Meantime the Trojan cuts his wat'ry way,\nFix'd on his voyage, thro' the curling sea;\nThen, casting back his eyes, with dire amaze,\nSees on the Punic shore the mounting blaze.\nThe cause unknown; yet his presaging mind\nThe fate of Dido from the fire divin'd;\nHe knew the stormy souls of womankind,\nWhat secret springs their eager passions move,\nHow capable of death for injur'd love.\nDire auguries from hence the Trojans draw;\nTill neither fires nor shining shores they saw.\nNow seas and skies their prospect only bound;\nAn empty space above, a floating field around.\nBut soon the heav'ns with shadows were o'erspread;\nA swelling cloud hung hov'ring o'er their head:\nLivid it look'd, the threat'ning of a storm:\nThen night and horror ocean's face deform.\nThe pilot, Palinurus, cried aloud:\n\"What gusts of weather from that gath'ring cloud\nMy thoughts presage! Ere yet the tempest roars,\nStand to your tackle, mates, and stretch your oars;\nContract your swelling sails, and luff to wind.\"\nThe frighted crew perform the task assign'd.\nThen, to his fearless chief: \"Not Heav'n,\" said he,\n\"Tho' Jove himself should promise Italy,\nCan stem the torrent of this raging sea.\nMark how the shifting winds from west arise,\nAnd what collected night involves the skies!\nNor can our shaken vessels live at sea,\nMuch less against the tempest force their way.\n'T is fate diverts our course, and fate we must obey.\nNot far from hence, if I observ'd aright\nThe southing of the stars, and polar light,\nSicilia lies, whose hospitable shores\nIn safety we may reach with struggling oars.\"\nAeneas then replied: \"Too sure I find\nWe strive in vain against the seas and wind:\nNow shift your sails; what place can please me more\nThan what you promise, the Sicilian shore,\nWhose hallow'd earth Anchises' bones contains,\nAnd where a prince of Trojan lineage reigns?\"\nThe course resolv'd, before the western wind\nThey scud amain, and make the port assign'd.\nMeantime Acestes, from a lofty stand,\nBeheld the fleet descending on the land;\nAnd, not unmindful of his ancient race,\nDown from the cliff he ran with eager pace,\nAnd held the hero in a strict embrace.\nOf a rough Libyan bear the spoils he wore,\nAnd either hand a pointed jav'lin bore.\nHis mother was a dame of Dardan blood;\nHis sire Crinisus, a Sicilian flood.\nHe welcomes his returning friends ashore\nWith plenteous country cates and homely store.<\/p>\n
Now, when the following morn had chas'd away\nThe flying stars, and light restor'd the day,\nAeneas call'd the Trojan troops around,\nAnd thus bespoke them from a rising ground:\n\"Offspring of heav'n, divine Dardanian race!\nThe sun, revolving thro' th' ethereal space,\nThe shining circle of the year has fill'd,\nSince first this isle my father's ashes held:\nAnd now the rising day renews the year;\nA day for ever sad, for ever dear.\nThis would I celebrate with annual games,\nWith gifts on altars pil'd, and holy flames,\nTho' banish'd to Gaetulia's barren sands,\nCaught on the Grecian seas, or hostile lands:\nBut since this happy storm our fleet has driv'n\n(Not, as I deem, without the will of Heav'n)\nUpon these friendly shores and flow'ry plains,\nWhich hide Anchises and his blest remains,\nLet us with joy perform his honors due,\nAnd pray for prosp'rous winds, our voyage to renew;\nPray, that in towns and temples of our own,\nThe name of great Anchises may be known,\nAnd yearly games may spread the gods' renown.\nOur sports Acestes, of the Trojan race,\nWith royal gifts ordain'd, is pleas'd to grace:\nTwo steers on ev'ry ship the king bestows;\nHis gods and ours shall share your equal vows.\nBesides, if, nine days hence, the rosy morn\nShall with unclouded light the skies adorn,\nThat day with solemn sports I mean to grace:\nLight galleys on the seas shall run a wat'ry race;\nSome shall in swiftness for the goal contend,\nAnd others try the twanging bow to bend;\nThe strong, with iron gauntlets arm'd, shall stand\nOppos'd in combat on the yellow sand.\nLet all be present at the games prepar'd,\nAnd joyful victors wait the just reward.\nBut now assist the rites, with garlands crown'd.\"\nHe said, and first his brows with myrtle bound.\nThen Helymus, by his example led,\nAnd old Acestes, each adorn'd his head;\nThus young Ascanius, with a sprightly grace,\nHis temples tied, and all the Trojan race.\nAeneas then advanc'd amidst the train,\nBy thousands follow'd thro' the flow'ry plain,\nTo great Anchises' tomb; which when he found,\nHe pour'd to Bacchus, on the hallow'd ground,\nTwo bowls of sparkling wine, of milk two more,\nAnd two (from offer'd bulls) of purple gore,\nWith roses then the sepulcher he strow'd\nAnd thus his father's ghost bespoke aloud:\n\"Hail, O ye holy manes! hail again,\nPaternal ashes, now review'd in vain!\nThe gods permitted not, that you, with me,\nShould reach the promis'd shores of Italy,\nOr Tiber's flood, what flood soe'er it be.\"\nScarce had he finish'd, when, with speckled pride,\nA serpent from the tomb began to glide;\nHis hugy bulk on sev'n high volumes roll'd;\nBlue was his breadth of back, but streak'd with scaly gold:\nThus riding on his curls, he seem'd to pass\nA rolling fire along, and singe the grass.\nMore various colors thro' his body run,\nThan Iris when her bow imbibes the sun.\nBetwixt the rising altars, and around,\nThe sacred monster shot along the ground;\nWith harmless play amidst the bowls he pass'd,\nAnd with his lolling tongue assay'd the taste:\nThus fed with holy food, the wondrous guest\nWithin the hollow tomb retir'd to rest.\nThe pious prince, surpris'd at what he view'd,\nThe fun'ral honors with more zeal renew'd,\nDoubtful if this place's genius were,\nOr guardian of his father's sepulcher.\nFive sheep, according to the rites, he slew;\nAs many swine, and steers of sable hue;\nNew gen'rous wine he from the goblets pour'd.\nAnd call'd his father's ghost, from hell restor'd.\nThe glad attendants in long order come,\nOff'ring their gifts at great Anchises' tomb:\nSome add more oxen: some divide the spoil;\nSome place the chargers on the grassy soil;\nSome blow the fires, and offered entrails broil.<\/p>\n
Now came the day desir'd. The skies were bright\nWith rosy luster of the rising light:\nThe bord'ring people, rous'd by sounding fame\nOf Trojan feasts and great Acestes' name,\nThe crowded shore with acclamations fill,\nPart to behold, and part to prove their skill.\nAnd first the gifts in public view they place,\nGreen laurel wreaths, and palm, the victors' grace:\nWithin the circle, arms and tripods lie,\nIngots of gold and silver, heap'd on high,\nAnd vests embroider'd, of the Tyrian dye.\nThe trumpet's clangor then the feast proclaims,\nAnd all prepare for their appointed games.\nFour galleys first, which equal rowers bear,\nAdvancing, in the wat'ry lists appear.\nThe speedy Dolphin, that outstrips the wind,\nBore Mnestheus, author of the Memmian kind:\nGyas the vast Chimaera's bulk commands,\nWhich rising, like a tow'ring city stands;\nThree Trojans tug at ev'ry lab'ring oar;\nThree banks in three degrees the sailors bore;\nBeneath their sturdy strokes the billows roar.\nSergesthus, who began the Sergian race,\nIn the great Centaur took the leading place;\nCloanthus on the sea-green Scylla stood,\nFrom whom Cluentius draws his Trojan blood.<\/p>\n
Far in the sea, against the foaming shore,\nThere stands a rock: the raging billows roar\nAbove his head in storms; but, when 't is clear,\nUncurl their ridgy backs, and at his foot appear.\nIn peace below the gentle waters run;\nThe cormorants above lie basking in the sun.\nOn this the hero fix'd an oak in sight,\nThe mark to guide the mariners aright.\nTo bear with this, the seamen stretch their oars;\nThen round the rock they steer, and seek the former shores.\nThe lots decide their place. Above the rest,\nEach leader shining in his Tyrian vest;\nThe common crew with wreaths of poplar boughs\nTheir temples crown, and shade their sweaty brows:\nBesmear'd with oil, their naked shoulders shine.\nAll take their seats, and wait the sounding sign:\nThey gripe their oars; and ev'ry panting breast\nIs rais'd by turns with hope, by turns with fear depress'd.\nThe clangor of the trumpet gives the sign;\nAt once they start, advancing in a line:\nWith shouts the sailors rend the starry skies;\nLash'd with their oars, the smoky billows rise;\nSparkles the briny main, and the vex'd ocean fries.\nExact in time, with equal strokes they row:\nAt once the brushing oars and brazen prow\nDash up the sandy waves, and ope the depths below.\nNot fiery coursers, in a chariot race,\nInvade the field with half so swift a pace;\nNot the fierce driver with more fury lends\nThe sounding lash, and, ere the stroke descends,\nLow to the wheels his pliant body bends.\nThe partial crowd their hopes and fears divide,\nAnd aid with eager shouts the favor'd side.\nCries, murmurs, clamors, with a mixing sound,\nFrom woods to woods, from hills to hills rebound.<\/p>\n
Amidst the loud applauses of the shore,\nGyas outstripp'd the rest, and sprung before:\nCloanthus, better mann'd, pursued him fast,\nBut his o'er-masted galley check'd his haste.\nThe Centaur and the Dolphin brush the brine\nWith equal oars, advancing in a line;\nAnd now the mighty Centaur seems to lead,\nAnd now the speedy Dolphin gets ahead;\nNow board to board the rival vessels row,\nThe billows lave the skies, and ocean groans below.\nThey reach'd the mark. Proud Gyas and his train\nIn triumph rode, the victors of the main;\nBut, steering round, he charg'd his pilot stand\nMore close to shore, and skim along the sand-\n\"Let others bear to sea!\" Menoetes heard;\nBut secret shelves too cautiously he fear'd,\nAnd, fearing, sought the deep; and still aloof he steer'd.\nWith louder cries the captain call'd again:\n\"Bear to the rocky shore, and shun the main.\"\nHe spoke, and, speaking, at his stern he saw\nThe bold Cloanthus near the shelvings draw.\nBetwixt the mark and him the Scylla stood,\nAnd in a closer compass plow'd the flood.\nHe pass'd the mark; and, wheeling, got before:\nGyas blasphem'd the gods, devoutly swore,\nCried out for anger, and his hair he tore.\nMindless of others' lives (so high was grown\nHis rising rage) and careless of his own,\nThe trembling dotard to the deck he drew;\nThen hoisted up, and overboard he threw:\nThis done, he seiz'd the helm; his fellows cheer'd,\nTurn'd short upon the shelfs, and madly steer'd.<\/p>\n
