circle of the months is measured out to fulfilment since we laid the
dust in earth, all that was left of my divine father, and sadly
consecrated our altars. And now the day is at hand (this, O gods, was
your will), which I will ever keep in grief, ever in honour. Did I spend
it an exile on Gaetulian quicksands, did it surprise me on the Argolic
sea or in Mycenae town, yet would I fulfil the yearly vows and annual
ordinance of festival, and pile the altars with their due gifts. Now we
are led hither, to the very dust and ashes of our father, not as I deem
without [56-90]divine purpose and influence, and borne home into the
friendly haven. Up then and let us all gather joyfully to the sacrifice:
pray we for winds, and may he deign that I pay these rites to him year
by year in an established city and consecrated temple. Two head of oxen
Acestes, the seed of Troy, gives to each of your ships by tale: invite
to the feast your own ancestral gods of the household, and those whom
our host Acestes worships. Further, so the ninth Dawn uplift the
gracious day upon men, and her shafts unveil the world, I will ordain
contests for my Trojans; first for swift ships; then whoso excels in the
foot-race, and whoso, confident in strength and skill, comes to shoot
light arrows, or adventures to join battle with gloves of raw hide; let
all be here, and let merit look for the prize and palm. Now all be
hushed, and twine your temples with boughs.'
So speaks he, and shrouds his brows with his mother's myrtle. So Helymus
does, so Aletes ripe of years, so the boy Ascanius, and the rest of the
people follow. He advances from the assembly to the tomb among a throng
of many thousands that crowd about him; here he pours on the ground in
fit libation two goblets of pure wine, two of new milk, two of
consecrated blood, and flings bright blossoms, saying thus: 'Hail, holy
father, once again; hail, ashes of him I saved in vain, and soul and
shade of my sire! Thou wert not to share the search for Italian borders
and destined fields, nor the dim Ausonian Tiber.' Thus had he spoken;
when from beneath the sanctuary a snake slid out in seven vast coils and
sevenfold slippery spires, quietly circling the grave and gliding from
altar to altar, his green chequered body and the spotted lustre of his
scales ablaze with gold, as the bow in the cloud darts a thousand
changing dyes athwart the sun: Aeneas stood amazed at the sight. At last
he wound [91-126]his long train among the vessels and polished cups,
and tasted the feast, and again leaving the altars where he had fed,
crept harmlessly back beneath the tomb. Doubtful if he shall think it
the Genius of the ground or his father's ministrant, he slays, as is
fit, two sheep of two years old, as many swine and dark-backed steers,
pouring the while cups of wine, and calling on the soul of great
Anchises and the ghost rearisen from Acheron. Therewithal his comrades,
as each hath store, bring gifts to heap joyfully on the altars, and slay
steers in sacrifice: others set cauldrons arow, and, lying along the
grass, heap live embers under spits and roast the flesh.
The desired day came, and now the ninth Dawn rode up clear and bright
behind Phaëthon's coursers; and the name and renown of illustrious
Acestes had stirred up all the bordering people; their holiday throng
filled the shore, to see Aeneas' men, and some ready to join in contest.
First of all the prizes are laid out to view in the middle of the
racecourse; tripods of sacrifice, green garlands and palms, the reward
of the conquerors, armour and garments dipped in purple, talents of
silver and gold: and from a hillock in the midst the trumpet sounds the
games begun. First is the contest of rowing, and four ships matched in
weight enter, the choice of all the fleet. Mnestheus' keen oarsmen drive
the swift Dragon, Mnestheus the Italian to be, from whose name is the
Memmian family; Gyas the huge bulk of the huge Chimaera, a floating
town, whom her triple-tiered Dardanian crew urge on with oars rising in
threefold rank; Sergestus, from whom the Sergian house holds her name,
sails in the tall Centaur; and in the sea-coloured Scylla Cloanthus,
whence is thy family, Cluentius of Rome.
