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The Aeneid of Virgil
Book Five
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ARGUMENT
AEneas, unaware of Dido's fate, sails away to Acestes in Sicily, and
prepares funeral games against the anniversary of Anchises' death
(1-90). Offerings are paid to the spirit of Anchises. Sicilians and
Trojans assemble for the first contest, a boat race (91-140), which
is described at length. Cloanthus, ancestor of the Cluentii, wins
with the "Scylla" (141-342). The foot-race is next narrated.
Euryalus, by his friend's cunning, gains the first prize, and the
scene shifts (343-441) to the ring, in which Dares is defeated by
the veteran Entellus, who fells the ox, his prize, as an offering
to his master Eryx (442-594). After some wonderful shooting in the
archery which follows, AEneas awards the first prize to Acestes, as
the favourite of the gods (595-667). Before this contest is over
AEneas summons Ascanius and his boy-companions to perform the
elaborate manoeuvres afterwards celebrated in Rome as the "Trojan
Ride" (668-729). Juno schemes to destroy the Trojan fleet, while the
games are being held. She inspires with discontent the Trojan matrons,
who are not present at the festival. They set fire to the ships
(730-810). Ascanius hurries to the scene. Jupiter sends rain and
saves all the ships but four (811-855). Nautes advises AEneas to
leave behind the weak and aged with Acestes. The wraith of Anchises
enforces the advice, and bids AEneas visit him in the nether-world
(856-909). Preparations for departure. Acestes accepts his new
subjects, and the Trojans depart. Venus prevails on Neptune to grant
them safe convoy in return for the life of the helmsman Palinurus,
who is drowned (910-1062).
I. Now well at sea, AEneas, fixt in mind,
Held on his course, and cleft the watery ways
Through billows blackened by the northern wind,
And backward on the city bent his gaze,
Bright with the flames of Dido.
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Whence the blaze Arose, they knew not;
but the pangs they knew When love is
passionate, and man betrays, And what a
frantic woman scorned can do, And many a
sad surmise their boding thoughts
pursue.
II. The fleet was on mid-ocean; land no more
Was visible, nor aught but sea and sky;
When lo! above them a black cloud, that bore
Tempest and Night, frowned iron-dark on high,
And the wave, shuddering as the wind swept by,
Curled and was darkened. From the stern loud cries
The pilot Palinurus: "Whence and why
This cloudy rack that gathers o'er the skies?
What, father Neptune, now, what mischief dost devise?"
III. So having said, he bade the seamen take
The tackling in, and ply the lusty oar,
Then sloped the mainsheet to the wind, and spake:
"Noble AEneas, e'en if high Jove swore
To bring us safely to Italia's shore,
With skies like these, 'twere hopeless. Westward loom
The dark clouds mustering, and the changed winds roar
Athwart us, and the air is thick with gloom.
Vainly we strive to move, and struggle with our doom.
IV. "Come, then, since Fortune hath the mastering hand,
Yield we and turn. Not far, methinks, there lies
A friendly shore, thy brother Eryx' land,
And ports Sicanian, if aright these eyes
Recall my former reading of the skies."
Then good AEneas: "Long ago, 'tis plain,
The winds so willed it. I have seen," he cries,
"And marked thee toiling in their teeth in vain.
Shift sail and turn the helm. What sweeter shore to gain,
V. "What port more welcome to a wearied fleet
And wave-worn mariners, what land more blest
Than that where still Acestes lives, to greet
His Dardan friends, and in the boon earth's breast
My father's bones, Anchises', are at rest?"
He spake; at once the Trojans strive to gain
The port. Fair breezes, blowing from the West,
Swell out the sails. They bound along the main,
And soon with gladdening hearts the well-known shore attain.
VI. Far off Acestes, wondering, from a height
The coming of their friendly ships descries,
And hastes to meet them. Roughly is he dight
In Libyan bearskin, as in huntsman's guise;
A pointed javelin in each hand he plies.
Him once a Trojan to Crimisus bore,
The stream-god. Mindful of ancestral ties
He hails his weary kinsmen, come once more,
And dainty fruits sets forth, and cheers them from his store.
VII. Next dawn had chased the stars, when on the shore
AEneas thus the gathered crews addressed:
"Twelve months have passed, brave Dardans, since we bore
The bones of great Anchises to his rest,
And laid his ashes in the ground, and blessed
The mourning altars by the rolling sea.
And now once more, if rightly I have guessed,
The day is come, which Heaven hath willed to be
Sacred for evermore, but ever sad to me.
VIII. This day, though exiled on Gaetulian sands,
Or caught by tempests on th' AEgean brine,
Or at Mycenae in the foemen's hands,
With annual honours will I hold divine,
And head with fitting offerings the shrine.
By chance unsought, now hither are we led,
Yet not, I ween, without the God's design,
Where lie the ashes of my father dead,
And greet a friendly port, by favouring breezes sped.
IX. "Come then, with festival his name revere,
Pray we for winds to waft us, and entreat
His shade to take these offerings year by year,
When gathered to our new-built Troy, we meet
In hallowed fanes, his worship to repeat.
See, for each ship two head of horned kine
Acestes sends, his Trojan friends to greet
Bid then the home-gods of the Trojan line,
With those our host adores, to grace the feast divine.
X. "Nay, if the ninth fair morning show fine day,
And bring the sunshine, be a match decreed
For Teucrian ships, their swiftness to essay.
Next, in the footrace whosoe'er hath speed,
Or, glorying in his manhood, claims the meed
With dart, or flying arrow and the bow,
Or bout with untanned gauntlet, mark and heed,
And wait the victor's guerdon. Come ye now;
Hush'd be each idle tongue, and garlanded each brow."
XI. He spake, and round his temples binds with joy
His mother's myrtle. Helymus is crowned,
The veteran Acestes, and the boy
Ascanius, and the Trojan warriors round.
So from the council to the funeral mound
He moves, the centre of a circling crowd.
Two bowls of wine he pours upon the ground,
Two of warm milk, and two of victim's blood,
And, scattering purple flowers, invokes the shade aloud.
XII. "Hail, holy Sire! blest Spirit, hail once more,
And ashes, vainly rescued! Not with thee
Was I allowed to reach Italia's shore,
The fields Ausonian that the Fates decree,
And Latin Tiber--whatsoe'er it be."