Hardly his head the plunging pilot rears,\nClogg'd with his clothes, and cumber'd with his years:\nNow dropping wet, he climbs the cliff with pain.\nThe crowd, that saw him fall and float again,\nShout from the distant shore; and loudly laugh'd,\nTo see his heaving breast disgorge the briny draught.\nThe following Centaur, and the Dolphin's crew,\nTheir vanish'd hopes of victory renew;\nWhile Gyas lags, they kindle in the race,\nTo reach the mark. Sergesthus takes the place;\nMnestheus pursues; and while around they wind,\nComes up, not half his galley's length behind;\nThen, on the deck, amidst his mates appear'd,\nAnd thus their drooping courage he cheer'd:\n\"My friends, and Hector's followers heretofore,\nExert your vigor; tug the lab'ring oar;\nStretch to your strokes, my still unconquer'd crew,\nWhom from the flaming walls of Troy I drew.\nIn this, our common int'rest, let me find\nThat strength of hand, that courage of the mind,\nAs when you stemm'd the strong Malean flood,\nAnd o'er the Syrtes' broken billows row'd.\nI seek not now the foremost palm to gain;\nTho' yet- but, ah! that haughty wish is vain!\nLet those enjoy it whom the gods ordain.\nBut to be last, the lags of all the race!-\nRedeem yourselves and me from that disgrace.\"\nNow, one and all, they tug amain; they row\nAt the full stretch, and shake the brazen prow.\nThe sea beneath 'em sinks; their lab'ring sides\nAre swell'd, and sweat runs gutt'ring down in tides.\nChance aids their daring with unhop'd success;\nSergesthus, eager with his beak to press\nBetwixt the rival galley and the rock,\nShuts up th' unwieldly Centaur in the lock.\nThe vessel struck; and, with the dreadful shock,\nHer oars she shiver'd, and her head she broke.\nThe trembling rowers from their banks arise,\nAnd, anxious for themselves, renounce the prize.\nWith iron poles they heave her off the shores,\nAnd gather from the sea their floating oars.\nThe crew of Mnestheus, with elated minds,\nUrge their success, and call the willing winds;\nThen ply their oars, and cut their liquid way\nIn larger compass on the roomy sea.\nAs, when the dove her rocky hold forsakes,\nRous'd in a fright, her sounding wings she shakes;\nThe cavern rings with clatt'ring; out she flies,\nAnd leaves her callow care, and cleaves the skies:\nAt first she flutters; but at length she springs\nTo smoother flight, and shoots upon her wings:\nSo Mnestheus in the Dolphin cuts the sea;\nAnd, flying with a force, that force assists his way.\nSergesthus in the Centaur soon he pass'd,\nWedg'd in the rocky shoals, and sticking fast.\nIn vain the victor he with cries implores,\nAnd practices to row with shatter'd oars.\nThen Mnestheus bears with Gyas, and outflies:\nThe ship, without a pilot, yields the prize.\nUnvanquish'd Scylla now alone remains;\nHer he pursues, and all his vigor strains.\nShouts from the fav'ring multitude arise;\nApplauding Echo to the shouts replies;\nShouts, wishes, and applause run rattling thro' the skies.\nThese clamors with disdain the Scylla heard,\nMuch grudg'd the praise, but more the robb'd reward:\nResolv'd to hold their own, they mend their pace,\nAll obstinate to die, or gain the race.\nRais'd with success, the Dolphin swiftly ran;\nFor they can conquer, who believe they can.\nBoth urge their oars, and fortune both supplies,\nAnd both perhaps had shar'd an equal prize;\nWhen to the seas Cloanthus holds his hands,\nAnd succor from the wat'ry pow'rs demands:\n\"Gods of the liquid realms, on which I row!\nIf, giv'n by you, the laurel bind my brow,\nAssist to make me guilty of my vow!\nA snow-white bull shall on your shore be slain;\nHis offer'd entrails cast into the main,\nAnd ruddy wine, from golden goblets thrown,\nYour grateful gift and my return shall own.\"\nThe choir of nymphs, and Phorcus, from below,\nWith virgin Panopea, heard his vow;\nAnd old Portunus, with his breadth of hand,\nPush'd on, and sped the galley to the land.\nSwift as a shaft, or winged wind, she flies,\nAnd, darting to the port, obtains the prize.<\/p>\n
The herald summons all, and then proclaims\nCloanthus conqu'ror of the naval games.\nThe prince with laurel crowns the victor's head,\nAnd three fat steers are to his vessel led,\nThe ship's reward; with gen'rous wine beside,\nAnd sums of silver, which the crew divide.\nThe leaders are distinguish'd from the rest;\nThe victor honor'd with a nobler vest,\nWhere gold and purple strive in equal rows,\nAnd needlework its happy cost bestows.\nThere Ganymede is wrought with living art,\nChasing thro' Ida's groves the trembling hart:\nBreathless he seems, yet eager to pursue;\nWhen from aloft descends, in open view,\nThe bird of Jove, and, sousing on his prey,\nWith crooked talons bears the boy away.\nIn vain, with lifted hands and gazing eyes,\nHis guards behold him soaring thro' the skies,\nAnd dogs pursue his flight with imitated cries.<\/p>\n
Mnestheus the second victor was declar'd;\nAnd, summon'd there, the second prize he shard.\nA coat of mail, brave Demoleus bore,\nMore brave Aeneas from his shoulders tore,\nIn single combat on the Trojan shore:\nThis was ordain'd for Mnestheus to possess;\nIn war for his defense, for ornament in peace.\nRich was the gift, and glorious to behold,\nBut yet so pond'rous with its plates of gold,\nThat scarce two servants could the weight sustain;\nYet, loaded thus, Demoleus o'er the plain\nPursued and lightly seiz'd the Trojan train.\nThe third, succeeding to the last reward,\nTwo goodly bowls of massy silver shar'd,\nWith figures prominent, and richly wrought,\nAnd two brass caldrons from Dodona brought.<\/p>\n
Thus all, rewarded by the hero's hands,\nTheir conqu'ring temples bound with purple bands;\nAnd now Sergesthus, clearing from the rock,\nBrought back his galley shatter'd with the shock.\nForlorn she look'd, without an aiding oar,\nAnd, houted by the vulgar, made to shore.\nAs when a snake, surpris'd upon the road,\nIs crush'd athwart her body by the load\nOf heavy wheels; or with a mortal wound\nHer belly bruis'd, and trodden to the ground:\nIn vain, with loosen'd curls, she crawls along;\nYet, fierce above, she brandishes her tongue;\nGlares with her eyes, and bristles with her scales;\nBut, groveling in the dust, her parts unsound she trails:\nSo slowly to the port the Centaur tends,\nBut, what she wants in oars, with sails amends.\nYet, for his galley sav'd, the grateful prince\nIs pleas'd th' unhappy chief to recompense.\nPholoe, the Cretan slave, rewards his care,\nBeauteous herself, with lovely twins as fair.<\/p>\n
From thence his way the Trojan hero bent\nInto the neighb'ring plain, with mountains pent,\nWhose sides were shaded with surrounding wood.\nFull in the midst of this fair valley stood\nA native theater, which, rising slow\nBy just degrees, o'erlook'd the ground below.\nHigh on a sylvan throne the leader sate;\nA num'rous train attend in solemn state.\nHere those that in the rapid course delight,\nDesire of honor and the prize invite.\nThe rival runners without order stand;\nThe Trojans mix'd with the Sicilian band.\nFirst Nisus, with Euryalus, appears;\nEuryalus a boy of blooming years,\nWith sprightly grace and equal beauty crown'd;\nNisus, for friendship to the youth renown'd.\nDiores next, of Priam's royal race,\nThen Salius joined with Patron, took their place;\n(But Patron in Arcadia had his birth,\nAnd Salius his from Arcananian earth;)\nThen two Sicilian youths- the names of these,\nSwift Helymus, and lovely Panopes:\nBoth jolly huntsmen, both in forest bred,\nAnd owning old Acestes for their head;\nWith sev'ral others of ignobler name,\nWhom time has not deliver'd o'er to fame.<\/p>\n
To these the hero thus his thoughts explain'd,\nIn words which gen'ral approbation gain'd:\n\"One common largess is for all design'd,\n(The vanquish'd and the victor shall be join'd,)\nTwo darts of polish'd steel and Gnosian wood,\nA silver-studded ax, alike bestow'd.\nThe foremost three have olive wreaths decreed:\nThe first of these obtains a stately steed,\nAdorn'd with trappings; and the next in fame,\nThe quiver of an Amazonian dame,\nWith feather'd Thracian arrows well supplied:\nA golden belt shall gird his manly side,\nWhich with a sparkling diamond shall be tied.\nThe third this Grecian helmet shall content.\"\nHe said. To their appointed base they went;\nWith beating hearts th' expected sign receive,\nAnd, starting all at once, the barrier leave.\nSpread out, as on the winged winds, they flew,\nAnd seiz'd the distant goal with greedy view.\nShot from the crowd, swift Nisus all o'erpass'd;\nNor storms, nor thunder, equal half his haste.\nThe next, but tho' the next, yet far disjoin'd,\nCame Salius, and Euryalus behind;\nThen Helymus, whom young Diores plied,\nStep after step, and almost side by side,\nHis shoulders pressing; and, in longer space,\nHad won, or left at least a dubious race.<\/p>\n
Now, spent, the goal they almost reach at last,\nWhen eager Nisus, hapless in his haste,\nSlipp'd first, and, slipping, fell upon the plain,\nSoak'd with the blood of oxen newly slain.\nThe careless victor had not mark'd his way;\nBut, treading where the treach'rous puddle lay,\nHis heels flew up; and on the grassy floor\nHe fell, besmear'd with filth and holy gore.\nNot mindless then, Euryalus, of thee,\nNor of the sacred bonds of amity,\nHe strove th' immediate rival's hope to cross,\nAnd caught the foot of Salius as he rose.\nSo Salius lay extended on the plain;\nEuryalus springs out, the prize to gain,\nAnd leaves the crowd: applauding peals attend\nThe victor to the goal, who vanquish'd by his friend.\nNext Helymus; and then Diores came,\nBy two misfortunes made the third in fame.<\/p>\n
But Salius enters, and, exclaiming loud\nFor justice, deafens and disturbs the crowd;\nUrges his cause may in the court be heard;\nAnd pleads the prize is wrongfully conferr'd.\nBut favor for Euryalus appears;\nHis blooming beauty, with his tender tears,\nHad brib'd the judges for the promis'd prize.\nBesides, Diores fills the court with cries,\nWho vainly reaches at the last reward,\nIf the first palm on Salius be conferr'd.\nThen thus the prince: \"Let no disputes arise:\nWhere fortune plac'd it, I award the prize.\nBut fortune's errors give me leave to mend,\nAt least to pity my deserving friend.\"\nHe said, and, from among the spoils, he draws\n(Pond'rous with shaggy mane and golden paws)\nA lion's hide: to Salius this he gives.\nNisus with envy sees the gift, and grieves.\n\"If such rewards to vanquish'd men are due.\"\nHe said, \"and falling is to rise by you,\nWhat prize may Nisus from your bounty claim,\nWho merited the first rewards and fame?\nIn falling, both an equal fortune tried;\nWould fortune for my fall so well provide!\"\nWith this he pointed to his face, and show'd\nHis hand and all his habit smear'd with blood.\nTh' indulgent father of the people smil'd,\nAnd caus'd to be produc'd an ample shield,\nOf wondrous art, by Didymaon wrought,\nLong since from Neptune's bars in triumph brought.\nThis giv'n to Nisus, he divides the rest,\nAnd equal justice in his gifts express'd.<\/p>\n
The race thus ended, and rewards bestow'd,\nOnce more the prince bespeaks th' attentive crowd:\n\"If there he here whose dauntless courage dare\nIn gauntlet-fight, with limbs and body bare,\nHis opposite sustain in open view,\nStand forth the champion, and the games renew.\nTwo prizes I propose, and thus divide:\nA bull with gilded horns, and fillets tied,\nShall be the portion of the conqu'ring chief;\nA sword and helm shall cheer the loser's grief.\"<\/p>\n
