folkthronged eager to the shore; some hoped to seeAeneas and his warriors, others fainwould their own prowess prove in bout and game.Conspicuous lie the rewards, ranged in sightin the mid-circus; wreaths of laurel green,the honored tripod, coronals of palmfor conquerors' brows, accoutrements of war,rare robes of purple stain, and generous weightof silver and of gold. The trumpet's callproclaimed 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 crewof Mnestheus bring his speedy Pristis on, —Mnestheus in Italy erelong the sireof Memmius' noble line. Brave Gyas guideshis vast Chimaera, a colossal craft,a floating city, by a triple rowof Dardan sailors manned, whose banks of oarsin triple order rise. Sergestus, heof 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 searises a rock, which under swollen waveslies buffeted unseen, when wintry stormsmantle the stars; but when the deep is calm,lifts silently above the sleeping waveits level field,—a place where haunt and playflocks of the sea-birds, Iovers of the sun.Here was the goal; and here Aeneas seta green-leaved flex-tree, to be a markfor every captain's eye, from whence to veerthe courses of their ships in sweeping curvesand speed them home. Now places in the lineare given by lot. Upon the lofty sternsthe captains ride, in beautiful arrayof Tyriao purple and far-flaming gold;the crews are poplar-crowned, the shoulders barerubbed well with glittering oil; their straining armsmake long reach to the oar, as on the thwartsthey sit attentive, listening for the callof the loud trumpet; while with pride and feartheir hot hearts throb, impassioned for renown.Soon pealed the signal clear; from all the lineinstant the galleys bounded, and the airrang to the rowers, shouting, while their armspulled every inch and flung the waves in foam;deep cut the rival strokes; the surface fairyawned wide beneath their blades and cleaving keels.Not swifter scour the chariots o'er the plain,sped headlong from the line behind their teamsof mated coursers, while each driver shakesloose, rippling reins above his plunging pairs,and o'er the lash leans far. With loud applausevociferous and many an urgent cheerthe woodlands rang, and all the concave shoresback from the mountains took the Trojan cryin answering song. Forth-flying from his peers,while all the crowd acclaims, sped Gyas' keelalong the outmost wave. Cloanthus nextpushed hard upon, with stronger stroke of oarsbut heavier ship. At equal pace behindthe Pristis and the Centaur fiercely strivefor the third place. Now Pristis seems to lead,now mightier Centaur past her flies, then bothride on together, prow with prow, and cleavelong lines of foaming furrow with swift keels.Soon near the rock they drew, and either shipwas making goal,—when Gyas, in the lead, and winner of the half-course, Ioudly hailedmenoetes, the ship's pilot: “Why so farto starboard, we? Keep her head round this way!Hug shore! Let every oar-blade almost grazethat reef to larboard! Let the others takethe 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 sawcloanthus hard astern, and ever nearer,who, in a trice, betwixt the booming reefand Gyas' galley, lightly forward thrustthe beak of Scylla to the inside course,and, quickly taking lead, flew past the goalto the smooth seas beyond. Then wrathful griefflamed in the warrior's heart, nor was his cheekunwet with tears; and, reckless utterlyof his own honor and his comrades, lives,he hurled poor, slack Menoetes from the poopheadlong 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 wonhis rescue from the deep, engulfing wave,up the rude rock graybeard Menoetes climbedwith garment dripping wet, and there dropped downupon the cliff's dry top. With laughter loudthe Trojan crews had watched him plunging, swimming,and now to see his drink of bitter brinespewed on the ground, the sailors laughed again.