He ceased, when lo, a monstrous serpent, wound
In seven huge coils, seven giant spires, they see
Glide from the grave, and gently clasp the mound,
And 'twixt the altars trail in many a tortuous round.
XIII. The back with azure and the scales with gold
In streaks and glittering patches were ablaze:
So doth the rainbow in the clouds unfold
A thousand hues against the sun's bright rays.
AEneas stood bewildered with amaze.
In lengthened train meanwhile the snake went on,
'Twixt cups and bowls weaving its sinuous ways,
Then sipped the sacred food, and harming none,
The tasted altars left and 'neath the tomb was gone.
XIV. Cheered, to Anchises he the rites renewed,
In doubt if there some Genius of the shrine
Or menial spirit of his sire he viewed.
Two sheep, two dark-backed heifers, and two swine
He slays, invoking, as he pours the wine,
The ghost, released from Acheron. Glad of soul,
Each adds his gift. These slay the sacred Kine,
Pile altars, set the cauldrons, heap the coal,
And, sitting, hold the spits, and roast the entrails whole.
XV. Now came the looked-for day. The ninth fair dawn
Bright Phaethon drove up a cloudless sky.
Rumour and great Acestes' name had drawn
The neighbouring folk; shoreward in crowds they hie
To see the Trojans, or the games to try.
Piled in the lists the presents they behold,
Green garlands, tripods, robes of purple dye,
The conqueror's palm, bright armour for the bold,
And many a talent's weight of silver and of gold.
XVI. Now from a mound the trumpet's notes proclaim
The sports begun. Four galleys from the fleet,
The choicest, manned by mariners of fame,
And matched in size and urged with ponderous beat
Of oar-blades, for the naval contest meet.
See, here the Shark comes speeding to her place,
Trained is her crew and eager to compete,
Brave Mnestheus is her captain, born to grace
Italia's land ere long, and found the Memmian race.
XVII. Here too, the huge Chimaera towers along,
A floating citadel, with walls of pine,
Three tale of Dardans urge her, stout and strong,
Their triple tiers in unison combine
To drive her, ruled by Gyas, through the brine.
Borne in the monstrous Centaur, next doth come
Sergestus, father of the Sergian line.
Last, in the dark-blue Scylla ploughs the foam
Cloanthus, whence thy house, Cluentius of Rome.
XVIII. Far seaward stands, afront the foamy shore,
A rock, half-hid when wintry waves upleap,
And skies are starless, and the North-winds roar,
But still and silent, when the calm waves sleep,
A level top it lifts above the deep,
The seamews' haunt. A bough of ilex here
The good AEneas sets upon the steep,
Green-leaved and tall,--a goal, to seamen clear,
To seek and, doubling round, their homeward course to steer.
XIX. Each takes his station. On the sterns behold,
Ranged in due order as the lots assign,
The captains, gay with purple and with gold.
The crews their brows with poplar garlands twine,
And wet with oil their naked shoulders shine.
Prone on their oars, and straining from the thwart,
With souls astretch, they listen for the sign.
Fear stirs the pulse and drains the throbbing heart,
Thrilled with the lust of praise, and panting for the start.
XX. Loud peals the trumpet. From the port they dash
With cheers. The waves hiss, as the strong arms keep
In time, drawn up to finish with a flash;
And three-toothed prow and oars, with measured sweep,
Tear up the yawning furrows of the deep,
Less swiftly, to the chariot yoked atwain,
The bounding racers from the base outleap,
Less keen the driver, as they scour the plain,
Leans o'er the whistling lash, and slacks the streaming rein.
XXI. Shouts, cheers and plaudits wake the woods around,
Their clamours roll along the land-locked shore,
And, echoing, from the beaten hills rebound.
First Gyas comes, amid the rout and roar;
Cloanthus second,--better with the oar
His crew, but heavier is the load of pine.
Next Shark and Centaur struggle to the fore,
Now Shark ahead, now Centaur, now in line
The long keels, urged abreast, together plough the brine.
XXII. Near lay the rock, the goal was close in sight,
When Gyas, first o'er half a length of tide
Shouts to his helmsman: "Whither to the right?
Hug close the cliff, and graze the leftward side.
Let others hold the deep." In vain he cried.
Menoetes feared the hidden reefs, and bore
To seaward. "Whither from thy course so wide?
What; swerving still?" the captain shouts once more,
"Keep to the shore, I say, Menoetes, to the shore."
XXIII. He turned, when lo! behind him, gaining fast,
Cloanthus. On the leeward side he stole
A narrower compass, grazing as he passed
His rival's vessel and the sounding shoal,
Then gained safe water, as he turned the goal.
Grief fired young Gyas at the sight, and drew
Tears from his eyes and anger from his soul.
Careless alike of honour and his crew,
Down from the lofty stern his timorous guide he threw.
XXIV. Forthwith he grasps the tiller in his hand,
Captain and helmsman, and his comrades cheers,
And wrests the rudder leftward to the land,
Slow from the depths Menoetes reappears,
Clogged by his clothes, and cumbered with his years.
Then, shoreward swimming, climbs with feeble craft
The rock, and there sits drying. All with jeers
Laughed as he fell and floated; loud they laughed
As, sputtering, from his throat he spits the briny draught.
XXV. Joy, mixt with hope, as Gyas slacks his pace,
Fires the two hindmost. Now they near the mark;
Sergestus, leading, takes the inside place.
Yet not a length divides them, for the Shark
Shoots up halfway and overlaps his bark.
Mnestheus, amidships pacing, cheers his crew;
"Now, now lean to, and let each arm be stark;
Row, mighty Hector's followers, whom I drew
From Troy, in Troy's last hour, my comrades tried and true!
XXVI. "Now for the strength and hardihood that braved
Gaetulian shoals, and the Ionian main,
And billows following billows, as they raved
Against steep Malea. Not mine to gain
The prize: I strive not to be first--'tis vain.
Sweet were the thought--but Neptune rules the race;
Let them the palm, whom he has willed, retain.
But oh, for shame! to take the hindmost place
Win this--to ward that doom, and ban the dire disgrace."
XXVII. Straining each nerve, they bend them to the oar.
The bronze poop reels, so lustily they row,
And from beneath them slips the watery floor.
The parched lips quiver, as they pant and blow,
Sweat pours in rivers from their limbs; when now
Chance brings the wished-for honour. Blindly rash,
Close to the rocks Sergestus drives his prow.