Then haughty Dares in the lists appears;\nStalking he strides, his head erected bears:\nHis nervous arms the weighty gauntlet wield,\nAnd loud applauses echo thro' the field.\nDares alone in combat us'd to stand\nThe match of mighty Paris, hand to hand;\nThe same, at Hector's fun'rals, undertook\nGigantic Butes, of th' Amycian stock,\nAnd, by the stroke of his resistless hand,\nStretch'd the vast bulk upon the yellow sand.\nSuch Dares was; and such he strode along,\nAnd drew the wonder of the gazing throng.\nHis brawny back and ample breast he shows,\nHis lifted arms around his head he throws,\nAnd deals in whistling air his empty blows.\nHis match is sought; but, thro' the trembling band,\nNot one dares answer to the proud demand.\nPresuming of his force, with sparkling eyes\nAlready he devours the promis'd prize.\nHe claims the bull with awless insolence,\nAnd having seiz'd his horns, accosts the prince:\n\"If none my matchless valor dares oppose,\nHow long shall Dares wait his dastard foes?\nPermit me, chief, permit without delay,\nTo lead this uncontended gift away.\"\nThe crowd assents, and with redoubled cries\nFor the proud challenger demands the prize.<\/p>\n
Acestes, fir'd with just disdain, to see\nThe palm usurp'd without a victory,\nReproach'd Entellus thus, who sate beside,\nAnd heard and saw, unmov'd, the Trojan's pride:\n\"Once, but in vain, a champion of renown,\nSo tamely can you bear the ravish'd crown,\nA prize in triumph borne before your sight,\nAnd shun, for fear, the danger of the fight?\nWhere is our Eryx now, the boasted name,\nThe god who taught your thund'ring arm the game?\nWhere now your baffled honor? Where the spoil\nThat fill'd your house, and fame that fill'd our isle?\"\nEntellus, thus: \"My soul is still the same,\nUnmov'd with fear, and mov'd with martial fame;\nBut my chill blood is curdled in my veins,\nAnd scarce the shadow of a man remains.\nO could I turn to that fair prime again,\nThat prime of which this boaster is so vain,\nThe brave, who this decrepid age defies,\nShould feel my force, without the promis'd prize.\"<\/p>\n
He said; and, rising at the word, he threw\nTwo pond'rous gauntlets down in open view;\nGauntlets which Eryx wont in fight to wield,\nAnd sheathe his hands with in the listed field.\nWith fear and wonder seiz'd, the crowd beholds\nThe gloves of death, with sev'n distinguish'd folds\nOf tough bull hides; the space within is spread\nWith iron, or with loads of heavy lead:\nDares himself was daunted at the sight,\nRenounc'd his challenge, and refus'd to fight.\nAstonish'd at their weight, the hero stands,\nAnd pois'd the pond'rous engines in his hands.\n\"What had your wonder,\" said Entellus, \"been,\nHad you the gauntlets of Alcides seen,\nOr view'd the stern debate on this unhappy green!\nThese which I bear your brother Eryx bore,\nStill mark'd with batter'd brains and mingled gore.\nWith these he long sustain'd th' Herculean arm;\nAnd these I wielded while my blood was warm,\nThis languish'd frame while better spirits fed,\nEre age unstrung my nerves, or time o'ersnow'd my head.\nBut if the challenger these arms refuse,\nAnd cannot wield their weight, or dare not use;\nIf great Aeneas and Acestes join\nIn his request, these gauntlets I resign;\nLet us with equal arms perform the fight,\nAnd let him leave to fear, since I resign my right.\"<\/p>\n
This said, Entellus for the strife prepares;\nStripp'd of his quilted coat, his body bares;\nCompos'd of mighty bones and brawn he stands,\nA goodly tow'ring object on the sands.\nThen just Aeneas equal arms supplied,\nWhich round their shoulders to their wrists they tied.\nBoth on the tiptoe stand, at full extent,\nTheir arms aloft, their bodies inly bent;\nTheir heads from aiming blows they bear afar;\nWith clashing gauntlets then provoke the war.\nOne on his youth and pliant limbs relies;\nOne on his sinews and his giant size.\nThe last is stiff with age, his motion slow;\nHe heaves for breath, he staggers to and fro,\nAnd clouds of issuing smoke his nostrils loudly blow.\nYet equal in success, they ward, they strike;\nTheir ways are diff'rent, but their art alike.\nBefore, behind, the blows are dealt; around\nTheir hollow sides the rattling thumps resound.\nA storm of strokes, well meant, with fury flies,\nAnd errs about their temples, ears, and eyes.\nNor always errs; for oft the gauntlet draws\nA sweeping stroke along the crackling jaws.\nHeavy with age, Entellus stands his ground,\nBut with his warping body wards the wound.\nHis hand and watchful eye keep even pace;\nWhile Dares traverses and shifts his place,\nAnd, like a captain who beleaguers round\nSome strong-built castle on a rising ground,\nViews all th' approaches with observing eyes:\nThis and that other part in vain he tries,\nAnd more on industry than force relies.\nWith hands on high, Entellus threats the foe;\nBut Dares watch'd the motion from below,\nAnd slipp'd aside, and shunn'd the long descending blow.\nEntellus wastes his forces on the wind,\nAnd, thus deluded of the stroke design'd,\nHeadlong and heavy fell; his ample breast\nAnd weighty limbs his ancient mother press'd.\nSo falls a hollow pine, that long had stood\nOn Ida's height, or Erymanthus' wood,\nTorn from the roots. The diff'ring nations rise,\nAnd shouts and mingled murmurs rend the skies,\nAcestus runs with eager haste, to raise\nThe fall'n companion of his youthful days.\nDauntless he rose, and to the fight return'd;\nWith shame his glowing cheeks, his eyes with fury burn'd.\nDisdain and conscious virtue fir'd his breast,\nAnd with redoubled force his foe he press'd.\nHe lays on load with either hand, amain,\nAnd headlong drives the Trojan o'er the plain;\nNor stops, nor stays; nor rest nor breath allows;\nBut storms of strokes descend about his brows,\nA rattling tempest, and a hail of blows.\nBut now the prince, who saw the wild increase\nOf wounds, commands the combatants to cease,\nAnd bounds Entellus' wrath, and bids the peace.\nFirst to the Trojan, spent with toil, he came,\nAnd sooth'd his sorrow for the suffer'd shame.\n\"What fury seiz'd my friend? The gods,\" said he,\n\"To him propitious, and averse to thee,\nHave giv'n his arm superior force to thine.\n'T is madness to contend with strength divine.\"\nThe gauntlet fight thus ended, from the shore\nHis faithful friends unhappy Dares bore:\nHis mouth and nostrils pour'd a purple flood,\nAnd pounded teeth came rushing with his blood.\nFaintly he stagger'd thro' the hissing throng,\nAnd hung his head, and trail'd his legs along.\nThe sword and casque are carried by his train;\nBut with his foe the palm and ox remain.<\/p>\n
The champion, then, before Aeneas came,\nProud of his prize, but prouder of his fame:\n\"O goddess-born, and you, Dardanian host,\nMark with attention, and forgive my boast;\nLearn what I was, by what remains; and know\nFrom what impending fate you sav'd my foe.\"\nSternly he spoke, and then confronts the bull;\nAnd, on his ample forehead aiming full,\nThe deadly stroke, descending, pierc'd the skull.\nDown drops the beast, nor needs a second wound,\nBut sprawls in pangs of death, and spurns the ground.\nThen, thus: \"In Dares' stead I offer this.\nEryx, accept a nobler sacrifice;\nTake the last gift my wither'd arms can yield:\nThy gauntlets I resign, and here renounce the field.\"<\/p>\n
This done, Aeneas orders, for the close,\nThe strife of archers with contending bows.\nThe mast Sergesthus' shatter'd galley bore\nWith his own hands he raises on the shore.\nA flutt'ring dove upon the top they tie,\nThe living mark at which their arrows fly.\nThe rival archers in a line advance,\nTheir turn of shooting to receive from chance.\nA helmet holds their names; the lots are drawn:\nOn the first scroll was read Hippocoon.\nThe people shout. Upon the next was found\nYoung Mnestheus, late with naval honors crown'd.\nThe third contain'd Eurytion's noble name,\nThy brother, Pandarus, and next in fame,\nWhom Pallas urg'd the treaty to confound,\nAnd send among the Greeks a feather'd wound.\nAcestes in the bottom last remain'd,\nWhom not his age from youthful sports restrain'd.\nSoon all with vigor bend their trusty bows,\nAnd from the quiver each his arrow chose.\nHippocoon's was the first: with forceful sway\nIt flew, and, whizzing, cut the liquid way.\nFix'd in the mast the feather'd weapon stands:\nThe fearful pigeon flutters in her bands,\nAnd the tree trembled, and the shouting cries\nOf the pleas'd people rend the vaulted skies.\nThen Mnestheus to the head his arrow drove,\nWith lifted eyes, and took his aim above,\nBut made a glancing shot, and missed the dove;\nYet miss'd so narrow, that he cut the cord\nWhich fasten'd by the foot the flitting bird.\nThe captive thus releas'd, away she flies,\nAnd beats with clapping wings the yielding skies.\nHis bow already bent, Eurytion stood;\nAnd, having first invok'd his brother god,\nHis winged shaft with eager haste he sped.\nThe fatal message reach'd her as she fled:\nShe leaves her life aloft; she strikes the ground,\nAnd renders back the weapon in the wound.\nAcestes, grudging at his lot, remains,\nWithout a prize to gratify his pains.\nYet, shooting upward, sends his shaft, to show\nAn archer's art, and boast his twanging bow.\nThe feather'd arrow gave a dire portent,\nAnd latter augurs judge from this event.\nChaf'd by the speed, it fir'd; and, as it flew,\nA trail of following flames ascending drew:\nKindling they mount, and mark the shiny way;\nAcross the skies as falling meteors play,\nAnd vanish into wind, or in a blaze decay.\nThe Trojans and Sicilians wildly stare,\nAnd, trembling, turn their wonder into pray'r.\nThe Dardan prince put on a smiling face,\nAnd strain'd Acestes with a close embrace;\nThen, hon'ring him with gifts above the rest,\nTurn'd the bad omen, nor his fears confess'd.\n\"The gods,\" said he, \"this miracle have wrought,\nAnd order'd you the prize without the lot.\nAccept this goblet, rough with figur'd gold,\nWhich Thracian Cisseus gave my sire of old:\nThis pledge of ancient amity receive,\nWhich to my second sire I justly give.\"\nHe said, and, with the trumpets' cheerful sound,\nProclaim'd him victor, and with laurel-crown'd.\nNor good Eurytion envied him the prize,\nTho' he transfix'd the pigeon in the skies.\nWho cut the line, with second gifts was grac'd;\nThe third was his whose arrow pierc'd the mast.<\/p>\n
The chief, before the games were wholly done,\nCall'd Periphantes, tutor to his son,\nAnd whisper'd thus: \"With speed Ascanius find;\nAnd, if his childish troop be ready join'd,\nOn horseback let him grace his grandsire's day,\nAnd lead his equals arm'd in just array.\"\nHe said; and, calling out, the cirque he clears.\nThe crowd withdrawn, an open plain appears.\nAnd now the noble youths, of form divine,\nAdvance before their fathers, in a line;\nThe riders grace the steeds; the steeds with glory shine.<\/p>\n