Apart in the sea and over against the foaming beach, lies a rock that
the swoln waves beat and drown what time the [127-159]north-western
gales of winter blot out the stars; in calm it rises silent out of the
placid water, flat-topped, and a haunt where cormorants love best to
take the sun. Here lord Aeneas set up a goal of leafy ilex, a mark for
the sailors to know whence to return, where to wheel their long course
round. Then they choose stations by lot, and on the sterns their
captains glitter afar, beautiful in gold and purple; the rest of the
crews are crowned with poplar sprays, and their naked shoulders glisten
wet with oil. They sit down at the thwarts, and their arms are tense on
the oars; at full strain they wait the signal, while throbbing fear and
heightened ambition drain their riotous blood. Then, when the clear
trumpet-note rang, all in a moment leap forward from their line; the
shouts of the sailors strike up to heaven, and the channels are swept
into foam by the arms as they swing backward. They cleave their furrows
together, and all the sea is torn asunder by oars and triple-pointed
prows. Not with speed so headlong do racing pairs whirl the chariots
over the plain, as they rush streaming from the barriers; not so do
their charioteers shake the wavy reins loose over their team, and hang
forward on the whip. All the woodland rings with clapping and shouts of
men that cheer their favourites, and the sheltered beach eddies back
their cries; the noise buffets and re-echoes from the hills. Gyas shoots
out in front of the noisy crowd, and glides foremost along the water;
whom Cloanthus follows next, rowing better, but held back by his
dragging weight of pine. After them, at equal distance, the Dragon and
the Centaur strive to win the foremost room; and now the Dragon has it,
now the vast Centaur outstrips and passes her; now they dart on both
together, their stems in a line, and their keels driving long furrows
through the salt water-ways. And now they drew nigh the rock, and were
hard [160-193]on the goal; when Gyas as he led, winner over half the
flood, cries aloud to Menoetes, the ship's steersman: 'Whither away so
far to the right? This way direct her path; kiss the shore, and let the
oarblade graze the leftward reefs. Others may keep to deep water.' He
spoke; but Menoetes, fearing blind rocks, turns the bow away towards the
open sea. 'Whither wanderest thou away? to the rocks, Menoetes!' again
shouts Gyas to bring him back; and lo! glancing round he sees Cloanthus
passing up behind and keeping nearer. Between Gyas' ship and the echoing
crags he scrapes through inside on his left, flashes past his leader,
and leaving the goal behind is in safe water. Then indeed grief burned
fierce through his strong frame, and tears sprung out on his cheeks;
heedless of his own dignity and his crew's safety, he flings the too
cautious Menoetes sheer into the sea from the high stern, himself
succeeds as guide and master of the helm, and cheers on his men, and
turns his tiller in to shore. But Menoetes, when at last he rose
struggling from the bottom, heavy with advancing years and wet in his
dripping clothes, makes for the top of the crag, and sits down on a dry
rock. The Teucrians laughed out as he fell and as he swam, and laugh to
see him spitting the salt water from his chest. At this a joyful hope
kindled in the two behind, Sergestus and Mnestheus, of catching up Gyas'
wavering course. Sergestus slips forward as he nears the rock, yet not
all in front, nor leading with his length of keel; part is in front,
part pressed by the Dragon's jealous prow. But striding amidships
between his comrades, Mnestheus cheers them on: 'Now, now swing back,
oarsmen who were Hector's comrades, whom I chose to follow me in Troy's
extremity; now put forth the might and courage you showed in Gaetulian
quicksands, amid Ionian seas and Malea's chasing waves. Not the first
[194-227]place do I now seek for Mnestheus, nor strive for victory;
though ah!--yet let them win, O Neptune, to whom thou givest it. But the
shame of coming in last! Win but this, fellow-citizens, and avert that
disaster!' His men bend forward, straining every muscle; the brasswork
of the ship quivers to their mighty strokes, and the ground runs from
under her; limbs and parched lips shake with their rapid panting, and
sweat flows in streams all over them. Mere chance brought the crew the
glory they desired. For while Sergestus drives his prow furiously in