Too close he steals; on jutting crags they dash;
The straining oars snap short, the bows with sudden crash
XXVIII. Stick fast, and hang upon the ledge. Up spring
With shouts the sailors, clamorous at delay,
And snatch the crushed oars from the waves, and bring
Sharp poles and steel-tipt boathooks, and essay
To thrust the forepart from the rocks away.
Brave Mnestheus sees and, glorying in his gain,
Invokes the winds. With oarsmen in array
His swift bark, urged with many a stalwart strain,
Shoots down the sloping tide, and wins the open main.
XXIX. Like as a pigeon, startled from her rest,
Swift from the crannies of the rock, where clings
Her heart's desire, the darlings of her nest,
Darts forth and, scared with terror, flaps her wings,
Then, gliding smoothly, in the soft air swings,
And skims her liquid passage through the skies
On pinions motionless. So Mnestheus springs,
So springs the Shark; her impulse, as she flies,
Cleaving the homeward seas, the wanting wings supplies.
XXX. He leaves Sergestus, who implores in vain
His aid, still toiling from the rocks to clear
And headway with his shattered oars to gain.
Soon huge Chimaera, left with none to steer,
Drops off astern, and labours in the rear.
Alone remains Cloanthus, but the race
Well-nigh is ended, and the goal is near;
Him Mnestheus seeks; his crew, with quickened pace
And utmost stretch of oars, press forward in the chase.
XXXI. Now, now the noise redoubles; cheers and cries
Urge on the follower, and the wild acclaim
Rolls up, and wakes the echoes of the skies.
These scorn to lose their vantage, stung with shame,
And life is wagered willingly for fame.
Success inspires the hindmost; as they dare,
They do; the thought of winning wins the game.
With equal honours Chance had crowned the pair,
But thus, with outspread hands, Cloanthus breathed a prayer:
XXXII. "Great Gods of Ocean! on whose waves I ride,
A milk-white bull upon the shore I vow,
And with its entrails will I strew the tide,
And on your altars make the wine outflow."
Fair Panopea hears him from below,
The Nereids hear, and old Portunus plies
His own great hand, to push them as they go.
Swifter than arrow to the shore she flies,
Swifter than Southern gale, and in the harbour lies.
XXXIII. All summoned now, the herald's voice declares
Cloanthus conqueror, and with verdant bay
AEneas crowns him. To each crew he shares
Three steers and wine, and, to recall the day,
A silver talent bids them bear away.
Choice honours to the captains next are told,
A scarf he gives the victor, rich and gay,
Twice-fringed with purple, glorious to behold,
Whose Melibaean dye meanders round the gold.
XXXIV. Inwoven there, behold the kingly boy,
Fair Ganymede, pursues the flying deer
On Ida and the wooded heights of Troy,
Swift-footed, glorying with uplifted spear,
So keen the panting of his heart ye hear.
Down swoops Jove's armour-bearer, and on high
With taloned claws hath trussed him. Vainly here
His aged guardians lift their heads and cry;
The faithful dogs look up, and fiercely bay the sky.
XXXV. A goodly hauberk to the next he gave,
With polished rings and triple chain of gold,
Torn by his own hands from Demoleos brave,
Beneath high Troy, where Simois swiftly rolled,
The warrior's glory and defence, to hold.
Phegeus and Sagaris, with all their might,
Two stalwart slaves, scarce bore it, fold on fold,
That coat of mail, wherein Demoleos dight,
Trod down the ranks of Troy, and put his foes to flight.
XXXVI. Last comes the third: two brazen caldrons fine,
Two cups of silver doth the prince bestow,
Rough-chased with imagery of choice design.
Each had his prize, and glorying forth they go,
With purple ribbons on their brows, when lo!
Scarce torn with effort from the rock's embrace,
Oarless, and short of oarsmen by a row,
Home comes Sergestus, and in rueful case
Drives his dishonoured bark, left hindmost in the race.
XXXVII. As when an adder, whom athwart the way
Some wheel hath crushed, or traveller, passing by,
Maimed with a stone, as unaware he lay,
And left sore mangled, on the point to die,
In vain his coils would lengthen, fain to fly:
One half erect, his burning eyes around
He darts, and lifts his hissing throat on high,
Defiant, half still writhes upon the ground,
Self-twined in tortuous knots, and crippled by the wound:
XXXVIII. So slowly rows the Centaur, yet anon
They set the sails, and loose the spreading sheet,
And crowd full canvas; and the port is won.
Glad is AEneas, and he joys to greet
His friends brought safely and his ships complete.
So to Sergestus, for his portion due,
He gives fair Pholoe, a slave of Crete,
Twins at her breast, two sons of loveliest hue,
And well Minerva's works, the weaving art, she knew.
XXXIX. This contest o'er, the good AEneas sought
A grassy plain, with waving forests crowned
And sloping hills--fit theatre for sport,
Where in the middle of the vale was found
A circus. Hither comes he, ringed around
With thousands, here, amidst them, throned on high
In rustic state, he seats him on a mound,
And all who in the footrace list to vie,
With proffered gifts invites, and tempts their souls to try.
XL. In crowds the Teucrians and Sicanians come,
First, Nisus and Euryalus. None so fair
As young Euryalus, in youthful bloom
And beauty; none with Nisus could compare
In pure affection for a youth so rare.
Here stood Diores, famous for his speed,
A prince of Priam's lineage; Salius there,
And Patron, this of Acarnanian seed,
That of Arcadian birth and Tegeaean breed.
XLI. Came from Trinacria two champions bold,
Young Helymus and Panopes, well-tried
In woodland craft, and followers of old
Acestes; came full many a youth beside,
Whose fame shines dimly, or whose name hath died.
Then cries AEneas 'mid the concourse: "Ho!
Give heed, for surely shall my word abide,
Blithe be your hearts, for none among you--no,
Not one of all this crowd--without a gift shall go.
XLII. "To each, a common largess, be a pair
Of Gnossian javelins and an axe decreed,
With haft of silver chasings. Three shall wear
Crowns of pale olive. For the victor's need,
Adorned with trappings, stands a noble steed.
A quiver, worn by Amazon of old,
With Thracian arrows, for the next in speed,
Clasped with a gem and belted with bright gold.