Thus marching on in military pride,\nShouts of applause resound from side to side.\nTheir casques adorn'd with laurel wreaths they wear,\nEach brandishing aloft a cornel spear.\nSome at their backs their gilded quivers bore;\nTheir chains of burnish'd gold hung down before.\nThree graceful troops they form'd upon the green;\nThree graceful leaders at their head were seen;\nTwelve follow'd ev'ry chief, and left a space between.\nThe first young Priam led; a lovely boy,\nWhose grandsire was th' unhappy king of Troy;\nHis race in after times was known to fame,\nNew honors adding to the Latian name;\nAnd well the royal boy his Thracian steed became.\nWhite were the fetlocks of his feet before,\nAnd on his front a snowy star he bore.\nThen beauteous Atys, with Iulus bred,\nOf equal age, the second squadron led.\nThe last in order, but the first in place,\nFirst in the lovely features of his face,\nRode fair Ascanius on a fiery steed,\nQueen Dido's gift, and of the Tyrian breed.\nSure coursers for the rest the king ordains,\nWith golden bits adorn'd, and purple reins.<\/p>\n
The pleas'd spectators peals of shouts renew,\nAnd all the parents in the children view;\nTheir make, their motions, and their sprightly grace,\nAnd hopes and fears alternate in their face.<\/p>\n
Th' unfledg'd commanders and their martial train\nFirst make the circuit of the sandy plain\nAround their sires, and, at th' appointed sign,\nDrawn up in beauteous order, form a line.\nThe second signal sounds, the troop divides\nIn three distinguish'd parts, with three distinguish'd guides\nAgain they close, and once again disjoin;\nIn troop to troop oppos'd, and line to line.\nThey meet; they wheel; they throw their darts afar\nWith harmless rage and well-dissembled war.\nThen in a round the mingled bodies run:\nFlying they follow, and pursuing shun;\nBroken, they break; and, rallying, they renew\nIn other forms the military shew.\nAt last, in order, undiscern'd they join,\nAnd march together in a friendly line.\nAnd, as the Cretan labyrinth of old,\nWith wand'ring ways and many a winding fold,\nInvolv'd the weary feet, without redress,\nIn a round error, which denied recess;\nSo fought the Trojan boys in warlike play,\nTurn'd and return'd, and still a diff'rent way.\nThus dolphins in the deep each other chase\nIn circles, when they swim around the wat'ry race.\nThis game, these carousels, Ascanius taught;\nAnd, building Alba, to the Latins brought;\nShew'd what he learn'd: the Latin sires impart\nTo their succeeding sons the graceful art;\nFrom these imperial Rome receiv'd the game,\nWhich Troy, the youths the Trojan troop, they name.<\/p>\n
Thus far the sacred sports they celebrate:\nBut Fortune soon resum'd her ancient hate;\nFor, while they pay the dead his annual dues,\nThose envied rites Saturnian Juno views;\nAnd sends the goddess of the various bow,\nTo try new methods of revenge below;\nSupplies the winds to wing her airy way,\nWhere in the port secure the navy lay.\nSwiftly fair Iris down her arch descends,\nAnd, undiscern'd, her fatal voyage ends.\nShe saw the gath'ring crowd; and, gliding thence,\nThe desart shore, and fleet without defense.\nThe Trojan matrons, on the sands alone,\nWith sighs and tears Anchises' death bemoan;\nThen, turning to the sea their weeping eyes,\nTheir pity to themselves renews their cries.\n\"Alas!\" said one, \"what oceans yet remain\nFor us to sail! what labors to sustain!\"\nAll take the word, and, with a gen'ral groan,\nImplore the gods for peace, and places of their own.<\/p>\n
The goddess, great in mischief, views their pains,\nAnd in a woman's form her heav'nly limbs restrains.\nIn face and shape old Beroe she became,\nDoryclus' wife, a venerable dame,\nOnce blest with riches, and a mother's name.\nThus chang'd, amidst the crying crowd she ran,\nMix'd with the matrons, and these words began:\n\"O wretched we, whom not the Grecian pow'r,\nNor flames, destroy'd, in Troy's unhappy hour!\nO wretched we, reserv'd by cruel fate,\nBeyond the ruins of the sinking state!\nNow sev'n revolving years are wholly run,\nSince this improsp'rous voyage we begun;\nSince, toss'd from shores to shores, from lands to lands,\nInhospitable rocks and barren sands,\nWand'ring in exile thro' the stormy sea,\nWe search in vain for flying Italy.\nNow cast by fortune on this kindred land,\nWhat should our rest and rising walls withstand,\nOr hinder here to fix our banish'd band?\nO country lost, and gods redeem'd in vain,\nIf still in endless exile we remain!\nShall we no more the Trojan walls renew,\nOr streams of some dissembled Simois view!\nHaste, join with me, th' unhappy fleet consume!\nCassandra bids; and I declare her doom.\nIn sleep I saw her; she supplied my hands\n(For this I more than dreamt) with flaming brands:\n'With these,' said she, 'these wand'ring ships destroy:\nThese are your fatal seats, and this your Troy.'\nTime calls you now; the precious hour employ:\nSlack not the good presage, while Heav'n inspires\nOur minds to dare, and gives the ready fires.\nSee! Neptune's altars minister their brands:\nThe god is pleas'd; the god supplies our hands.\"\nThen from the pile a flaming fire she drew,\nAnd, toss'd in air, amidst the galleys threw.<\/p>\n
Wrapp'd in amaze, the matrons wildly stare:\nThen Pyrgo, reverenc'd for her hoary hair,\nPyrgo, the nurse of Priam's num'rous race:\n\"No Beroe this, tho' she belies her face!\nWhat terrors from her frowning front arise!\nBehold a goddess in her ardent eyes!\nWhat rays around her heav'nly face are seen!\nMark her majestic voice, and more than mortal mien!\nBeroe but now I left, whom, pin'd with pain,\nHer age and anguish from these rites detain,\"\nShe said. The matrons, seiz'd with new amaze,\nRoll their malignant eyes, and on the navy gaze.\nThey fear, and hope, and neither part obey:\nThey hope the fated land, but fear the fatal way.\nThe goddess, having done her task below,\nMounts up on equal wings, and bends her painted bow.\nStruck with the sight, and seiz'd with rage divine,\nThe matrons prosecute their mad design:\nThey shriek aloud; they snatch, with impious hands,\nThe food of altars; fires and flaming brands.\nGreen boughs and saplings, mingled in their haste,\nAnd smoking torches, on the ships they cast.\nThe flame, unstopp'd at first, more fury gains,\nAnd Vulcan rides at large with loosen'd reins:\nTriumphant to the painted sterns he soars,\nAnd seizes, in this way, the banks and crackling oars.\nEumelus was the first the news to bear,\nWhile yet they crowd the rural theater.\nThen, what they hear, is witness'd by their eyes:\nA storm of sparkles and of flames arise.\nAscanius took th' alarm, while yet he led\nHis early warriors on his prancing steed,\nAnd, spurring on, his equals soon o'erpass'd;\nNor could his frighted friends reclaim his haste.\nSoon as the royal youth appear'd in view,\nHe sent his voice before him as he flew:\n\"What madness moves you, matrons, to destroy\nThe last remainders of unhappy Troy!\nNot hostile fleets, but your own hopes, you burn,\nAnd on your friends your fatal fury turn.\nBehold your own Ascanius!\" While he said,\nHe drew his glitt'ring helmet from his head,\nIn which the youths to sportful arms he led.\nBy this, Aeneas and his train appear;\nAnd now the women, seiz'd with shame and fear,\nDispers'd, to woods and caverns take their flight,\nAbhor their actions, and avoid the light;\nTheir friends acknowledge, and their error find,\nAnd shake the goddess from their alter'd mind.<\/p>\n
Not so the raging fires their fury cease,\nBut, lurking in the seams, with seeming peace,\nWork on their way amid the smold'ring tow,\nSure in destruction, but in motion slow.\nThe silent plague thro' the green timber eats,\nAnd vomits out a tardy flame by fits.\nDown to the keels, and upward to the sails,\nThe fire descends, or mounts, but still prevails;\nNor buckets pour'd, nor strength of human hand,\nCan the victorious element withstand.<\/p>\n
The pious hero rends his robe, and throws\nTo heav'n his hands, and with his hands his vows.\n\"O Jove,\" he cried, \"if pray'rs can yet have place;\nIf thou abhorr'st not all the Dardan race;\nIf any spark of pity still remain;\nIf gods are gods, and not invok'd in vain;\nYet spare the relics of the Trojan train!\nYet from the flames our burning vessels free,\nOr let thy fury fall alone on me!\nAt this devoted head thy thunder throw,\nAnd send the willing sacrifice below!\"<\/p>\n
Scarce had he said, when southern storms arise:\nFrom pole to pole the forky lightning flies;\nLoud rattling shakes the mountains and the plain;\nHeav'n bellies downward, and descends in rain.\nWhole sheets of water from the clouds are sent,\nWhich, hissing thro' the planks, the flames prevent,\nAnd stop the fiery pest. Four ships alone\nBurn to the waist, and for the fleet atone.<\/p>\n
But doubtful thoughts the hero's heart divide;\nIf he should still in Sicily reside,\nForgetful of his fates, or tempt the main,\nIn hope the promis'd Italy to gain.\nThen Nautes, old and wise, to whom alone\nThe will of Heav'n by Pallas was foreshown;\nVers'd in portents, experienc'd, and inspir'd\nTo tell events, and what the fates requir'd;\nThus while he stood, to neither part inclin'd,\nWith cheerful words reliev'd his lab'ring mind:\n\"O goddess-born, resign'd in ev'ry state,\nWith patience bear, with prudence push your fate.\nBy suff'ring well, our Fortune we subdue;\nFly when she frowns, and, when she calls, pursue.\nYour friend Acestes is of Trojan kind;\nTo him disclose the secrets of your mind:\nTrust in his hands your old and useless train;\nToo num'rous for the ships which yet remain:\nThe feeble, old, indulgent of their ease,\nThe dames who dread the dangers of the seas,\nWith all the dastard crew, who dare not stand\nThe shock of battle with your foes by land.\nHere you may build a common town for all,\nAnd, from Acestes' name, Acesta call.\"\nThe reasons, with his friend's experience join'd,\nEncourag'd much, but more disturb'd his mind.<\/p>\n
'T was dead of night; when to his slumb'ring eyes\nHis father's shade descended from the skies,\nAnd thus he spoke: \"O more than vital breath,\nLov'd while I liv'd, and dear ev'n after death;\nO son, in various toils and troubles toss'd,\nThe King of Heav'n employs my careful ghost\nOn his commands: the god, who sav'd from fire\nYour flaming fleet, and heard your just desire.\nThe wholesome counsel of your friend receive,\nAnd here the coward train and woman leave:\nThe chosen youth, and those who nobly dare,\nTransport, to tempt the dangers of the war.\nThe stern Italians will their courage try;\nRough are their manners, and their minds are high.\nBut first to Pluto's palace you shall go,\nAnd seek my shade among the blest below:\nFor not with impious ghosts my soul remains,\nNor suffers with the damn'd perpetual pains,\nBut breathes the living air of soft Elysian plains.\nThe chaste Sibylla shall your steps convey,\nAnd blood of offer'd victims free the way.\nThere shall you know what realms the gods assign,\nAnd learn the fates and fortunes of your line.\nBut now, farewell! I vanish with the night,\nAnd feel the blast of heav'n's approaching light.\"\nHe said, and mix'd with shades, and took his airy flight.\n\"Whither so fast?\" the filial duty cried;\n\"And why, ah why, the wish'd embrace denied?\"<\/p>\n