towards the rocks and comes up with too scanty room, alas! he caught on
a rock that ran out; the reef ground, the oars struck and shivered on
the jagged teeth, and the bows crashed and hung. The sailors leap up and
hold her with loud cries, and get out iron-shod poles and sharp-pointed
boathooks, and pick up their broken oars out of the eddies. But
Mnestheus, rejoicing and flushed by his triumph, with oars fast-dipping
and winds at his call, issues into the shelving water and runs down the
open sea. As a pigeon whose house and sweet nestlings are in the rock's
recesses, if suddenly startled from her cavern, wings her flight over
the fields and rushes frightened from her house with loud clapping
pinions; then gliding noiselessly through the air, slides on her liquid
way and moves not her rapid wings; so Mnestheus, so the Dragon under him
swiftly cleaves the last space of sea, so her own speed carries her
flying on. And first Sergestus is left behind, struggling on the steep
rock and shoal water, and shouting in vain for help and learning to race
with broken oars. Next he catches up Gyas and the vast bulk of the
Chimaera; she gives way, without her steersman. And now on the very goal
Cloanthus alone is left; him he pursues and presses hard, straining all
his strength. Then indeed the shouts redouble, as all together eagerly
cheer on the pursuer, and [228-264]the sky echoes their din. These
scorn to lose the honour that is their own, the glory in their grasp,
and would sell life for renown; to these success lends life; power comes
with belief in it. And haply they had carried the prize with prows
abreast, had not Cloanthus, stretching both his open hands over the sea,
poured forth prayers and called the gods to hear his vows: 'Gods who are
sovereign on the sea, over whose waters I run, to your altars on this
beach will I bring a snow-white bull, my vow's glad penalty, and will
cast his entrails into the salt flood and pour liquid wine.' He spoke,
and far beneath the flood maiden Panopea heard him, with all Phorcus'
choir of Nereids, and lord Portunus with his own mighty hand pushed him
on his way. The ship flies to land swifter than the wind or an arrow's
flight, and shoots into the deep harbour. Then the seed of Anchises,
summoning all in order, declares Cloanthus conqueror by herald's outcry,
and dresses his brows in green bay, and gives gifts to each crew, three
bullocks of their choice, and wine, and a large talent of silver to take
away. For their captains he adds special honours; to the winner a scarf
wrought with gold, encircled by a double border of deep Meliboean
purple; woven in it is the kingly boy on leafy Ida, chasing swift stags
with javelin and racing feet, keen and as one panting; him Jove's
swooping armour-bearer hath caught up from Ida in his talons; his aged
guardians stretch their hands vainly upwards, and the barking of hounds
rings fierce into the air. But to him who, next in merit, held the
second place, he gives to wear a corslet triple-woven with hooks of
polished gold, stripped by his own conquering hand from Demoleos under
tall Troy by the swift Simoïs, an ornament and safeguard among arms.
Scarce could the straining shoulders of his servants Phegeus and Sagaris
carry its heavy folds; yet with it on, Demoleos at [265-302]full speed
would chase the scattered Trojans. The third prize he makes twin
cauldrons of brass, and bowls wrought in silver and rough with tracery.
And now all moved away in the pride and wealth of their prizes, their
brows bound with scarlet ribbons; when, hardly torn loose by all his art
from the cruel rock, his oars lost, rowing feebly with a single tier,
Sergestus brought in his ship jeered at and unhonoured. Even as often a
serpent caught on a highway, if a brazen wheel hath gone aslant over him
or a wayfarer left him half dead and mangled with the blow of a heavy
stone, wreathes himself slowly in vain effort to escape, in part
undaunted, his eyes ablaze and his hissing throat lifted high; in part
the disabling wound keeps him coiling in knots and twisting back on his
own body; so the ship kept rowing slowly on, yet hoists sail and under
full sail glides into the harbour mouth. Glad that the ship is saved and
the crew brought back, Aeneas presents Sergestus with his promised
reward. A slave woman is given him not unskilled in Minerva's labours,
Pholoë the Cretan, with twin boys at her breast.