The third this Argive helm, fit recompense, shall hold."
XLIII. He spake, and at the signal forth they burst
Together, like a storm-cloud, from the base,
With eager eyes set goalward. Nisus first
Darts off, and, bounding with the South-wind's pace,
And swift as winged lightning, leads the race.
Next, but the next with many a length between,
Comes Salius; then, behind him, third in place,
Euryalus; then Helymus is seen;
And lo! Diores last, comes flying along the green.
XLIV. Heel touching heel, on Helymus he hung,
Shoulder to shoulder. But a rood beside,
And, slipping past him, foremost he had sprung,
And solved a doubt by winning. Side by side,
The last lap reached, with many a labouring stride
And breathless effort to the post they strain,
When lo! chance-tripping where the sward is dyed
With slippery blood of oxen newly slain,
Down luckless Nisus slides, and sprawls upon the plain.
XLV. Stumbling, he felt the tottering knees give way.
With shouts of triumph on his lips he falls
Prone in the gore and in the miry clay.
E'en then, his love remembering, he recalls
Euryalus. Across the track he crawls,
Then, scrambling up from out the quagmire, flies
At Salius. In the dust proud Salius sprawls.
Forth darts Euryalus, 'mid cheers and cries,
Hailed, through his helping friend, the winner of the prize.
XLVI. The second prize to Helymus, the third
Falls thus to brave Diores.--Now the heat
Was o'er, when Salius with his clamouring stirred
Troy's seated elders, furious with defeat,
And claimed the prize, as wrested by a cheat.
Tears aid Euryalus, and favour pleads
His worth, more winsome in a form so sweet,
And loudly, too, Diores intercedes.
Lost were his own last prize, if Salius' claim succeeds.
XLVII. "Boys," said the good AEneas, "the award
Is fixt, and no man shall the palm withhold.
Yet be it mine to cheer a friend ill-starred."
He spake, and Salius with a gift consoled,
A Moorish lion's hide, with claws of gold
And shaggy hair. Then Nisus with a frown:
"If gifts so great a vanquished man may hold,
If falls win pity, and defeat renown,
What prize shall Nisus gain, whose merit earned the crown?
XLVIII. "Ay, who had won, had Chance not interfered,
And baffled me, like Salius? Look," he said,
And pointed to his limbs and forehead, smeared
With ordure. Smiling, the good Sire surveyed
His piteous plight and raiment disarrayed;
Then forth he bade a glittering shield be borne,
Which Didymaon's workmanship had made,
From Neptune's temple by the Danaans torn.
This prize he gives the youth, his prowess to adorn.
XLIX. The race was ended, and the gifts assigned,
When thus AEneas, as they thronged about,
Addressed the crowd: "Now, whosoe'er hath mind
His nerve to venture, or whose heart is stout,
Step forth, and don the gauntlets and strike out."
He spake, and straightway, while the lists they clear,
Sets forth the gifts, for him who wins the bout,
Gilt-horned and garlanded, a comely steer,
A sword and glittering helm, the loser's soul to cheer.
L. At once, amid loud murmurs, to his feet
Upsprang great Dares, who in olden day
Alone the haughty Paris dared to meet.
He, by the tomb where mightiest Hector lay,
Huge Butes fought, who, glorying in the bay,
And boasting Amycus' Bebrycian strain,
Called for his match. But Dares heard him, yea,
And smote him. Headlong on the sandy plain
A lifeless corpse he rolled, and all his boasts were vain.
LI. Such Dares towers, and strides into the ring,
With head erect, and shoulders broad and bare,
And right and left his sinewy arms doth swing,
And burning for a rival, beats the air.
Where is his match? Not one of all will dare
To don the gloves. So, deeming none can stand
Against him, flushed with triumph, then and there
Before AEneas, grasping in his hand
The heifer's horns, he cries in accents of command:
LII. "Son of a goddess, if none risks the fray,
How long shall Dares guerdonless remain?
What end of standing? Must I wait all day?
Bring the prize hither." Straight the Dardan train
Shout for their champion, and his claim sustain.
Then to Entellus, seated at his side,
Couched on the green grass, in reproachful strain
Thus sternly spake Acestes, fired with pride,
And fain, for manhood sake, his younger friend to chide:
LIII. "Entellus, once our bravest, but in vain,
Can'st _thou_ sit tamely, with the field unfought,
And see this braggart glory in his gain?
Where is thy god, that Eryx? Hath he taught
Thine arm its vaunted cleverness for naught?
To us what booteth thy Trinacrian name,
Thy spoil-hung house, thy roof with prizes fraught?"
Entellus said: "My spirit is the same.
Fear hath not quenched my fire, nor checked the love of fame.
LIV. "But numbing age hath made the blood run cold,
And turned my strength to dulness and decay.
Had I the youth that stirred these bones of old,
The youth _he_ boasts, no need of guerdon, nay,
Nor comely steer to tempt me to the fray.
Glory I care for, not a gift," he cried,
And, rising, hurled into the ring midway
Two ponderous gauntlets, stiff with hardened hide;
These Eryx wore, these thongs around his wrists he tied.
LV. All stood amazed, so huge the weight, so vast,
Sevenfold with lead and iron overlaid,
The bull's tough hide. E'en Dares shrank aghast.
Forth stepped AEneas, and the gauntlets weighed,
And to and fro the ponderous folds he swayed.
Then gruffly spake the veteran once more:
"Ah! had ye seen great Hercules arrayed
In arms like these, such gauntlets as he wore,
And watched the deadly fight waged here upon the shore!
LVI. "These Eryx wore, thy brother, when that day
He faced Alcides in the strife;--see now
His blood and brains,--with these I dared the fray
When better blood gave vigour, nor the snow
Of envious eld was sprinkled on my brow.
Still, if this Trojan doth these arms decline,
And good AEneas and our host allow,
Match we the fight. These gauntlets I resign,
Put fear away, and doff those Trojan gloves of thine."
LVII. So saying, Entellus from his shoulders flung
His quilted doublet, and revealed to light
The massive joints, the sinews firmly strung,
The bones and muscles, and the limbs of might,
And, like a giant, stood prepared for fight.
Two gloves for either champion, matched in weight,
AEneas brings, and binds them firm and tight.
So, face to face, each eager and elate,
Like-armed the rivals stand, on tiptoe for debate.