But Mnestheus and Sergestus, coming last,have joyful hope enkindled in each heartto pass the laggard Gyas. In the leadSergestus' ship shoots forth; and to the rockruns boldly nigh; but not his whole long keelmay pass his rival; the projecting beakis 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 chosefor followers! Now stand ye to your best!Put forth the thews of valor that ye showedin the Gaetulian Syrtes, or that seaIonian, or where the waves race bythe Malean promontory! Mnestheus nowhopes not to be the first, nor do I strivefor victory. O Father Neptune, givethat garland where thou wilt! But O, the shameif we are last! Endure it not, my men!The infamy refuse!” So, bending low,they enter the home-stretch. Beneath their strokethe brass-decked galley throbs, and under herthe sea-floor drops away. On, on they fly!Parched are the panting lips, and sweat in streamspours down their giant sides; but lucky chancebrought the proud heroes what their honor craved.For while Sergestus furiously drovehis ship's beak toward the rock, and kept insidethe scanty passage, by his evil starhe grounded on the jutting reef; the cliffsrang with the blow, and his entangled oarsgrated along the jagged granite, whilethe prow hung wrecked and helpless. With loud cryupsprang 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 strifeby happy fortune, with a quicker strokeof each bright rank of oars, and with the breezehis prayer implored, skims o'er the obedient waveand sweeps the level main. Not otherwisea startled dove, emerging o'er the fieldsfrom secret cavern in the crannied hillwhere her safe house and pretty nestlings lie,soars from her nest, with whirring wings—but soonthrough the still sky she takes her path of airon pinions motionless. So Pristis spedwith Mnestheus, cleaving her last stretch of sea,by her own impulse wafted. She outstrippedSergestus first; for he upon the reeffought with the breakers, desperately shoutingfor help, for help in vain, with broken oarscontriving to move on. Then Mnestheus ranpast Gyas, in Chimaera's ponderous hulk,of pilot now bereft; at last remainsCloanthus his sole peer, whom he pursueswith a supreme endeavor. From the shoreburst echoing cheers that spur him to the chase,and wild applause makes all the welkin ring.The leaders now with eager souls would scornto Iose their glory, and faint-hearted failto grasp a prize half-won, but fain would buyhonor with life itself; the followers tooare flushed with proud success, and feel them strongbecause their strength is proven. Both ships nowwith indistinguishable prows had spedto share one prize,—but with uplifted handsspread o'er the sea, Cloanthus, suppliant,called on the gods to bless his votive prayer:“Ye gods who rule the waves, whose waters bemy pathway now; for you on yonder stranda white bull at the altar shall be slainin grateful tribute for a granted vow;and o'er the salt waves I will scatter farthe entrails, and outpour the flowing wine.”He spoke; and from the caverns under seaPhorcus and virgin Panopea heard,and all the sea-nymphs' choir; while with strong handthe kindly God of Havens rose and thrustthe gliding ship along, that swifter flewthan 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 proclaimedCloanthus victor, and arrayed his browswith the green laurel-garland; to the crewsthree bulls, at choice, were given, and plenteous wineand talent-weight of silver; to the chiefsillustrious gifts beside; the victor hada gold-embroidered mantle with wide bandof undulant Meliboean purple rare,where, pictured in the woof, young Ganymedethrough Ida's forest chased the light-foot deerwith javelin; all flushed and panting he.But lo! Jove's thunder-bearing eagle fell,and his strong talons snatched from Ida farthe royal boy, whose aged servitorsreached helpless hands to heaven; his faithful houndbayed fiercely at the air. To him whose worththe second place had won, Aeneas gavea smooth-linked golden corselet, triple-chained,of which his own victorious hand despoiledDemoleos, by the swift, embattled streamof Simois, under Troy,—and bade it bea 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 dressedcharged down full speed on routed hosts of Troy.The third gift was two cauldrons of wrought brass,and bowls of beaten silver, cunninglyembossed with sculpture fair. Bearing such gifts,th' exultant victors onward moved, each browbound with a purple fillet. But behold!Sergestus, from the grim rock just dragged offby cunning toil, one halting rank of oarsleft of his many lost, comes crawling inwith vanquished ship, a mockery to all.As when a serpent, on the highway caught,some brazen wheel has crushed, or travellerwith heavy-smiting blow left half aliveand mangled by a stone; in vain he movesin writhing flight; a part is lifted highwith hissing throat and angry, glittering eyes;but by the wounded part a captive stillhe knots him fold on fold: with such a trackthe maimed ship labored slow; but by her sailsshe still made way, and with full canvas onarrived at land. Aeneas then bestoweda boon upon Sergestus, as was meetfor reward of the ship in safety broughtwith 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 roundwith clasp of wood-clad hills, wherein was madean amphitheatre; entering with a throngof followers, the hero took his seatin 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 camethe comrades Nisus and Euryalus,Euryalus for beauty's bloom renowned,Nisus for loyal love; close-following theseDiores strode, a prince of Priam's line;then Salius and Patron, who were bredin Acarnania and Arcady;then two Sicilian warriors, Helymusand Panopes, both sylvan bred and born,comrades of King Acestes; after thesethe 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 departswith empty hand. The Cretan javelinsbright-tipped with burnished steel, and battle-axeadorned with graven silver, these shall bethe meed of all. The three first at the goalshall 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 goesa baldrick broad and golden,—in its claspa lustrous gem. The third man goes awaytaking this helmet from the Argive spoil.”