He said, and rose; as holy zeal inspires,\nHe rakes hot embers, and renews the fires;\nHis country gods and Vesta then adores\nWith cakes and incense, and their aid implores.\nNext, for his friends and royal host he sent,\nReveal'd his vision, and the gods' intent,\nWith his own purpose. All, without delay,\nThe will of Jove, and his desires obey.\nThey list with women each degenerate name,\nWho dares not hazard life for future fame.\nThese they cashier: the brave remaining few,\nOars, banks, and cables, half consum'd, renew.\nThe prince designs a city with the plow;\nThe lots their sev'ral tenements allow.\nThis part is nam'd from Ilium, that from Troy,\nAnd the new king ascends the throne with joy;\nA chosen senate from the people draws;\nAppoints the judges, and ordains the laws.\nThen, on the top of Eryx, they begin\nA rising temple to the Paphian queen.\nAnchises, last, is honor'd as a god;\nA priest is added, annual gifts bestow'd,\nAnd groves are planted round his blest abode.\nNine days they pass in feasts, their temples crown'd;\nAnd fumes of incense in the fanes abound.\nThen from the south arose a gentle breeze\nThat curl'd the smoothness of the glassy seas;\nThe rising winds a ruffling gale afford,\nAnd call the merry mariners aboard.<\/p>\n
Now loud laments along the shores resound,\nOf parting friends in close embraces bound.\nThe trembling women, the degenerate train,\nWho shunn'd the frightful dangers of the main,\nEv'n those desire to sail, and take their share\nOf the rough passage and the promis'd war:\nWhom good Aeneas cheers, and recommends\nTo their new master's care his fearful friends.\nOn Eryx's altars three fat calves he lays;\nA lamb new-fallen to the stormy seas;\nThen slips his haulsers, and his anchors weighs.\nHigh on the deck the godlike hero stands,\nWith olive crown'd, a charger in his hands;\nThen cast the reeking entrails in the brine,\nAnd pour'd the sacrifice of purple wine.\nFresh gales arise; with equal strokes they vie,\nAnd brush the buxom seas, and o'er the billows fly.<\/p>\n
Meantime the mother goddess, full of fears,\nTo Neptune thus address'd, with tender tears:\n\"The pride of Jove's imperious queen, the rage,\nThe malice which no suff'rings can assuage,\nCompel me to these pray'rs; since neither fate,\nNor time, nor pity, can remove her hate:\nEv'n Jove is thwarted by his haughty wife;\nStill vanquish'd, yet she still renews the strife.\nAs if 't were little to consume the town\nWhich aw'd the world, and wore th' imperial crown,\nShe prosecutes the ghost of Troy with pains,\nAnd gnaws, ev'n to the bones, the last remains.\nLet her the causes of her hatred tell;\nBut you can witness its effects too well.\nYou saw the storm she rais'd on Libyan floods,\nThat mix'd the mounting billows with the clouds;\nWhen, bribing Aeolus, she shook the main,\nAnd mov'd rebellion in your wat'ry reign.\nWith fury she possess'd the Dardan dames,\nTo burn their fleet with execrable flames,\nAnd forc'd Aeneas, when his ships were lost,\nTo leave his foll'wers on a foreign coast.\nFor what remains, your godhead I implore,\nAnd trust my son to your protecting pow'r.\nIf neither Jove's nor Fate's decree withstand,\nSecure his passage to the Latian land.\"<\/p>\n
Then thus the mighty Ruler of the Main:\n\"What may not Venus hope from Neptune's reign?\nMy kingdom claims your birth; my late defense\nOf your indanger'd fleet may claim your confidence.\nNor less by land than sea my deeds declare\nHow much your lov'd Aeneas is my care.\nThee, Xanthus, and thee, Simois, I attest.\nYour Trojan troops when proud Achilles press'd,\nAnd drove before him headlong on the plain,\nAnd dash'd against the walls the trembling train;\nWhen floods were fill'd with bodies of the slain;\nWhen crimson Xanthus, doubtful of his way,\nStood up on ridges to behold the sea;\n(New heaps came tumbling in, and chok'd his way;)\nWhen your Aeneas fought, but fought with odds\nOf force unequal, and unequal gods;\nI spread a cloud before the victor's sight,\nSustain'd the vanquish'd, and secur'd his flight;\nEv'n then secur'd him, when I sought with joy\nThe vow'd destruction of ungrateful Troy.\nMy will's the same: fair goddess, fear no more,\nYour fleet shall safely gain the Latian shore;\nTheir lives are giv'n; one destin'd head alone\nShall perish, and for multitudes atone.\"\nThus having arm'd with hopes her anxious mind,\nHis finny team Saturnian Neptune join'd,\nThen adds the foamy bridle to their jaws,\nAnd to the loosen'd reins permits the laws.\nHigh on the waves his azure car he guides;\nIts axles thunder, and the sea subsides,\nAnd the smooth ocean rolls her silent tides.\nThe tempests fly before their father's face,\nTrains of inferior gods his triumph grace,\nAnd monster whales before their master play,\nAnd choirs of Tritons crowd the wat'ry way.\nThe marshal'd pow'rs in equal troops divide\nTo right and left; the gods his better side\nInclose, and on the worse the Nymphs and Nereids ride.<\/p>\n
Now smiling hope, with sweet vicissitude,\nWithin the hero's mind his joys renew'd.\nHe calls to raise the masts, the sheets display;\nThe cheerful crew with diligence obey;\nThey scud before the wind, and sail in open sea.\nAhead of all the master pilot steers;\nAnd, as he leads, the following navy veers.\nThe steeds of Night had travel'd half the sky,\nThe drowsy rowers on their benches lie,\nWhen the soft God of Sleep, with easy flight,\nDescends, and draws behind a trail of light.\nThou, Palinurus, art his destin'd prey;\nTo thee alone he takes his fatal way.\nDire dreams to thee, and iron sleep, he bears;\nAnd, lighting on thy prow, the form of Phorbas wears.\nThen thus the traitor god began his tale:\n\"The winds, my friend, inspire a pleasing gale;\nThe ships, without thy care, securely sail.\nNow steal an hour of sweet repose; and I\nWill take the rudder and thy room supply.\"\nTo whom the yawning pilot, half asleep:\n\"Me dost thou bid to trust the treach'rous deep,\nThe harlot smiles of her dissembling face,\nAnd to her faith commit the Trojan race?\nShall I believe the Siren South again,\nAnd, oft betray'd, not know the monster main?\"\nHe said: his fasten'd hands the rudder keep,\nAnd, fix'd on heav'n, his eyes repel invading sleep.\nThe god was wroth, and at his temples threw\nA branch in Lethe dipp'd, and drunk with Stygian dew:\nThe pilot, vanquish'd by the pow'r divine,\nSoon clos'd his swimming eyes, and lay supine.\nScarce were his limbs extended at their length,\nThe god, insulting with superior strength,\nFell heavy on him, plung'd him in the sea,\nAnd, with the stern, the rudder tore away.\nHeadlong he fell, and, struggling in the main,\nCried out for helping hands, but cried in vain.\nThe victor daemon mounts obscure in air,\nWhile the ship sails without the pilot's care.\nOn Neptune's faith the floating fleet relies;\nBut what the man forsook, the god supplies,\nAnd o'er the dang'rous deep secure the navy flies;\nGlides by the Sirens' cliffs, a shelfy coast,\nLong infamous for ships and sailors lost,\nAnd white with bones. Th' impetuous ocean roars,\nAnd rocks rebellow from the sounding shores.\nThe watchful hero felt the knocks, and found\nThe tossing vessel sail'd on shoaly ground.\nSure of his pilot's loss, he takes himself\nThe helm, and steers aloof, and shuns the shelf.\nInly he griev'd, and, groaning from the breast,\nDeplor'd his death; and thus his pain express'd:\n\"For faith repos'd on seas, and on the flatt'ring sky,\nThy naked corpse is doom'd on shores unknown to lie.\"<\/p>","rendered":"
Meantime the Trojan cuts his wat’ry way,
\nFix’d on his voyage, thro’ the curling sea;
\nThen, casting back his eyes, with dire amaze,
\nSees on the Punic shore the mounting blaze.
\nThe cause unknown; yet his presaging mind
\nThe fate of Dido from the fire divin’d;
\nHe knew the stormy souls of womankind,
\nWhat secret springs their eager passions move,
\nHow capable of death for injur’d love.
\nDire auguries from hence the Trojans draw;
\nTill neither fires nor shining shores they saw.
\nNow seas and skies their prospect only bound;
\nAn empty space above, a floating field around.
\nBut soon the heav’ns with shadows were o’erspread;
\nA swelling cloud hung hov’ring o’er their head:
\nLivid it look’d, the threat’ning of a storm:
\nThen night and horror ocean’s face deform.
\nThe pilot, Palinurus, cried aloud:
\n“What gusts of weather from that gath’ring cloud
\nMy thoughts presage! Ere yet the tempest roars,
\nStand to your tackle, mates, and stretch your oars;
\nContract your swelling sails, and luff to wind.”
\nThe frighted crew perform the task assign’d.
\nThen, to his fearless chief: “Not Heav’n,” said he,
\n“Tho’ Jove himself should promise Italy,
\nCan stem the torrent of this raging sea.
\nMark how the shifting winds from west arise,
\nAnd what collected night involves the skies!
\nNor can our shaken vessels live at sea,
\nMuch less against the tempest force their way.
\n‘T is fate diverts our course, and fate we must obey.
\nNot far from hence, if I observ’d aright
\nThe southing of the stars, and polar light,
\nSicilia lies, whose hospitable shores
\nIn safety we may reach with struggling oars.”
\nAeneas then replied: “Too sure I find
\nWe strive in vain against the seas and wind:
\nNow shift your sails; what place can please me more
\nThan what you promise, the Sicilian shore,
\nWhose hallow’d earth Anchises’ bones contains,
\nAnd where a prince of Trojan lineage reigns?”
\nThe course resolv’d, before the western wind
\nThey scud amain, and make the port assign’d.
\nMeantime Acestes, from a lofty stand,
\nBeheld the fleet descending on the land;
\nAnd, not unmindful of his ancient race,
\nDown from the cliff he ran with eager pace,
\nAnd held the hero in a strict embrace.
\nOf a rough Libyan bear the spoils he wore,
\nAnd either hand a pointed jav’lin bore.
\nHis mother was a dame of Dardan blood;
\nHis sire Crinisus, a Sicilian flood.
\nHe welcomes his returning friends ashore
\nWith plenteous country cates and homely store.<\/p>\n
Now, when the following morn had chas’d away
\nThe flying stars, and light restor’d the day,
\nAeneas call’d the Trojan troops around,
\nAnd thus bespoke them from a rising ground:
\n“Offspring of heav’n, divine Dardanian race!
\nThe sun, revolving thro’ th’ ethereal space,
\nThe shining circle of the year has fill’d,
\nSince first this isle my father’s ashes held:
\nAnd now the rising day renews the year;
\nA day for ever sad, for ever dear.
\nThis would I celebrate with annual games,
\nWith gifts on altars pil’d, and holy flames,
\nTho’ banish’d to Gaetulia’s barren sands,
\nCaught on the Grecian seas, or hostile lands:
\nBut since this happy storm our fleet has driv’n
\n(Not, as I deem, without the will of Heav’n)
\nUpon these friendly shores and flow’ry plains,
\nWhich hide Anchises and his blest remains,
\nLet us with joy perform his honors due,
\nAnd pray for prosp’rous winds, our voyage to renew;
\nPray, that in towns and temples of our own,
\nThe name of great Anchises may be known,
\nAnd yearly games may spread the gods’ renown.
\nOur sports Acestes, of the Trojan race,
\nWith royal gifts ordain’d, is pleas’d to grace:
\nTwo steers on ev’ry ship the king bestows;
\nHis gods and ours shall share your equal vows.