LVIII. Each from the blow the towering head draws back,
Fearless, with arms uplifted to the skies.
Spars hand through hand, and tempts to the attack,
One, nimbler-footed, on his youth relies;
Entellus' strength is in his limbs and size.
But the knees shake beneath him, and are slow,
And age the wanted energy denies.
He heaves for breath; thick pantings come and go,
And shake the labouring breast, as hailing blow on blow.
LIX. In vain they strive for mastery. Loud sound
Their hollow sides; the battered chests ring back,
As here and there the whistling strokes pelt round
Their ears and temples, and the jaw-bones crack.
Firm stands Entellus, though his knees are slack;
Still in the same strained posture, he defies,
Unmoved, the tempest of his foe's attack.
Only his body and his watchful eyes
Slip from the purposed stroke, and shun the wished surprise.
LX. As one who strives with battery to o'erthrow
A high-walled city, or close siege doth lay
Against some mountain-stronghold; even so
Sly Dares shifts, an opening to essay,
And vainly varies his assault each way.
On tiptoe stretched, Entellus, pricked with pride,
Puts forth his right hand, with resistless sway
Steep from his shoulder. But the foe, quick-ey'd,
Foresees the coming blow, and lightly leaps aside.
LXI. On empty air Entellus wastes his strength.
Down goes the giant, baulked of his design,
Fallen like a giant, and lies stretched at length.
So, torn from earth, on Ida's height divine
Or Erymanthus, falls the hollow pine.
Up spring each rival's countrymen. Loud cheers
The welkin rend, and, bursting through the line,
Forth runs Acestes, and his friend uprears,
Pitying his fallen worth and fellowship of years.
LXII. Fearless, unshaken, with his soul aflame
For vengeance, up Entellus springs again,
And conscious valour and the sense of shame
Rouse all his strength as, burning with disdain,
He drives huge Dares headlong o'er the plain,
Now right, now left, keeps pummelling his foe;
No stint, no stay; as rattling hailstones rain
On roof-tops, so with many a ceaseless blow
Each hand in turn he plies, and pounds him to and fro.
LXIII. But good AEneas suffered not too far
The strife to rage, not let Entellus slake
His wrath, but rescued Dares from the war,
Sore-spent, and thus in soothing terms bespake,
"Poor friend! what madness doth thy mind o'ertake?
Feel'st not that more than mortal is his aid?
The gods are with him, and thy cause forsake.
Yield then to heaven and desist."--He said,
And with his voice straightway the deadly strife allayed.
LXIV. Then, stirred with pity, the Dardanian throng
Their vanquished kinsman from the contest bore.
His sick knees wearily he drags along,
Feeble and helpless, for his wound is sore;
And loosened teeth and clots of curdled gore
Spout forth, as o'er his shoulders nods each way
The drooping head. They lead him to the shore,
His gifts, the sword and helmet; but the bay
And bull Entellus takes, the victor of the day.
LXV. Forth steps the champion, glorying in the prize,
Pride in his port, defiance on his brow.
"See, Goddess-born; ye Teucrians, mark," he cried,
"What strength Entellus in his youth could show;
How dire a doom ye warded from his foe."
He spake and, standing opposite the bull,
Swung back his arm, and, rising to the blow,
Betwixt the horns with hardened glove smote full,
And back upon the brain drove in the splintered skull.
LXVI. Down drops the beast, and on the earth lies low,
Quivering but dead. Then o'er him, as he lay,
Entellus cries "O Eryx, hear my vow.
This life, for Dares, I devote this day,
A nobler victim and a worthier prey.
Accept it thou who taught'st this arm to wield
The gloves of death. Unvanquished in the fray
These withered arms their latest offering yield,
These gauntlets I resign, and here renounce the field."
LXVII. Next cries AEneas to the crowd: "Come now,
Whoso hath mind in archer's feats to vie,
Step forth, and prove his cunning with the bow":
Then sets the prizes: on the beach hard by
With stalwart arms he rears a mast on high,
Ta'en from Serestus' vessel, and thereto
A fluttering pigeon with a string doth tie,
Mark for their shafts. Around the rivals drew,
And in a brazen helm the gathered lots they threw.
LXIII. Out leap the names; cheers hail the first in place,
Hippocoon, son of Hyrtacus renowned;
Then Mnestheus, victor in the naval race,
Mnestheus, his brows with olive wreath still crowned.
Third in the casque Eurytion's lot is found
Thy brother, famous Pandarus, whose dart,
Hurled at the Danaans, did the truce confound.
Last comes Acestes, for with dauntless heart
Still in the toils of youth the veteran claims his part.
LXIX. Forth step the marksmen, and with bows well-bent,
Draw forth their arrows, and their aim prepare.
Loud twanged the cord, as first Hippocoon sent
His feathered shaft, that through the flowing air
Went whistling on, and pierced the mast, and there
Stuck fast. The stout tree quivered, and the bird
Flapped with her wings in terror and despair,
Fluttering for freedom, and around were heard
Shouts, as admiring joy the clamorous concourse stirred.
LXX. Next him stood Mnestheus, eager for the prize,
And straight the bowstring to his breast updrew,
Aiming aloft. The lightning of his eyes
Went with the arrow, as he twanged the yew.
Ah pity! Fortune sped the shaft untrue.
The bird he missed, but cut the flaxen ties
That held the feet, and cleft the knots in two.
And forth, exulting, through the windy skies,
Into the darkening clouds the loosened captive flies.
LXXI. Then, quick as thought, his arrow on the string,
Eurytion to his brother breathed a prayer,
Marking the pigeon, as she clapped her wing
Beneath a cloud, he pierced her. Breathless there
She drops; her life is with the stars of air,
The bolt is in her breast. Acestes now
Alone remains; no palm is left to bear,
Yet skyward shoots the veteran, proud to show
What skill his hand can boast, the sounding of his bow.
LXXII. Sudden a portent was revealed; how great
An augury, the future brought to light,
And frightening seers their omens sang too late.
Aloft, the arrow kindled in its flight,
Then marked with shining trail its pathway bright,
And, wasting, vanished into viewless air.
So stars, unfastened from the vault of night,
Stream in the firmament with fiery glare,
And through the dark fling out a length of glittering hair.
LXXIII. Awed stand the men of Sicily and Troy,
And pray the gods. AEneas owns the sign,
And, heaping gifts, Acestes clasps with joy.