They heard, and took their places. The loud horngave signal, and impetuous from the line,swift as a bursting storm they sped away,eyes fixed upon the goal. Far in advanceNisus shot forward, swifter than the windsor winged thunderbolt; the next in course,next, but out-rivalled far, was Salius,and after him a space, Euryaluscame third; him Helymus was hard upon;and, look! Diores follows, heel on heel,close at his shoulder—if the race be longhe sure must win, or claim a doubtful prize.Now at the last stretch, spent and panting, allpressed to the goal, when in a slime of bloodNisus, hard fate! slipped down, where late the deathof victims slain had drenched the turf below.Here the young victor, with his triumph flushed,lost foothold on the yielding ground, and plungedface forward in the pool of filth and gore;but not of dear Euryalus was heforgetful then, nor heedless of his friend;but rising from the mire he hurled himselfin Salius' way; so he in equal plightrolled in the filthy slough. Euryalusleaped forth, the winner of the race by giftof his true friend, and flying to the goalstood first, by many a favoring shout acclaimed.Next Helymus ran in; and, for the third, last prize,Diores. But the multitude now heardthe hollowed hill-side ringing with wild wrathfrom Salius, clamoring where the chieftains satefor restitution of his stolen prize,lost by a cheat. But general favor smilesupon Euryalus, whose beauteous tearscommend him much, and nobler seems the worthof 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 firstto Salius fall. Aeneas then replied:“Your gifts, my gallant youths, remain secure.None can re-judge the prize. But to consolethe misadventure of a blameless friend,is in my power.” Therewith to Saliusan Afric lion's monstrous pelt he gave,with ponderous mane, the claws o'erlaid with gold.But Nisus cried: “If such a gift be foundfor less than victory, and men who fallare worthy so much sorrow, pray, what prizeshall Nisus have? For surely I had wonthe proudest of the garlands, if one strokeof inauspicious fortune had not fallenon Salius and me.” So saying, he showedhis smeared face and his sorry limbs befouledwith mire and slime. Then laughed the gracious sire,and bade a shield be brought, the cunning workof Didymaon, which the Greeks tore downfrom Neptune's temple; with this noble gifthe sent the high-born youth upon his way.

The foot-race over and the gifts disbursed,“Come forth!” he cries, “if any in his hearthave strength and valor, let him now pull onthe gauntlets and uplift his thong-bound armsin challenge.” For the reward of this fighta two-fold gift he showed: the victor's meed,a bullock decked and gilded; but a swordand glittering helmet to console the fallen.Straightway, in all his pride of giant strength,Dares Ioomed up, and wondering murmurs ranalong the gazing crowd; for he alonewas wont to match with Paris, he it wasmet Butes, the huge-bodied championboasting 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 throngnot one puts on the gauntlets, or would facethe hero's challenge. Therefore, striding forth,believing none now dare but yield the palm,he stood before Aeneas, and straightwayseized with his left hand the bull's golden horn,and cried, “O goddess-born, if no man daresto 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 allmurmured assent, and bade the due awardof promised gift. But with a brow severeAcestes to Entellus at his sideaddressed upbraiding words, where they reclinedon grassy bank and couch of pleasant green:“O my Entellus, in the olden daysbravest among the mighty, but in vain!Endurest thou to see yon reward wonwithout a blow? Where, prithee, is that godwho taught thee? Are thy tales of Eryx vain?Does all Sicilia praise thee? Is thy roofwith trophies hung?” The other in reply:“My jealous honor and good name yield notto fear. But age, so cold and slow to move,makes my blood laggard, and my ebbing powersin 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 askthe fair bull for a prize, nor to the listsin search of gifts come forth.” So saying, he threwinto the mid-arena a vast pairof ponderous gauntlets, which in former daysfierce Eryx for his fights was wont to bindon hand and arm, with the stiff raw-hide thong.All marvelled; for a weight of seven bulls' hideswas pieced with lead and iron. Dares staredastonished, 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 armsof Hercules, and what his gauntlets were!Would thou hadst seen the conflict terribleupon this self-same shore! These arms were borneby Eryx. Look; thy brother's!