This contest sped, good Aeneas moved to a grassy plain girt all about
with winding wooded hills, and amid the valley an amphitheatre, whither,
with a concourse of many thousands, the hero advanced and took his seat
on a mound. Here he allures with rewards and offer of prizes those who
will try their hap in the fleet foot-race. Trojans and Sicilians gather
mingling from all sides, Nisus and Euryalus foremost . . . Euryalus in
the flower of youth and famed for beauty, Nisus for pure love of the
boy. Next follows renowned Diores, of Priam's royal line; after him
Salius and Patron together, the one Acarnanian, the other Tegean by
family and of Arcadian blood; next two men of Sicily, Helymus and
Panopes, foresters and attendants on old Acestes; many besides whose
fame is hid in [303-338]obscurity. Then among them all Aeneas spoke
thus: 'Hearken to this, and attend in good cheer. None out of this
number will I let go without a gift. To each will I give two glittering
Gnosian spearheads of polished steel, and an axe chased with silver to
bear away; one and all shall be honoured thus. The three foremost shall
receive prizes, and have pale olive bound about their head. The first
shall have a caparisoned horse as conqueror; the second an Amazonian
quiver filled with arrows of Thrace, girt about by a broad belt of gold,
and on the link of the clasp a polished gem; let the third depart with
this Argolic helmet for recompense.' This said, they take their place,
and the signal once heard, dart over the course and leave the line,
pouring forth like a storm-cloud while they mark the goal. Nisus gets
away first, and shoots out far in front of the throng, fleeter than the
winds or the winged thunderbolt. Next to him, but next by a long gap,
Salius follows; then, left a space behind him, Euryalus third . . . and
Helymus comes after Euryalus; and close behind him, lo! Diores goes
flying, just grazing foot with foot, hard on his shoulder; and if a
longer space were left, he would creep out past him and win the tie. And
now almost in the last space, they began to come up breathless to the
goal, when unfortunate Nisus trips on the slippery blood of the slain
steers, where haply it had spilled over the ground and wetted the green
grass. Here, just in the flush of victory, he lost his feet; they slid
away on the ground they pressed, and he fell forward right among the
ordure and blood of the sacrifice. Yet forgot he not his darling
Euryalus; for rising, he flung himself over the slippery ground in front
of Salius, and he rolled over and lay all along on the hard sand.
Euryalus shoots by, wins and holds the first place his friend gave, and
flies on amid prosperous clapping and cheers. Behind Helymus comes
[339-373]up, and Diores, now third for the palm. At this Salius fills
with loud clamour the whole concourse of the vast theatre, and the lords
who looked on in front, demanding restoration of his defrauded prize.
Euryalus is strong in favour, and beauty in tears, and the merit that
gains grace from so fair a form. Diores supports him, who succeeded to
the palm, so he loudly cries, and bore off the last prize in vain, if
the highest honours be restored to Salius. Then lord Aeneas speaks: 'For
you, O boys, your rewards remain assured, and none alters the prizes'
order: let me be allowed to pity a friend's innocent mischance.' So
speaking, he gives to Salius a vast Gaetulian lion-skin, with shaggy
masses of hair and claws of gold. 'If this,' cries Nisus, 'is the reward
of defeat, and thy pity is stirred for the fallen, what fit recompense
wilt thou give to Nisus? to my excellence the first crown was due, had
not I, like Salius, met Fortune's hostility.' And with the words he
displayed his face and limbs foul with the wet dung. His lord laughed
kindly on him, and bade a shield be brought forth, the workmanship of
Didymaon, torn by him from the hallowed gates of Neptune's Grecian
temple; with this special prize he rewards his excellence.
Thereafter, when the races are finished and the gifts fulfilled: 'Now,'
he cries, 'come, whoso hath in him valour and ready heart, and lift up
his arms with gauntleted hands.' So speaks he, and sets forth a double
prize of battle; for the conqueror a bullock gilt and garlanded; a sword
and beautiful helmet to console the conquered. Straightway without pause
Dares issues to view in his vast strength, rising amid loud murmurs of
the people; he who alone was wont to meet Paris in combat; he who, at
the mound where princely Hector lies, struck down as he came the vast
bulk upborne by conquering Butes, of Amycus' Bebrycian line, and
stretched him in [374-410]death on the yellow sand. Such was Dares; at
once he raises his head high for battle, displays his broad shoulders,
and stretches and swings his arms right and left, lashing the air with
blows. For him another is required; but none out of all the train durst
approach or put the gloves on his hands. So he takes his stand exultant
before Aeneas' feet, deeming he excelled all in victories; and thereon
without more delay grasps the bull's horn with his left hand, and speaks
thus: 'Goddess-born, if no man dare trust himself to battle, to what
conclusion shall I stand? how long is it seemly to keep me? bid me carry
off thy gifts.' Therewith all the Dardanians murmured assent, and bade
yield him the promised prize. At this aged Acestes spoke sharply to
Entellus, as he sate next him on the green cushion of grass: 'Entellus,
bravest of heroes once of old in vain, wilt thou thus idly let a gift so
great be borne away uncontested? Where now prithee is divine Eryx, thy
master of fruitless fame? where thy renown over all Sicily, and those
spoils hanging in thine house?' Thereat he: 'Desire of glory is not
gone, nor ambition checked by fear; but torpid age dulls my chilly
blood, and my strength of limb is numb and outworn. If I had what once
was mine, if I had now that prime of years, yonder braggart's boast and
confidence, it had taken no prize of goodly bullock to allure me; nor
heed I these gifts.' So he spoke, and on that flung down a pair of
gloves of giant weight, with whose hard hide bound about his wrists
valiant Eryx was wont to come to battle. They stood amazed; so stiff and
grim lay the vast sevenfold oxhide sewed in with lead and iron. Dares
most of all shrinks far back in horror, and the noble son of Anchises
turns round this way and that their vast weight and voluminous folds.