"Take, father, take; Jove's auspices divine
A special honour for thy meed assign.
This bowl, embossed with images of gold,
The gift of old Anchises, shall be thine,
Which Thracian Cisseus to my sire of old
Gave, as a pledge of love, to have it and to hold."
LXXIV. So saying, with a garland of green bay
He crowned his temples, and the prize conferred,
And named Acestes victor of the day.
Nor good Eurytion to the choice demurred,
Nor grudged to see the veteran's claim preferred,
Though his the prowess that the rest surpassed,
His shaft the one that struck the soaring bird.
The second, he who cut the cord, the last,
He who with feathered reed transfixed the tapering mast.
LXXV. But good AEneas, ere the games are done,
The child of Epytus, companion dear
And trusty guardian of his beardless son,
Calls to his side, and whispers in his ear:
"Go bid Ascanius, if his troop be here
And steeds in readiness, with spear and shield
In honour of his grandsire to appear."
Then, calling to the thronging crowd to yield
Free space, he clears the course, and open lies the field.
LXXVI. Forth ride the boys, before their fathers' eyes,
Reining their steeds. In radiant files they fare,
And wondering murmurs from each host arise.
All with stript leaves have bound the flowing hair.
Two cornel javelins, tipt with steel, they bear,
Some, polished quivers; and a pliant chain
Of twisted gold around the neck they wear;
Three companies--three captains scour the plain.
Twelve youths, behind each chief, compose the glittering train.
LXXVII. One shouting troop young Priam's lead obeys,
Thy son, Polites, from his grandsire hight,
And born erelong Italia's fame to raise.
A dappled Thracian charger bears the knight,
His pasterns flecked and forehead starred with white.
Next Atys, whom the Atian line reveres,
The youthful idol of a youth's delight,
So well Iulus loved him. Last appears
Iulus, first in grace and comeliest of his peers.
LXXVIII. His a Sidonian charger; Dido fair
This pledge and token of her love supplied.
Trinacrian horses his attendants bear,
Acestes' gift. Their bosoms throb with pride,
While Dardans, cheering, welcome as they ride
The sires that have been in the sons that are.
So, when before their kinsfolk on each side
Their ranks had passed, Epytides afar
Cracks the loud whip, and shouts the signal, as for war.
LXXIX. In equal bands the triple troops divide,
Then turn, and rallying, with spears bent low,
Charge at the call. Now back again they ride,
Wheel round, and weave new courses to and fro,
In armed similitude of martial show,
Circling and intercircling. Now in flight
They bare their backs, now turning, foe to foe,
Level their lances to the charge, now plight
The truce, and side by side in friendly league unite.
LXXX. E'en as in Crete the Labyrinth of old
Between blind walls its secret hid from view,
With wildering ways and many a winding fold,
Wherein the wanderer, if the tale be true,
Roamed unreturning, cheated of the clue:
Such tangles weave the Teucrians, as they feign
Fighting or flying, and the game renew:
So dolphins, sporting on the watery plain,
Cleave the Carpathian waves and distant Libya's main.
LXXXI. These feats Ascanius to his people showed,
When girdling Alba Longa; there with joy
The ancient Latins in the pastime rode,
Wherein the princely Dardan, as a boy,
Was wont his Trojan comrades to employ.
To Alban children from their sires it came,
And mighty Rome took up the "game of Troy,"
And called the players "Trojans," and the name
Lives on, as sons renew the hereditary game.
LXXXII. Thus far to blest Anchises they defrayed
The funeral rites; when Fortune turned unkind,
Forsook her faith. For while the games were played
Before the tomb, Saturnian Juno's mind
New schemes, to glut her ancient wrath, designed.
Iris she calls, and bids the Goddess go
Down to the Ilian fleet, and breathes a wind
To waft her on. So, borne upon her bow
Of myriad hues, unseen, the maiden hastes below.
LXXXIII. She eyes the concourse, marks the ships unmanned,
And sees the empty harbour and the shore.
While far off on the solitary strand
The Trojan dames sat sorrowful, and o'er
The deep sea gazed, and, gazing, evermore
Wept for the Sire. "Ah, woe! the fields of foam!
The waste of waters for the wearied oar!
Oh! for a city and a certain home;
A rest for sea-worn souls, for weary 'tis to roam!"
LXXXIV. So, not unversed in mischief, from the skies
Amidst the gathered matrons down she came,
In raiment and in face to mortal eyes
No more a Goddess, but an aged dame,
The wife of Doryclus, of Tmarian fame.
E'en venerable Beroe, once blest
With rank, and children and a noble name.
So changed in semblance, the celestial guest
Mixed with the Dardan dames, and thus the crowd addressed:
LXXXV. "Oh, born to sorrow! whom th' Achaian foe
Dragged not to death, when Ilion was o'erthrown!
O hapless race! what still extremer woe
Doth Fortune doom the living to bemoan?
Since Ilion fell, seven summers nigh have flown,
And we o'er every ocean, every plain,
Past cheerless rocks, and under stars unknown,
Oft and so oft are driven, as in vain
Italia's shores we grasp, and welter on the main!
LXXXVI. "'Tis Eryx' land, Acestes is our host.
What hinders for the homeless here to gain
A home--an Ilion for the one we lost?
O fatherland! O home-gods saved in vain,
If still in endless exile we remain!
Ah! nevermore shall I behold with joy
A Xanthus and a Simois again,
Our Hector's streams? ne'er hear the name of Troy?
Up! let devouring flames these ill-starred ships destroy!
LXXXVII. "Methought in sleep, Cassandra's ghost came near,
With torches in her hands, and bade me seize
The flaming firebrands, and exclaimed: 'See, here
Thy Troy, the home that destiny decrees!
The hour is ripe; such prodigies as these
Brook not delay. Lo! here to Neptune rise
Four altars. He, the Sovereign of the seas,
Himself the firebrands and the will supplies.'"
Then straight, with arm drawn back, and fury in her eyes,
LXXXVIII. She waved a torch, and hurled it. Dazed with fear,
The women trembled as she tossed the flame.
Then one who nursed through many a bygone year
The sons of Priam--Pyrgo was the dame,--
"No Trojan this, nor Beroe her name,
The wife of Doryclus. Full sure I ween
Immortal birth her sparkling eyes proclaim.