—spattered yetwith blood, with dashed-out brains! In these he stoodwhen he matched Hercules. I wore them oftwhen in my pride and prime, ere envious ageshed frost upon my brows. But if these armsbe of our Trojan Dares disapproved,if good Aeneas rules it so, and KingAcestes wills it, let us offer fighton even terms. Let Eryx' bull's-hide go.Tremble no more! But strip those gauntlets off —fetched here from Troy.” So saying, he dropped downthe 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 pairsof gauntlets, and accoutred with like armsboth champions. Each lifted him full heighton tiptoe; each with mien unterrifiedheld both fists high in air, and drew his headfar back from blows assailing. Then they joinedin struggle hand to hand, and made the frayeach moment fiercer. One was light of footand on his youth relied; the other strongin bulk of every limb, but totteringon sluggish knees, while all his body shookwith labor of his breath. Without availthey rained their blows, and on each hollow side,each sounding chest, the swift, reverberate strokesfell without pause; around their ears and browscame blow on blow, and with relentless shocksthe smitten jaws cracked loud. Entellus standsunshaken, and, the self-same posture keeping,only by body-movement or quick eyeparries attack. Dares (like one in siegeagainst a mountain-citadel, who now will drivewith ram and engine at the craggy wall,now wait in full-armed watch beneath its towers)tries manifold approach, most craftilyinvests each point of vantage, and renewshis unsuccessful, ever various war.Then, rising to the stroke, Entellus poisedaloft his ponderous right; but, quick of eye,the other the descending wrath foresawand nimbly slipped away; Entellus sowasted his stroke on air, and, self-o'erthrown,dropped prone to earth his monstrous length along,as when on Erymanth or Ida fallsa hollowed pine from giant roots uptorn.Alike the Teucrian and Trinacrian throngshout wildly; while Acestes, pitying, hastesto lift his gray companion. But, unchecked,undaunted by his fall, the champion braverushed fiercer to the fight, his strength now rousedby rage, while shame and courage confidentkindle his soul; impetuous he drivesDares full speed all round the ring, with blowsredoubled right and left. No stop or staygives he, but like a storm of rattling hailupon a house-top, so from each huge handthe champion's strokes on dizzy Dares fall.

Then Sire Aeneas willed to make a stayto so much rage, nor let Entellus' soulflame beyond bound, but bade the battle pause,and, rescuing weary Dares, thus he spokein soothing words: “Ill-starred! What mad attemptis in thy mind? Will not thy heart confessthy strength surpassed, and auspices averse?Submit, for Heaven decrees!” With such wise wordshe sundered the fell strife. But trusty friendsbore Dares off: his spent limbs helpless trailed,his head he could not lift, and from his lipscame blood and broken teeth. So to the shipthey bore him, taking, at Aeneas' word,the helmet and the sword—but left behindEntellus' 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 deathye have clelivered Dares.” Saying so,he turned him full front to the bull, who stoodfor reward of the fight, and, drawing backhis right hand, poising the dread gauntlet high,swung sheer between the horns and crushed the skull;a trembling, lifeless creature, to the groundthe bull dropped forward dead. Above the fallenEntellus cried aloud, “This victim dueI give thee, Eryx, more acceptablethan 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 willto contest of