Then the old man spoke thus in deep accents: 'How, had they seen the
gloves [411-444]that were Hercules' own armour, and the fatal fight on
this very beach? These arms thy brother Eryx once wore; thou seest them
yet stained with blood and spattered brains. In them he stood to face
great Alcides; to them was I used while fuller blood supplied me
strength, and envious old age had not yet strewn her snows on either
temple. But if Dares of Troy will have none of these our arms, and good
Aeneas is resolved on it, and my patron Acestes approves, let us make
the battle even. See, I give up the gauntlets of Eryx; dismiss thy
fears; and do thou put off thy Trojan gloves.' So spoke he, and throwing
back the fold of his raiment from his shoulders, he bares the massive
joints and limbs, the great bones and muscles, and stands up huge in the
middle of the ground. Then Anchises' lordly seed brought out equal
gloves and bound the hands of both in matched arms. Straightway each
took his stand on tiptoe, and undauntedly raised his arms high in air.
They lift their heads right back and away out of reach of blows, and
make hand play through hand, inviting attack; the one nimbler of foot
and confident in his youth, the other mighty in mass of limb, but his
knees totter tremulous and slow, and sick panting shakes his vast frame.
Many a mutual blow they deliver in vain, many an one they redouble on
chest and side, sounding hollow and loud: hands play fast about ear and
temple, and jawbones clash under the hard strokes. Old Entellus stands
immoveable and astrain, only parrying hits with body and watchful eye.
The other, as one who casts mounts against some high city or blockades a
hill-fort in arms, tries this and that entrance, and ranges cunningly
over all the ground, and presses many an attack in vain. Entellus rose
and struck clean out with his right downwards; his quick opponent saw
the descending blow before it came, [445-481]and slid his body rapidly
out of its way. Entellus hurled his strength into the air, and all his
heavy mass, overreaching, fell heavily to the earth; as sometime on
Erymanthus or mighty Ida a hollow pine falls torn out by the roots.
Teucrians and men of Sicily rise eagerly; a cry goes up, and Acestes
himself runs forward, and pityingly lifts his friend and birthmate from
the ground. But the hero, not dulled nor dismayed by his mishap, returns
the keener to battle, and grows violent in wrath, while shame and
resolved valour kindle his strength. All afire, he hunts Dares headlong
over the lists, and redoubles his blows now with right hand, now with
left; no breath nor pause; heavy as hailstones rattle on the roof from a
storm-cloud, so thickly shower the blows from both his hands as he
buffets Dares to and fro. Then lord Aeneas allowed not wrath to swell
higher or Entellus to rage out his bitterness, but stopped the fight and
rescued the exhausted Dares, saying thus in soothing words: 'Unhappy!
what height of madness hath seized thy mind? Knowest thou not the
strength is another's and the gods are changed? Yield thou to Heaven.'
And with the words he proclaimed the battle over. But him his faithful
mates lead to the ships dragging his knees feebly, swaying his head from
side to side, and spitting from his mouth clotted blood mingled with
teeth. At summons they bear away the helmet and shield, and leave palm
and bull to Entellus. At this the conqueror, swelling in pride over the
bull, cries: 'Goddess-born, and you, O Trojans! learn thus what my
strength of body was in its prime, and from what a death Dares is saved
by your recall.' He spoke, and stood right opposite in face of the
bullock as it stood by, the prize of battle; then drew back his hand,
and swinging the hard gauntlet sheer down between the horns, smashed the
bones in upon the shattered brain. The ox rolls over, and quivering and
[482-516]lifeless lies along the ground. Above it he utters these deep
accents: 'This life, Eryx, I give to thee, a better payment than Dares'
death; here I lay down my gloves and unconquered skill.'