\nBesides, if, nine days hence, the rosy morn
\nShall with unclouded light the skies adorn,
\nThat day with solemn sports I mean to grace:
\nLight galleys on the seas shall run a wat’ry race;
\nSome shall in swiftness for the goal contend,
\nAnd others try the twanging bow to bend;
\nThe strong, with iron gauntlets arm’d, shall stand
\nOppos’d in combat on the yellow sand.
\nLet all be present at the games prepar’d,
\nAnd joyful victors wait the just reward.
\nBut now assist the rites, with garlands crown’d.”
\nHe said, and first his brows with myrtle bound.
\nThen Helymus, by his example led,
\nAnd old Acestes, each adorn’d his head;
\nThus young Ascanius, with a sprightly grace,
\nHis temples tied, and all the Trojan race.
\nAeneas then advanc’d amidst the train,
\nBy thousands follow’d thro’ the flow’ry plain,
\nTo great Anchises’ tomb; which when he found,
\nHe pour’d to Bacchus, on the hallow’d ground,
\nTwo bowls of sparkling wine, of milk two more,
\nAnd two (from offer’d bulls) of purple gore,
\nWith roses then the sepulcher he strow’d
\nAnd thus his father’s ghost bespoke aloud:
\n“Hail, O ye holy manes! hail again,
\nPaternal ashes, now review’d in vain!
\nThe gods permitted not, that you, with me,
\nShould reach the promis’d shores of Italy,
\nOr Tiber’s flood, what flood soe’er it be.”
\nScarce had he finish’d, when, with speckled pride,
\nA serpent from the tomb began to glide;
\nHis hugy bulk on sev’n high volumes roll’d;
\nBlue was his breadth of back, but streak’d with scaly gold:
\nThus riding on his curls, he seem’d to pass
\nA rolling fire along, and singe the grass.
\nMore various colors thro’ his body run,
\nThan Iris when her bow imbibes the sun.
\nBetwixt the rising altars, and around,
\nThe sacred monster shot along the ground;
\nWith harmless play amidst the bowls he pass’d,
\nAnd with his lolling tongue assay’d the taste:
\nThus fed with holy food, the wondrous guest
\nWithin the hollow tomb retir’d to rest.
\nThe pious prince, surpris’d at what he view’d,
\nThe fun’ral honors with more zeal renew’d,
\nDoubtful if this place’s genius were,
\nOr guardian of his father’s sepulcher.
\nFive sheep, according to the rites, he slew;
\nAs many swine, and steers of sable hue;
\nNew gen’rous wine he from the goblets pour’d.
\nAnd call’d his father’s ghost, from hell restor’d.
\nThe glad attendants in long order come,
\nOff’ring their gifts at great Anchises’ tomb:
\nSome add more oxen: some divide the spoil;
\nSome place the chargers on the grassy soil;
\nSome blow the fires, and offered entrails broil.<\/p>\n
Now came the day desir’d. The skies were bright
\nWith rosy luster of the rising light:
\nThe bord’ring people, rous’d by sounding fame
\nOf Trojan feasts and great Acestes’ name,
\nThe crowded shore with acclamations fill,
\nPart to behold, and part to prove their skill.
\nAnd first the gifts in public view they place,
\nGreen laurel wreaths, and palm, the victors’ grace:
\nWithin the circle, arms and tripods lie,
\nIngots of gold and silver, heap’d on high,
\nAnd vests embroider’d, of the Tyrian dye.
\nThe trumpet’s clangor then the feast proclaims,
\nAnd all prepare for their appointed games.
\nFour galleys first, which equal rowers bear,
\nAdvancing, in the wat’ry lists appear.
\nThe speedy Dolphin, that outstrips the wind,
\nBore Mnestheus, author of the Memmian kind:
\nGyas the vast Chimaera’s bulk commands,
\nWhich rising, like a tow’ring city stands;
\nThree Trojans tug at ev’ry lab’ring oar;
\nThree banks in three degrees the sailors bore;
\nBeneath their sturdy strokes the billows roar.
\nSergesthus, who began the Sergian race,
\nIn the great Centaur took the leading place;
\nCloanthus on the sea-green Scylla stood,
\nFrom whom Cluentius draws his Trojan blood.<\/p>\n
Far in the sea, against the foaming shore,
\nThere stands a rock: the raging billows roar
\nAbove his head in storms; but, when ‘t is clear,
\nUncurl their ridgy backs, and at his foot appear.
\nIn peace below the gentle waters run;
\nThe cormorants above lie basking in the sun.
\nOn this the hero fix’d an oak in sight,
\nThe mark to guide the mariners aright.
\nTo bear with this, the seamen stretch their oars;
\nThen round the rock they steer, and seek the former shores.
\nThe lots decide their place. Above the rest,
\nEach leader shining in his Tyrian vest;
\nThe common crew with wreaths of poplar boughs
\nTheir temples crown, and shade their sweaty brows:
\nBesmear’d with oil, their naked shoulders shine.
\nAll take their seats, and wait the sounding sign:
\nThey gripe their oars; and ev’ry panting breast
\nIs rais’d by turns with hope, by turns with fear depress’d.
\nThe clangor of the trumpet gives the sign;
\nAt once they start, advancing in a line:
\nWith shouts the sailors rend the starry skies;
\nLash’d with their oars, the smoky billows rise;
\nSparkles the briny main, and the vex’d ocean fries.
\nExact in time, with equal strokes they row:
\nAt once the brushing oars and brazen prow
\nDash up the sandy waves, and ope the depths below.
\nNot fiery coursers, in a chariot race,
\nInvade the field with half so swift a pace;
\nNot the fierce driver with more fury lends
\nThe sounding lash, and, ere the stroke descends,
\nLow to the wheels his pliant body bends.
\nThe partial crowd their hopes and fears divide,
\nAnd aid with eager shouts the favor’d side.
\nCries, murmurs, clamors, with a mixing sound,
\nFrom woods to woods, from hills to hills rebound.<\/p>\n
Amidst the loud applauses of the shore,
\nGyas outstripp’d the rest, and sprung before:
\nCloanthus, better mann’d, pursued him fast,
\nBut his o’er-masted galley check’d his haste.
\nThe Centaur and the Dolphin brush the brine
\nWith equal oars, advancing in a line;
\nAnd now the mighty Centaur seems to lead,
\nAnd now the speedy Dolphin gets ahead;
\nNow board to board the rival vessels row,
\nThe billows lave the skies, and ocean groans below.
\nThey reach’d the mark. Proud Gyas and his train
\nIn triumph rode, the victors of the main;
\nBut, steering round, he charg’d his pilot stand
\nMore close to shore, and skim along the sand-
\n“Let others bear to sea!” Menoetes heard;
\nBut secret shelves too cautiously he fear’d,
\nAnd, fearing, sought the deep; and still aloof he steer’d.
\nWith louder cries the captain call’d again:
\n“Bear to the rocky shore, and shun the main.”
\nHe spoke, and, speaking, at his stern he saw
\nThe bold Cloanthus near the shelvings draw.
\nBetwixt the mark and him the Scylla stood,
\nAnd in a closer compass plow’d the flood.
\nHe pass’d the mark; and, wheeling, got before:
\nGyas blasphem’d the gods, devoutly swore,
\nCried out for anger, and his hair he tore.
\nMindless of others’ lives (so high was grown
\nHis rising rage) and careless of his own,
\nThe trembling dotard to the deck he drew;
\nThen hoisted up, and overboard he threw:
\nThis done, he seiz’d the helm; his fellows cheer’d,
\nTurn’d short upon the shelfs, and madly steer’d.<\/p>\n
Hardly his head the plunging pilot rears,
\nClogg’d with his clothes, and cumber’d with his years:
\nNow dropping wet, he climbs the cliff with pain.
\nThe crowd, that saw him fall and float again,
\nShout from the distant shore; and loudly laugh’d,
\nTo see his heaving breast disgorge the briny draught.
\nThe following Centaur, and the Dolphin’s crew,
\nTheir vanish’d hopes of victory renew;
\nWhile Gyas lags, they kindle in the race,
\nTo reach the mark. Sergesthus takes the place;
\nMnestheus pursues; and while around they wind,
\nComes up, not half his galley’s length behind;
\nThen, on the deck, amidst his mates appear’d,
\nAnd thus their drooping courage he cheer’d:
\n“My friends, and Hector’s followers heretofore,
\nExert your vigor; tug the lab’ring oar;
\nStretch to your strokes, my still unconquer’d crew,
\nWhom from the flaming walls of Troy I drew.
\nIn this, our common int’rest, let me find
\nThat strength of hand, that courage of the mind,
\nAs when you stemm’d the strong Malean flood,
\nAnd o’er the Syrtes’ broken billows row’d.
\nI seek not now the foremost palm to gain;
\nTho’ yet- but, ah! that haughty wish is vain!
\nLet those enjoy it whom the gods ordain.
\nBut to be last, the lags of all the race!-
\nRedeem yourselves and me from that disgrace.”
\nNow, one and all, they tug amain; they row
\nAt the full stretch, and shake the brazen prow.
\nThe sea beneath ’em sinks; their lab’ring sides
\nAre swell’d, and sweat runs gutt’ring down in tides.
\nChance aids their daring with unhop’d success;
\nSergesthus, eager with his beak to press
\nBetwixt the rival galley and the rock,
\nShuts up th’ unwieldly Centaur in the lock.
\nThe vessel struck; and, with the dreadful shock,
\nHer oars she shiver’d, and her head she broke.
\nThe trembling rowers from their banks arise,
\nAnd, anxious for themselves, renounce the prize.
\nWith iron poles they heave her off the shores,
\nAnd gather from the sea their floating oars.
\nThe crew of Mnestheus, with elated minds,
\nUrge their success, and call the willing winds;
\nThen ply their oars, and cut their liquid way
\nIn larger compass on the roomy sea.
\nAs, when the dove her rocky hold forsakes,
\nRous’d in a fright, her sounding wings she shakes;
\nThe cavern rings with clatt’ring; out she flies,
\nAnd leaves her callow care, and cleaves the skies:
\nAt first she flutters; but at length she springs
\nTo smoother flight, and shoots upon her wings:
\nSo Mnestheus in the Dolphin cuts the sea;
\nAnd, flying with a force, that force assists his way.
\nSergesthus in the Centaur soon he pass’d,
\nWedg’d in the rocky shoals, and sticking fast.
\nIn vain the victor he with cries implores,
\nAnd practices to row with shatter’d oars.
\nThen Mnestheus bears with Gyas, and outflies:
\nThe ship, without a pilot, yields the prize.
\nUnvanquish’d Scylla now alone remains;
\nHer he pursues, and all his vigor strains.
\nShouts from the fav’ring multitude arise;
\nApplauding Echo to the shouts replies;
\nShouts, wishes, and applause run rattling thro’ the skies.
\nThese clamors with disdain the Scylla heard,
\nMuch grudg’d the praise, but more the robb’d reward:
\nResolv’d to hold their own, they mend their pace,
\nAll obstinate to die, or gain the race.
\nRais’d with success, the Dolphin swiftly ran;
\nFor they can conquer, who believe they can.
\nBoth urge their oars, and fortune both supplies,
\nAnd both perhaps had shar’d an equal prize;
\nWhen to the seas Cloanthus holds his hands,
\nAnd succor from the wat’ry pow’rs demands:
\n“Gods of the liquid realms, on which I row!
\nIf, giv’n by you, the laurel bind my brow,
\nAssist to make me guilty of my vow!
\nA snow-white bull shall on your shore be slain;
\nHis offer’d entrails cast into the main,
\nAnd ruddy wine, from golden goblets thrown,
\nYour grateful gift and my return shall own.”