swift arrows, and displaysreward and prize. With mighty hand he rearsa mast within th' arena, from the shipof good Sergestus taken; and theretoa fluttering dove by winding cord is boundfor target of their shafts. Soon to the matchthe rival bowmen came and cast the lotsinto a brazen helmet. First came forthHippocoon's number, son of Hyrtacus,by cheers applauded; Mnestheus was the next,late victor in the ship-race, Mnestheus crownedwith olive-garland; next Eurytion,brother of thee, O bowman most renowned,Pandarus, breaker of the truce, who hurledhis shaft upon the Achaeans, at the wordthe goddess gave. Acestes' Iot and namecame from the helmet last, whose royal handthe 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 aimcuts through the yielding air; and lo! his barbpierces the very wood, and makes the masttremble; while with a fluttering, frighted wingthe bird tugs hard,—and plaudits fill the sky.Boldly rose Mnestheus, and with bow full-drawnaimed both his eye and shaft aloft; but hefailing, unhappy man, to bring his barbup to the dove herself, just cut the cordand broke the hempen bond, whereby her feetwere captive to the tree: she, taking flight,clove through the shadowing clouds her path of air.But swiftly—for upon his waiting bowhe held a shaft in rest—Eurytioninvoked his brother's shade, and, marking wellthe dove, whose happy pinions fluttered freein vacant sky, pierced her, hard by a cloud;lifeless she fell, and left in light of heavenher spark of life, as, floating down, she borethe arrow back to earth. Acestes nowremained, last rival, though the victor's palmto him was Iost; yet did the aged sire,to show his prowess and resounding bow,hurl forth one shaft in air; then suddenlyall eyes beheld such wonder as portendsevents to be (but when fulfilment came,too late the fearful seers its warning sung):for, soaring through the stream of cloud, his shafttook fire, tracing its bright path in flame,then vanished on the wind,—as oft a starwill 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 signin vain to great Aeneas. But his armsfolded the blest Acestes to his heart,and, Ioading him with noble gifts, he cried:“Receive them, sire! The great Olympian Kingsome peerless honor to thy name decreesby such an omen given. I offer theethis bowl with figures graven, which my sire,good gray Anchises, for proud gift receivedof Thracian Cisseus, for their friendship's pledgeand memory evermore.” Thereon he crownedhis brows with garland of the laurel green,and named Acestes victor over all.Nor could Eurytion, noble youth, think illof 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 endof game and contest, summoned to his sideEpytides, the mentor and true friendof young Iulus, and this bidding gaveto his obedient ear: “Arise and gowhere my Ascanius has lined his troopof youthful cavalry, and trained the steedsto tread in ranks of war. Bid him lead forththe squadron in our sire Anchises' name,and wear a hero's arms!” So saying, he badethe course be cleared, and from the whole wide fieldth' 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 browa well-trimmed wreath the flowing tresses bound;two javelins of corner tipped with steeleach bore for arms; some from the shoulder slunga polished quiver; to each bosom fella pliant necklace of fine, twisted gold.Three bands of horsemen ride, three captains proudprance here and there, assiduous in command,each of his twelve, who shine in parted lineswhich lesser captains lead. One cohort proudfollows a little Priam's royal name —one day, Polites, thy illustrious racethrough him prolonged, shall greater glory bringto Italy. A dappled Thracian steedwith snow-white spots and fore-feet white as snowbears him along, its white face lifted high.Next Atys rode, young Atys, sire to beof th' Atian house in Rome, a boy most dearunto the boy Iulus; last in line,and fairest of the throng, Iulus came,astride a steed from Sidon, the fond giftof beauteous Dido and her pledge of love.Close followed him the youthful chivalryof King Acestes on Trinacrian steeds.