What breathing beauty! what celestial sheen!
Mark her majestic voice, and more than mortal mien!
LXXXIX. "Myself but now left Beroe, worn out
With sickness, grieving in her heart to miss
These funeral honours to our Sire."--In doubt
They waver, and with eyes that bode amiss
Look towards the vessels and the blue abyss
Of ocean, torn in spirit 'twixt the love
Of realms that shall be and the land that is.
On even wings the goddess soared above,
And with her rainbow vast the cloudy drift she clove.
XC. Then, by the monstrous prodigy dismayed,
And driven by madness, forth the matrons fare
With shouts and shrieks. The houses they invade,
And living embers from the hearthstones tear,
With impious hands these strip the altars bare,
And boughs, and leaves and lighted brands they cast
In heaps, and fuel for the flames prepare.
O'er bench and oar, from painted keel to mast,
The Fire-god raves at will, and rides upon the blast.
XCI. Meanwhile, with tidings of the fleet in flames,
Swift posts Eumelus. To the tomb he hies
Of old Anchises, and the crowded games.
Back look the Trojans, and with awe-struck eyes
See the dark ash-cloud floating through the skies.
And, as his troop Ascanius joyed to lead
In mimic fight, so keen, when danger cries,
First to the wildered camp he spurs his steed;
And breathless guardians fail to stay his headlong speed.
XCII. "What madness this, poor women?" he exclaims,
"What mean ye now? No camp of Argive foe,
_Your_ hopes ye doom to perish in the flames.
See your Ascanius!"--At his feet below
He flung the helmet, that adorned his brow
When mimic fight he marshalled. Hurrying came
AEneas, hurrying came the host; but lo!
The shore lies bare; this way and that each dame
Slinks to the woods and caves, if aught can hide her shame.
XCIII. All loathe the daylight and the deed unblest.
Sobered, they know their countrymen at last,
And Juno's power is shaken from each breast.
Not so the flames; with gathered strength and fast
Onward still swept the unconquerable blast.
Forth puffed between the timbers, drenched in vain,
The smoke-jets from the smouldering tow. Down passed
From keel to cabin the devouring bane.
Nor floods nor heroes' strength the mastering flames restrain.
XCIV. Then good AEneas from his shoulders threw
His robe, and heavenward stretched his hands in prayer;
"Great Jove! if spares thy vengeance to pursue
Troy's children to the uttermost, if e'er
The toils of mortals move thy ancient care,
Preserve this feeble remnant, and command
These flames from further havoc to forbear;
Else, if my deeds deserve it, bare thine hand,
Launch thine avenging bolt, and slay me as I stand."
XCV. Scarce spake he, when in torrents comes the rain.
Darkly the tempest riots, and the roar
Of thunder shakes the mountains and the plain.
Black storm-clouds from the thickening South sweep o'er
The darkened heavens, and down a deluge pour.
Drenched are the decks; the timbers, charr'd with heat,
Are soaked and smoulder, till the fire no more
Raves, and the flames are conquered, and the fleet,
Save four alone, survives the fiery plague complete.
XCVI. Sore-struck, AEneas in his breast debates
This way and that, still doubtful to remain
In fields Sicilian, mindless of the Fates,
Or strive the shores of Italy to gain,
Then aged Nautes, wisest of his train,
Taught by Tritonian Pallas to unfold
What wrathful gods or destinies ordain,
In prescient utterance his response unrolled,
And thus with cheerful words the anxious chief consoled:
XCVII. "O Goddess-born, where Fate directs the way,
'Tis ours to follow. Who the best can bear,
Best conquers Fortune, be the doom what may.
A friend thou hast, Acestes; bid him share
And be a willing partner of thy care.
He too is Trojan, and of seed divine.
Give him the lost ships' crews, and whosoe'er
Is faint or feeble, to his charge consign,
Old men and sea-sick dames, who glory's quest decline.
XCVIII. "Here let them rest, who care not for renown,
And build their walls, and, if our host assent,
Acesta from Acestes name the town."
Such counsel cheered him, but his breast is rent
With trouble, musing on the dark event.
And now black Night, upon her course midway,
With ebon car had climbed the steep ascent,
When, gliding down before him as he lay,
His father's phantom stood, and speaking, seemed to say:
XCIX. "O dearer than the life, while life remained,
My son, by Troy's hard destinies sore tried,
Hither I come at Jove's command, who deigned
Thy burning ships to save, and pitying-eyed
Beholds thy sorrows. Hear then, nor deride
The grey-haired Nautes, for his words are good.
Choice youths, the bravest, for thy quest provide.
Stout hearts ye need in Italy, for rude
And rough the Latin race, and hard to be subdued.
C. "But seek thou first the nether realms of Dis,
And through Avernus tread the dark domain
To meet me. Not in Tartarus' abyss,
Sad shades of sin and never-ending pain,
I dwell, but on the blest Elysian plain
Join with the just in fellowship. Now heed:
There the chaste Sibyl, if with victims slain,
Black sheep, ye seek her, shall thy footsteps lead,
And show thy destined walls and progeny decreed.
CI. "And now farewell; for dewy Night midway
Wheels on her course, and from the Orient sky
Fierce beats the breathing of the steeds of Day."
He spake, and melted as a mist on high.
"Ah, whither," cried AEneas, "wilt thou fly?
Who tears thee hence? Where hurriest thou again?"
So saying, he wakes the embers ere they die.
And offering frankincense and sacred grain,
Troy's household gods adores, and hoary Vesta's fane.
CII. Forthwith he tells Acestes, then the crews,
Jove's will, his father's counsel and his own.
All vote assent, nor doth his host refuse.
No tarrying now; they write the matrons down,
And all who faint or care not for renown
They leave behind,--the idlers of each crew,
But willing settlers in the new-planned town.
These the charred timbers and the thwarts renew,
Shape oars and fit the ropes; a gallant band, but few.
CIII. AEneas with a ploughshare marks the town,
And, homes allotting, gives each place a name,
Here Troy, there Ilion. Pleased to wear the crown,
A forum good Acestes hastes to frame,
And laws to gathered senators proclaim.
Rear'd high on Eryx, to the stars ascends
A temple, to Idalian Venus' fame.
A priest Anchises' sepulchre attends,
A grove's far sacred shade his hallowed dust defends.