\nThe choir of nymphs, and Phorcus, from below,
\nWith virgin Panopea, heard his vow;
\nAnd old Portunus, with his breadth of hand,
\nPush’d on, and sped the galley to the land.
\nSwift as a shaft, or winged wind, she flies,
\nAnd, darting to the port, obtains the prize.<\/p>\n
The herald summons all, and then proclaims
\nCloanthus conqu’ror of the naval games.
\nThe prince with laurel crowns the victor’s head,
\nAnd three fat steers are to his vessel led,
\nThe ship’s reward; with gen’rous wine beside,
\nAnd sums of silver, which the crew divide.
\nThe leaders are distinguish’d from the rest;
\nThe victor honor’d with a nobler vest,
\nWhere gold and purple strive in equal rows,
\nAnd needlework its happy cost bestows.
\nThere Ganymede is wrought with living art,
\nChasing thro’ Ida’s groves the trembling hart:
\nBreathless he seems, yet eager to pursue;
\nWhen from aloft descends, in open view,
\nThe bird of Jove, and, sousing on his prey,
\nWith crooked talons bears the boy away.
\nIn vain, with lifted hands and gazing eyes,
\nHis guards behold him soaring thro’ the skies,
\nAnd dogs pursue his flight with imitated cries.<\/p>\n
Mnestheus the second victor was declar’d;
\nAnd, summon’d there, the second prize he shard.
\nA coat of mail, brave Demoleus bore,
\nMore brave Aeneas from his shoulders tore,
\nIn single combat on the Trojan shore:
\nThis was ordain’d for Mnestheus to possess;
\nIn war for his defense, for ornament in peace.
\nRich was the gift, and glorious to behold,
\nBut yet so pond’rous with its plates of gold,
\nThat scarce two servants could the weight sustain;
\nYet, loaded thus, Demoleus o’er the plain
\nPursued and lightly seiz’d the Trojan train.
\nThe third, succeeding to the last reward,
\nTwo goodly bowls of massy silver shar’d,
\nWith figures prominent, and richly wrought,
\nAnd two brass caldrons from Dodona brought.<\/p>\n
Thus all, rewarded by the hero’s hands,
\nTheir conqu’ring temples bound with purple bands;
\nAnd now Sergesthus, clearing from the rock,
\nBrought back his galley shatter’d with the shock.
\nForlorn she look’d, without an aiding oar,
\nAnd, houted by the vulgar, made to shore.
\nAs when a snake, surpris’d upon the road,
\nIs crush’d athwart her body by the load
\nOf heavy wheels; or with a mortal wound
\nHer belly bruis’d, and trodden to the ground:
\nIn vain, with loosen’d curls, she crawls along;
\nYet, fierce above, she brandishes her tongue;
\nGlares with her eyes, and bristles with her scales;
\nBut, groveling in the dust, her parts unsound she trails:
\nSo slowly to the port the Centaur tends,
\nBut, what she wants in oars, with sails amends.
\nYet, for his galley sav’d, the grateful prince
\nIs pleas’d th’ unhappy chief to recompense.
\nPholoe, the Cretan slave, rewards his care,
\nBeauteous herself, with lovely twins as fair.<\/p>\n
From thence his way the Trojan hero bent
\nInto the neighb’ring plain, with mountains pent,
\nWhose sides were shaded with surrounding wood.
\nFull in the midst of this fair valley stood
\nA native theater, which, rising slow
\nBy just degrees, o’erlook’d the ground below.
\nHigh on a sylvan throne the leader sate;
\nA num’rous train attend in solemn state.
\nHere those that in the rapid course delight,
\nDesire of honor and the prize invite.
\nThe rival runners without order stand;
\nThe Trojans mix’d with the Sicilian band.
\nFirst Nisus, with Euryalus, appears;
\nEuryalus a boy of blooming years,
\nWith sprightly grace and equal beauty crown’d;
\nNisus, for friendship to the youth renown’d.
\nDiores next, of Priam’s royal race,
\nThen Salius joined with Patron, took their place;
\n(But Patron in Arcadia had his birth,
\nAnd Salius his from Arcananian earth;)
\nThen two Sicilian youths- the names of these,
\nSwift Helymus, and lovely Panopes:
\nBoth jolly huntsmen, both in forest bred,
\nAnd owning old Acestes for their head;
\nWith sev’ral others of ignobler name,
\nWhom time has not deliver’d o’er to fame.<\/p>\n
To these the hero thus his thoughts explain’d,
\nIn words which gen’ral approbation gain’d:
\n“One common largess is for all design’d,
\n(The vanquish’d and the victor shall be join’d,)
\nTwo darts of polish’d steel and Gnosian wood,
\nA silver-studded ax, alike bestow’d.
\nThe foremost three have olive wreaths decreed:
\nThe first of these obtains a stately steed,
\nAdorn’d with trappings; and the next in fame,
\nThe quiver of an Amazonian dame,
\nWith feather’d Thracian arrows well supplied:
\nA golden belt shall gird his manly side,
\nWhich with a sparkling diamond shall be tied.
\nThe third this Grecian helmet shall content.”
\nHe said. To their appointed base they went;
\nWith beating hearts th’ expected sign receive,
\nAnd, starting all at once, the barrier leave.
\nSpread out, as on the winged winds, they flew,
\nAnd seiz’d the distant goal with greedy view.
\nShot from the crowd, swift Nisus all o’erpass’d;
\nNor storms, nor thunder, equal half his haste.
\nThe next, but tho’ the next, yet far disjoin’d,
\nCame Salius, and Euryalus behind;
\nThen Helymus, whom young Diores plied,
\nStep after step, and almost side by side,
\nHis shoulders pressing; and, in longer space,
\nHad won, or left at least a dubious race.<\/p>\n
Now, spent, the goal they almost reach at last,
\nWhen eager Nisus, hapless in his haste,
\nSlipp’d first, and, slipping, fell upon the plain,
\nSoak’d with the blood of oxen newly slain.
\nThe careless victor had not mark’d his way;
\nBut, treading where the treach’rous puddle lay,
\nHis heels flew up; and on the grassy floor
\nHe fell, besmear’d with filth and holy gore.
\nNot mindless then, Euryalus, of thee,
\nNor of the sacred bonds of amity,
\nHe strove th’ immediate rival’s hope to cross,
\nAnd caught the foot of Salius as he rose.
\nSo Salius lay extended on the plain;
\nEuryalus springs out, the prize to gain,
\nAnd leaves the crowd: applauding peals attend
\nThe victor to the goal, who vanquish’d by his friend.
\nNext Helymus; and then Diores came,
\nBy two misfortunes made the third in fame.<\/p>\n
But Salius enters, and, exclaiming loud
\nFor justice, deafens and disturbs the crowd;
\nUrges his cause may in the court be heard;
\nAnd pleads the prize is wrongfully conferr’d.
\nBut favor for Euryalus appears;
\nHis blooming beauty, with his tender tears,
\nHad brib’d the judges for the promis’d prize.
\nBesides, Diores fills the court with cries,
\nWho vainly reaches at the last reward,
\nIf the first palm on Salius be conferr’d.
\nThen thus the prince: “Let no disputes arise:
\nWhere fortune plac’d it, I award the prize.
\nBut fortune’s errors give me leave to mend,
\nAt least to pity my deserving friend.”
\nHe said, and, from among the spoils, he draws
\n(Pond’rous with shaggy mane and golden paws)
\nA lion’s hide: to Salius this he gives.
\nNisus with envy sees the gift, and grieves.
\n“If such rewards to vanquish’d men are due.”
\nHe said, “and falling is to rise by you,
\nWhat prize may Nisus from your bounty claim,
\nWho merited the first rewards and fame?
\nIn falling, both an equal fortune tried;
\nWould fortune for my fall so well provide!”
\nWith this he pointed to his face, and show’d
\nHis hand and all his habit smear’d with blood.
\nTh’ indulgent father of the people smil’d,
\nAnd caus’d to be produc’d an ample shield,
\nOf wondrous art, by Didymaon wrought,
\nLong since from Neptune’s bars in triumph brought.
\nThis giv’n to Nisus, he divides the rest,
\nAnd equal justice in his gifts express’d.<\/p>\n
The race thus ended, and rewards bestow’d,
\nOnce more the prince bespeaks th’ attentive crowd:
\n“If there he here whose dauntless courage dare
\nIn gauntlet-fight, with limbs and body bare,
\nHis opposite sustain in open view,
\nStand forth the champion, and the games renew.
\nTwo prizes I propose, and thus divide:
\nA bull with gilded horns, and fillets tied,
\nShall be the portion of the conqu’ring chief;
\nA sword and helm shall cheer the loser’s grief.”<\/p>\n
Then haughty Dares in the lists appears;
\nStalking he strides, his head erected bears:
\nHis nervous arms the weighty gauntlet wield,
\nAnd loud applauses echo thro’ the field.
\nDares alone in combat us’d to stand
\nThe match of mighty Paris, hand to hand;
\nThe same, at Hector’s fun’rals, undertook
\nGigantic Butes, of th’ Amycian stock,
\nAnd, by the stroke of his resistless hand,
\nStretch’d the vast bulk upon the yellow sand.
\nSuch Dares was; and such he strode along,
\nAnd drew the wonder of the gazing throng.
\nHis brawny back and ample breast he shows,
\nHis lifted arms around his head he throws,
\nAnd deals in whistling air his empty blows.
\nHis match is sought; but, thro’ the trembling band,
\nNot one dares answer to the proud demand.
\nPresuming of his force, with sparkling eyes
\nAlready he devours the promis’d prize.
\nHe claims the bull with awless insolence,
\nAnd having seiz’d his horns, accosts the prince:
\n“If none my matchless valor dares oppose,
\nHow long shall Dares wait his dastard foes?
\nPermit me, chief, permit without delay,
\nTo lead this uncontended gift away.”
\nThe crowd assents, and with redoubled cries
\nFor the proud challenger demands the prize.<\/p>\n
Acestes, fir’d with just disdain, to see
\nThe palm usurp’d without a victory,
\nReproach’d Entellus thus, who sate beside,
\nAnd heard and saw, unmov’d, the Trojan’s pride:
\n“Once, but in vain, a champion of renown,
\nSo tamely can you bear the ravish’d crown,
\nA prize in triumph borne before your sight,
\nAnd shun, for fear, the danger of the fight?
\nWhere is our Eryx now, the boasted name,
\nThe god who taught your thund’ring arm the game?
\nWhere now your baffled honor? Where the spoil
\nThat fill’d your house, and fame that fill’d our isle?”
\nEntellus, thus: “My soul is still the same,
\nUnmov’d with fear, and mov’d with martial fame;
\nBut my chill blood is curdled in my veins,
\nAnd scarce the shadow of a man remains.
\nO could I turn to that fair prime again,
\nThat prime of which this boaster is so vain,
\nThe brave, who this decrepid age defies,
\nShould feel my force, without the promis’d prize.”<\/p>\n
He said; and, rising at the word, he threw
\nTwo pond’rous gauntlets down in open view;
\nGauntlets which Eryx wont in fight to wield,
\nAnd sheathe his hands with in the listed field.
\nWith fear and wonder seiz’d, the crowd beholds
\nThe gloves of death, with sev’n distinguish’d folds
\nOf tough bull hides; the space within is spread
\nWith iron, or with loads of heavy lead:
\nDares himself was daunted at the sight,
\nRenounc’d his challenge, and refus’d to fight.
\nAstonish’d at their weight, the hero stands,
\nAnd pois’d the pond’rous engines in his hands.
\n“What had your wonder,” said Entellus, “been,
\nHad you the gauntlets of Alcides seen,
\nOr view’d the stern debate on this unhappy green!