The Trojans, with exultant, Ioud acclaim,receive the shy-faced boys, and joyfullytrace in the features of the sons their sires.After, with smiling eyes, the horsemen proudhave 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 forthin hostile ranks; or on the ample fieldretreat or charge, in figure intricateof circling troop with troop, and swift paradeof simulated war; now from the fieldthey 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 gallerywound on through lightless walls, with thousand pathswhich baffled every clue, and led astrayin unreturning mazes dark and blind:so did the sons of Troy their courses weavein 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 trainwere wont to do, so Alba to her sonsthe custom gave; so glorious Rome at lastthe heritage accepted and revered;and still we know them for the “Trojan Band,”and call the lads a “Troy.” Such was the endof 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 downthe light-winged Iris to the ships of Troy,giving her flight good wind—still full of schemesand hungering to avenge her ancient wrong.Unseen of mortal eye, the virgin tookher pathway on the thousand-colored bow,and o'er its gliding passage earthward flew.She scanned the vast assemblage; then her gazeturned shoreward, where along the idle baythe Trojan galleys quite unpeopled rode.But far removed, upon a lonely shore,a throng of Trojan dames bewailed aloudtheir lost Anchises, and with tears surveyedthe mighty deep. “O weary waste of seas!What vast, untravelled floods beyond us roll!”So cried they with one voice, and prayed the godsfor an abiding city; every heartloathed utterly the long, laborious sea.Then in their midst alighted, not unskilledin working woe, the goddess; though she worenor garb nor form divine, but made herselfone Beroe, Doryclus' aged wife,who in her happier days had lineage fairand sons of noble name; in such disguiseshe called the Trojan dames:“O ye ill-starred,that were not seized and slain by Grecian foesunder your native walls! O tribe accursed,what death is Fate preparing? Since Troy fellthe seventh summer flies, while still we roveo'er cruel rocks and seas, from star to star,from alien land to land, as evermorewe chase, storm-tossed, that fleeting Italy across the waters wide. Behold this landof Eryx, of Acestes, friend and kin;what hinders them to raise a rampart hereand build a town? O city of our sires!O venerated gods from haughty foesrescued in vain! Will nevermore a wall rise in the name of Troy? Shall I not seea Xanthus or a Simois, the streamsto 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 theeis where thou art.’ Behold, the hour is ripefor our great act! No longer now delayto heed the heavenly omen. Yonder standfour 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 armhurled it from far. The Ilian matrons gazed,bewildered and appalled. But one, of allthe eldest, Pyrgo, venerated nurseof Priam's numerous sons, exclaimed, “Nay, nay!This is no Beroe, my noble dames.Doryclus knew her not. Behold and seeher heavenly beauty and her radiant eyes!What voice of music and majestic mien,what movement like a god! Myself am comefrom Beroe sick, and left her grieving sorethat she, she only, had no gift to bringof mournful honor to Anchises' shade.”She spoke. The women with ill-boding eyeslooked on the ships. Their doubting hearts were torn'twixt tearful passion for the beauteous isletheir feet then trod, and that prophetic callof Fate to lands unknown. Then on wide wingssoared Iris into heaven, and through the cloudsclove a vast arch of light. With wonder dazed,the women in a shrieking frenzy rose,took embers from the hearth-stones, stole the firesupon 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 tombof Sire Anchises, to the circus-seats,the messenger Eumelus flew, to bringnews of the ships on fire; soon every eyethe clouds of smoke and hovering flame could see.Ascanius, who had led with smiling browhis 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 theninto their midst he flung, which he had wornfor 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 cragsor shadowed forests hid them, for they Ioathedtheir deed and life itself; their thoughts were changed;they knew their kin and husbands, and their heartsfrom Juno were set free. But none the lessthe burning and indomitable flamesraged without stay; beneath the ships' smeared sidesthe hempen fuel puffed a lingering smoke,as, through the whole bulk creeping, the slow firedevoured its way; and little it availedthat strong men fought the fire with stream on stream.Then good Aeneas from his shoulder renthis garment, and with lifted hands imploredthe help of Heaven. “O Jove omnipotent!If thou not yet thy wrath implacableon every Trojan pourest, if thou stillhast pity, as of old, for what men bear,O, grant my fleet deliverance from this flame!From uttermost destruction, Father, saveour desperate Trojan cause! Or even now —last cruelty! thy fatal thunders throw.If this be my just meed, let thy dread armconfound us all.” But scarce the prayer is said,when with a bursting deluge a dark stormfalls, marvellous to see; while hills and plainswith thunder shake, and to each rim of heavenspreads swollen cloud-rack, black with copious rainand multitudinous gales. The full flood pourson every ship, and all the smouldering beamsare drenched, until the smoke and flames expireand (though four ships be lost) the burning fleetrides rescued from its doom. But smitten soreby this mischance, Aeneas doubtfullyweighs in his heart its mighty load of cares,and ponders if indeed he may abidein Sicily, not heeding prophet-songs,or seek Italian shores. Thereon uproseNautes, an aged sire, to whom aloneTritonian Pallas of her wisdom gaveand made his skill renowned; he had the powerto show celestial anger's warning signs,or tell Fate's fixed decree. The gifted manthus 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 bearwhate'er she brings. Behold, Acestes drawsfrom Dardanus his origin divine!Make him thy willing friend, to share with theethy purpose and thy counsel. Leave with himthe crews of the lost ships, and all whose heartsrepine at thy high task and great emprise:the spent old men, the women ocean-weary, whate'er is feeble found, or faint of heartin danger's hour,—set that apart, and givesuch weary ones within this friendly islea city called Acesta,—if he will.”