CIV. The rites are paid, the nine-days' feast is o'er,
Smooth lies the deep, and Southern winds invite
The mariners. Along the winding shore
Loud rise the sounds of sorrow, day and night,
Where friends, clasped close in lingering undelight,
Weep at the thought of parting. Matrons, ay,
And men, who lately shuddered at the sight,
And loathed the name of Ocean, scorn to stay,
And willing hearts now brave the long, laborious way.
CV. Kindly AEneas cheers them, and with tears
Leaves to their King, then, parting, gives command
A lamb to slay to tempest, and three steers
To Eryx. So they loosen from the land.
He on the prow, a charger in his hand,
Flings forth the entrails, and outpours the wine,
And, crowned with olive chaplet, takes his stand.
Up-springs the favouring stern breeze, as in line
With emulous sweep of oars, they brush the level brine.
CVI. Then Venus, torn with anguish and desire,
Spake thus to Neptune, and her grief confessed:
"O Neptune, Juno's unrelenting ire,
The quenchless malice, that consumes her breast,
Constrains me thus to urge a suppliant's quest;
And stoop, with humbled majesty, to sue.
Her neither piety nor Jove's behest
Nor time, nor Fate can soften or subdue,
Still doth immortal hate the Phrygian race pursue.
CVII. "'Tis not enough their city to destroy,
And wear their remnant with remorseless pain,
Needs must she trample on the dust of Troy.
She best, forsooth, her fury can explain.
But thou,--thou know'st how on the Libyan main,--
Thine eyes beheld it from thy throne on high,--
Lately she stirred the tumult, and in vain
Armed with AEolian tempests, sea and sky
Mixed in rebellious wrath, thy sceptre to defy.
CVIII. "All this she ventured in thy realm; nay more,
Her rage hath filled the matrons, fired the fleet,
And left these crews upon an alien shore,
Reft of their friends, and baffled of retreat.
O spare this Trojan remnant, I entreat;
Safe in thy guidance let them sail the main,
And scatheless reach their promised walls, and greet
Laurentian Tiber and the Latian plain,
If what I ask be just, and so the Fates ordain."
CIX. Then spake the Monarch of the deep: "'Tis just
To look for safety to my realm, that gave
Thee birth; and well have I deserved thy trust,
Who oft have stilled the raging wind and wave;
Nor less on land have interposed, to save--
Xanthus and Simois I attest again--
Thy darling son, when back Achilles drave
Troy's breathless host, and rivers, choked with slain,
Groaned, ay, and Xanthus scarce could struggle to the main.
CX. "Then, as with adverse Gods and feebler power
He faced Pelides, in a cloud I caught
Thy favourite, albeit 'twas the hour
When, wroth with perjured Ilion, I sought
To raze the walls these very hands had wrought.
Fear not; unaltered doth my will remain.
Safe shall he be into this haven brought.
One, only one, for many shall be slain;
One in the deep thy son shall look for, but in vain."
CXI. So saying, he soothed the Goddess, and in haste
His steeds with golden harness yoked amain.
The bridle and the foaming bit he placed,
To curb their fury, and outflung the rein.
Lightly he flies along the watery plain,
Borne in his azure chariot. Far and nigh
Beneath his thundering wheels the heaving main
Sinks, and the waves are tranquil, and on high
Through flying storm-drift shines the immeasurable sky.
CXII. Behind him throng, in many a motley group,
His followers--monsters of enormous chine,
Sea-shouldering whales, and Glaucus' aged troop,
Paloemon, Ino's progeny divine,
Swift Tritons, born to gambol in the brine,
And Phorcus' finny legions. Melite,
And virgin Panopoea leftward shine,
Thetis, Nesaee, daughters of the sea,
Spio, Thalia fair, and bright Cymodoce.
CXIII. Then o'er AEneas' spirit, racked with fear,
Joy stole in gentle counterchange. He hails
The crews, and biddeth them the masts uprear,
And stretch the sheets. All, tacking, loose the brails
Larboard or starboard, and let go the sails,
And square or sideways to the breeze incline
The lofty sailyards. Welcome blow the gales
Behind them. Palinurus leads the line;
The rest his course obey, and follow at his sign.
CXIV. Damp Night well-nigh had climbed Olympus' crest;
Each slumbering mariner his limbs unbends,
Stretched by his oar, along the bench at rest,
When lo! false Sleep his feathery wings extends.
To guiltless Palinurus he descends,
Parting the scattered shadows. Down he bears
Delusive dreams, and cunning words pretends,
As now, in Phorbas' likeness he appears,
Perched on the lofty stern, and whispers in his ears:
CXV. "Son of Iasus! see, the tide that flows
Bears thee along; behind thee breathes apace
The stern breeze, and the hour invites repose.
Rest now, and cheat thy wearied eyes a space,
Myself will take the rudder in thy place."
"Nay," quoth the pilot, with half-lifted eyes,
"Shall I put faith in ocean's treacherous face,
And trust AEneas to the flattering skies,
I, whom their smiles oft fooled, but folly hath made wise?"
CXVI. So saying, he grasped the tiller, nor his hold
Relaxed, nor ever from the stars withdrew
His steadfast eyes, still watchful when behold!
A slumberous bough the god revealed to view,
Thrice dipt in Styx, and drenched with Lethe's dew.
Then, lightly sprinkling, o'er the pilot's brows
The drowsy dewdrops from the leaves he threw.
Dim grow his eyes; the languor of repose
Steals o'er his faltering sense, the lingering eyelids close.
CXVII. Scarce now his limbs were loosened by the spell,
Down weighed the god, and in the rolling main
Dashed him headforemost, clutching, as he fell,
Stern timbers torn, and rudder rent in twain,
And calling oft his comrades, but in vain.
This done, his wings he balanced, and away
Soared skyward. Natheless o'er the broad sea-plain
The ships sail on; safe lies the watery way,
For Neptune's plighted words the seamen's cares allay.
CXVIII. Now near the Sirens' perilous cliffs they draw,
White with men's bones, and hear the surf-beat side
Roar with hoarse thunder. Here the Sire, who saw
The ship was labouring, and had lost her guide,
Straight seized the helm, and steered her through the tide,
While, grieved in heart, with many a groan and sigh,
He mourned for Palinurus. "Ah," he cried, "For faith reposed on flattering
sea and sky, Left on an unknown shore, thy naked corpse must
lie!"
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