Much moved Aeneas was by this wise wordof his gray friend, though still his anxious soulwas vexed by doubt and care. But when dark nighthad brought her chariot to the middle sky,the sacred shade of Sire Anchises seemed,from heaven descending, thus to speak aloud:“My son, than life more dear, when life was mine!O son, upon whose heart the Trojan doomhas weighed so Iong! Beside thy couch I stand,at pleasure of great Jove, whose hand dispelledthe mad fire from thy ships; and now he looksfrom heaven with pitying brow. I bid thee heedthe noble counsels aged Nautes gave.Only with warriors of dauntless breastto Italy repair; of hardy breed,of wild, rough life, thy Latin foes will be.But first the shores of Pluto and the Shadesthy feet must tread, and through the deep abyssof dark Avernus come to me, thy sire:for I inhabit not the guilty gloomof Tartarus, but bright Elysian day,where all the just their sweet assemblies hold.Hither the virgin Sibyl, if thou givefull offerings of the blood of sable kine,shall lead thee down; and visions I will showof cities proud and nations sprung from thee.Farewell, for dewy Night has wheeled her wayfar past her middle course; the panting steedsof orient Morn breathe pitiless upon me.”He spoke, and passed, like fleeting clouds of smoke,to empty air. “O, whither haste away?”Aeneas cried. “Whom dost thou fly? What godfrom my fond yearning and embrace removes?”Then on the altar of the gods of Troy he woke the smouldering embers, at the shrineof venerable Vesta, worshippingwith hallowed bread and incense burning free.

Straightway he calls assembly of his friends, —Acestes first in honor,—and makes knownJove's will, the counsel of his cherished sire,and his own fresh resolve. With prompt assentthey hear his word, nor does Acestes failthe task to share. They people the new townwith women; and leave every wight behindwho wills it—souls not thirsting for high praise.Themselves re-bench their ships, rebuild, and fitwith rope and oar the flame-swept galleys all;a band not large, but warriors bold and true.Aeneas, guiding with his hand a plough,marks out the city's ground, gives separate landsby lot, and bids within this space appeara second Troy. Trojan Acestes takesthe kingly power, and with benignant joyappoints a forum, and decrees just lawsbefore a gathered senate. Then they raiseon that star-circled Erycinian hill,the temple to Idalian Venus dear;and at Anchises' sepulchre ordaina priesthood and wide groves of hallowed shade.

Now the nine days of funeral pomp are done,and every altar has had honors duefrom all the folk. Now tranquil-breathing windshave levelled the great deep, while brisk and free,a favoring Auster bids them launch away.But sound of many a wailing voice is heardalong the winding shore; for ere they go,in fond embraces for a night and daythey linger still. The women—aye, and men! —who hated yesterday the ocean's faceand loathed its name, now clamor to set sailand bear all want and woe to exiles known.But good Aeneas with benignant wordstheir sorrow soothes, and, not without a tear,consigns them to Acestes' kindred care.Then bids he sacrifice to Eryx' shadethree bulls, and to the wind-gods and the storma lamb, then loose the ships in order due.He, with a garland of shorn olive, stoodholding aloft the sacrificial bowlfrom his own vessel's prow, and scattered farthe sacred entrails o'er the bitter wave,with gift of flowing wine. Swift at the sterna fair wind rose and thrust them; while the crewswith rival strokes swept o'er the spreading sea.

Venus, the while, disturbed with grief and care,to Neptune thus her sorrowing heart outpoured:“Stern Juno's wrath and breast implacablecompel me, Neptune, to abase my pridein lowly supplication. Lapse of days,nor prayers, nor virtues her hard heart subdue,nor Jove's command; nor will she rest or yieldat Fate's decree. Her execrable grudgeis still unfed, although she did consumethe Trojan city, Phrygia's midmost throne,and though she has accomplished stroke on strokeof retribution. But she now pursuesthe remnant—aye! the ashes and bare bonesof perished Ilium; though the cause and springof wrath so great none but herself can tell.Wert thou not witness on the Libyan wavewhat storm she stirred, immingling sea and sky,and with Aeolian whirlwinds made her war, —in vain and insolent invasion, sire,of thine own realm and power? Behold, but now,goading to evil deeds the Trojan dames,she basely burned his ships; he in strange landsmust leave the crews of his Iost fleet behind.O, I entreat thee, let the remnant sailin safety o'er thy sea, and end their wayin Tiber's holy stream;—if this my prayerbe lawful, and that city's rampart proudbe still what Fate intends.”Then Saturn's son,the ruler of the seas profound, replied:“Queen of Cythera, it is meet for theeto trust my waves from which thyself art sprung.Have I not proved a friend, and oft restrainedthe anger and wild wrath of seas and skies?On land, let Simois and Xanthus tellif I have loved Aeneas! On that dayAchilles drove the shuddering hosts of Troy in panic to the walls, and hurled to deathinnumerable foes, until the streamswere choked with dead, and Xanthus scarce could findhis wonted path to sea; that self-same day,aeneas, spent, and with no help of Heaven,met Peleus' dreadful son:—who else but Iin cloudy mantle bore him safe afar?Though 't was my will to cast down utterlythe walls of perjured Troy, which my own handshad built beside the sea. And even to-daymy favor changes not. Dispel thy fear!Safe, even as thou prayest, he shall rideto Cumae's haven, where Avernus lies.One only sinks beneath th' engulfing seas, —one life in lieu of many.” Having soothedand cheered her heart divine, the worshipped sireflung o'er his mated steeds a yoke of gold,bridled the wild, white mouths, and with strong handshook out long, Ioosened reins. His azure carskimmed light and free along the crested waves;before his path the rolling billows allwere calm and still, and each o'er-swollen floodsank 'neath his sounding wheel; while from the skiesthe storm-clouds fled away. Behind him traileda various company; vast bulk of whales,the hoary band of Glaucus, Ino's son,Palaemon and the nimble Tritons all,the troop of Phorcus; and to leftward rangedThalia, Thetis, and fair Alelite,with virgin Panopea, and the nymphsNesaea, Spio and Cymodoce.

Now in Aeneas' ever-burdened breastthe voice of hope revived. He bade make hasteto raise the masts, spread canvas on the spars;all hands hauled at the sheets, and left or rightshook out the loosened sails, or twirled in placethe horn-tipped yards. Before a favoring windthe fleet sped on. The line in close arraywas led by Palinurus, in whose courseall ships were bid to follow. Soon the carof dewy Night drew near the turning-pointof her celestial round. The oarsmen allyielded their limbs to rest, and prone had fallenon the hard thwarts, in deep, unpillowed slumber.Then from the high stars on light-moving wings,the God of Sleep found passage through the darkand clove the gloom,—to bring upon thy head,O Palinurus, an ill-boding sleep,though blameless thou. Upon thy ship the godin guise of Phorbas stood, thus whispering:“Look, Palinurus, how the flowing tideslift on thy fleet unsteered, and changeless windsbehind thee breathe! 'T is now a happy hourtake thy rest. Lay down the weary head.Steal tired eyes from toiling. I will dothine office for thee, just a little space.”But Palinurus, lifting scarce his eyes,thus answered him: “Have I not known the faceof yonder placid seas and tranquil waves?Put faith in such a monster? Could I trust —I, oft by ocean's treacherous calm betrayed —my lord Aeneas to false winds and skies?”