\nThese which I bear your brother Eryx bore,
\nStill mark’d with batter’d brains and mingled gore.
\nWith these he long sustain’d th’ Herculean arm;
\nAnd these I wielded while my blood was warm,
\nThis languish’d frame while better spirits fed,
\nEre age unstrung my nerves, or time o’ersnow’d my head.
\nBut if the challenger these arms refuse,
\nAnd cannot wield their weight, or dare not use;
\nIf great Aeneas and Acestes join
\nIn his request, these gauntlets I resign;
\nLet us with equal arms perform the fight,
\nAnd let him leave to fear, since I resign my right.”<\/p>\n
This said, Entellus for the strife prepares;
\nStripp’d of his quilted coat, his body bares;
\nCompos’d of mighty bones and brawn he stands,
\nA goodly tow’ring object on the sands.
\nThen just Aeneas equal arms supplied,
\nWhich round their shoulders to their wrists they tied.
\nBoth on the tiptoe stand, at full extent,
\nTheir arms aloft, their bodies inly bent;
\nTheir heads from aiming blows they bear afar;
\nWith clashing gauntlets then provoke the war.
\nOne on his youth and pliant limbs relies;
\nOne on his sinews and his giant size.
\nThe last is stiff with age, his motion slow;
\nHe heaves for breath, he staggers to and fro,
\nAnd clouds of issuing smoke his nostrils loudly blow.
\nYet equal in success, they ward, they strike;
\nTheir ways are diff’rent, but their art alike.
\nBefore, behind, the blows are dealt; around
\nTheir hollow sides the rattling thumps resound.
\nA storm of strokes, well meant, with fury flies,
\nAnd errs about their temples, ears, and eyes.
\nNor always errs; for oft the gauntlet draws
\nA sweeping stroke along the crackling jaws.
\nHeavy with age, Entellus stands his ground,
\nBut with his warping body wards the wound.
\nHis hand and watchful eye keep even pace;
\nWhile Dares traverses and shifts his place,
\nAnd, like a captain who beleaguers round
\nSome strong-built castle on a rising ground,
\nViews all th’ approaches with observing eyes:
\nThis and that other part in vain he tries,
\nAnd more on industry than force relies.
\nWith hands on high, Entellus threats the foe;
\nBut Dares watch’d the motion from below,
\nAnd slipp’d aside, and shunn’d the long descending blow.
\nEntellus wastes his forces on the wind,
\nAnd, thus deluded of the stroke design’d,
\nHeadlong and heavy fell; his ample breast
\nAnd weighty limbs his ancient mother press’d.
\nSo falls a hollow pine, that long had stood
\nOn Ida’s height, or Erymanthus’ wood,
\nTorn from the roots. The diff’ring nations rise,
\nAnd shouts and mingled murmurs rend the skies,
\nAcestus runs with eager haste, to raise
\nThe fall’n companion of his youthful days.
\nDauntless he rose, and to the fight return’d;
\nWith shame his glowing cheeks, his eyes with fury burn’d.
\nDisdain and conscious virtue fir’d his breast,
\nAnd with redoubled force his foe he press’d.
\nHe lays on load with either hand, amain,
\nAnd headlong drives the Trojan o’er the plain;
\nNor stops, nor stays; nor rest nor breath allows;
\nBut storms of strokes descend about his brows,
\nA rattling tempest, and a hail of blows.
\nBut now the prince, who saw the wild increase
\nOf wounds, commands the combatants to cease,
\nAnd bounds Entellus’ wrath, and bids the peace.
\nFirst to the Trojan, spent with toil, he came,
\nAnd sooth’d his sorrow for the suffer’d shame.
\n“What fury seiz’d my friend? The gods,” said he,
\n“To him propitious, and averse to thee,
\nHave giv’n his arm superior force to thine.
\n‘T is madness to contend with strength divine.”
\nThe gauntlet fight thus ended, from the shore
\nHis faithful friends unhappy Dares bore:
\nHis mouth and nostrils pour’d a purple flood,
\nAnd pounded teeth came rushing with his blood.
\nFaintly he stagger’d thro’ the hissing throng,
\nAnd hung his head, and trail’d his legs along.
\nThe sword and casque are carried by his train;
\nBut with his foe the palm and ox remain.<\/p>\n
The champion, then, before Aeneas came,
\nProud of his prize, but prouder of his fame:
\n“O goddess-born, and you, Dardanian host,
\nMark with attention, and forgive my boast;
\nLearn what I was, by what remains; and know
\nFrom what impending fate you sav’d my foe.”
\nSternly he spoke, and then confronts the bull;
\nAnd, on his ample forehead aiming full,
\nThe deadly stroke, descending, pierc’d the skull.
\nDown drops the beast, nor needs a second wound,
\nBut sprawls in pangs of death, and spurns the ground.
\nThen, thus: “In Dares’ stead I offer this.
\nEryx, accept a nobler sacrifice;
\nTake the last gift my wither’d arms can yield:
\nThy gauntlets I resign, and here renounce the field.”<\/p>\n
This done, Aeneas orders, for the close,
\nThe strife of archers with contending bows.
\nThe mast Sergesthus’ shatter’d galley bore
\nWith his own hands he raises on the shore.
\nA flutt’ring dove upon the top they tie,
\nThe living mark at which their arrows fly.
\nThe rival archers in a line advance,
\nTheir turn of shooting to receive from chance.
\nA helmet holds their names; the lots are drawn:
\nOn the first scroll was read Hippocoon.
\nThe people shout. Upon the next was found
\nYoung Mnestheus, late with naval honors crown’d.
\nThe third contain’d Eurytion’s noble name,
\nThy brother, Pandarus, and next in fame,
\nWhom Pallas urg’d the treaty to confound,
\nAnd send among the Greeks a feather’d wound.
\nAcestes in the bottom last remain’d,
\nWhom not his age from youthful sports restrain’d.
\nSoon all with vigor bend their trusty bows,
\nAnd from the quiver each his arrow chose.
\nHippocoon’s was the first: with forceful sway
\nIt flew, and, whizzing, cut the liquid way.
\nFix’d in the mast the feather’d weapon stands:
\nThe fearful pigeon flutters in her bands,
\nAnd the tree trembled, and the shouting cries
\nOf the pleas’d people rend the vaulted skies.
\nThen Mnestheus to the head his arrow drove,
\nWith lifted eyes, and took his aim above,
\nBut made a glancing shot, and missed the dove;
\nYet miss’d so narrow, that he cut the cord
\nWhich fasten’d by the foot the flitting bird.
\nThe captive thus releas’d, away she flies,
\nAnd beats with clapping wings the yielding skies.
\nHis bow already bent, Eurytion stood;
\nAnd, having first invok’d his brother god,
\nHis winged shaft with eager haste he sped.
\nThe fatal message reach’d her as she fled:
\nShe leaves her life aloft; she strikes the ground,
\nAnd renders back the weapon in the wound.
\nAcestes, grudging at his lot, remains,
\nWithout a prize to gratify his pains.
\nYet, shooting upward, sends his shaft, to show
\nAn archer’s art, and boast his twanging bow.
\nThe feather’d arrow gave a dire portent,
\nAnd latter augurs judge from this event.
\nChaf’d by the speed, it fir’d; and, as it flew,
\nA trail of following flames ascending drew:
\nKindling they mount, and mark the shiny way;
\nAcross the skies as falling meteors play,
\nAnd vanish into wind, or in a blaze decay.
\nThe Trojans and Sicilians wildly stare,
\nAnd, trembling, turn their wonder into pray’r.
\nThe Dardan prince put on a smiling face,
\nAnd strain’d Acestes with a close embrace;
\nThen, hon’ring him with gifts above the rest,
\nTurn’d the bad omen, nor his fears confess’d.
\n“The gods,” said he, “this miracle have wrought,
\nAnd order’d you the prize without the lot.
\nAccept this goblet, rough with figur’d gold,
\nWhich Thracian Cisseus gave my sire of old:
\nThis pledge of ancient amity receive,
\nWhich to my second sire I justly give.”
\nHe said, and, with the trumpets’ cheerful sound,
\nProclaim’d him victor, and with laurel-crown’d.
\nNor good Eurytion envied him the prize,
\nTho’ he transfix’d the pigeon in the skies.
\nWho cut the line, with second gifts was grac’d;
\nThe third was his whose arrow pierc’d the mast.<\/p>\n
The chief, before the games were wholly done,
\nCall’d Periphantes, tutor to his son,
\nAnd whisper’d thus: “With speed Ascanius find;
\nAnd, if his childish troop be ready join’d,
\nOn horseback let him grace his grandsire’s day,
\nAnd lead his equals arm’d in just array.”
\nHe said; and, calling out, the cirque he clears.
\nThe crowd withdrawn, an open plain appears.
\nAnd now the noble youths, of form divine,
\nAdvance before their fathers, in a line;
\nThe riders grace the steeds; the steeds with glory shine.<\/p>\n
Thus marching on in military pride,
\nShouts of applause resound from side to side.
\nTheir casques adorn’d with laurel wreaths they wear,
\nEach brandishing aloft a cornel spear.
\nSome at their backs their gilded quivers bore;
\nTheir chains of burnish’d gold hung down before.
\nThree graceful troops they form’d upon the green;
\nThree graceful leaders at their head were seen;
\nTwelve follow’d ev’ry chief, and left a space between.
\nThe first young Priam led; a lovely boy,
\nWhose grandsire was th’ unhappy king of Troy;
\nHis race in after times was known to fame,
\nNew honors adding to the Latian name;
\nAnd well the royal boy his Thracian steed became.
\nWhite were the fetlocks of his feet before,
\nAnd on his front a snowy star he bore.
\nThen beauteous Atys, with Iulus bred,
\nOf equal age, the second squadron led.
\nThe last in order, but the first in place,
\nFirst in the lovely features of his face,
\nRode fair Ascanius on a fiery steed,
\nQueen Dido’s gift, and of the Tyrian breed.
\nSure coursers for the rest the king ordains,
\nWith golden bits adorn’d, and purple reins.<\/p>\n
The pleas’d spectators peals of shouts renew,
\nAnd all the parents in the children view;
\nTheir make, their motions, and their sprightly grace,
\nAnd hopes and fears alternate in their face.<\/p>\n
Th’ unfledg’d commanders and their martial train
\nFirst make the circuit of the sandy plain
\nAround their sires, and, at th’ appointed sign,
\nDrawn up in beauteous order, form a line.
\nThe second signal sounds, the troop divides
\nIn three distinguish’d parts, with three distinguish’d guides
\nAgain they close, and once again disjoin;
\nIn troop to troop oppos’d, and line to line.
\nThey meet; they wheel; they throw their darts afar
\nWith harmless rage and well-dissembled war.
\nThen in a round the mingled bodies run:
\nFlying they follow, and pursuing shun;
\nBroken, they break; and, rallying, they renew
\nIn other forms the military shew.
\nAt last, in order, undiscern’d they join,
\nAnd march together in a friendly line.
\nAnd, as the Cretan labyrinth of old,
\nWith wand’ring ways and many a winding fold,
\nInvolv’d the weary feet, without redress,
\nIn a round error, which denied recess;
\nSo fought the Trojan boys in warlike play,
\nTurn’d and return’d, and still a diff’rent way.
\nThus dolphins in the deep each other chase
\nIn circles, when they swim around the wat’ry race.
\nThis game, these carousels, Ascanius taught;
\nAnd, building Alba, to the Latins brought;
\nShew’d what he learn’d: the Latin sires impart
\nTo their succeeding sons the graceful art;
\nFrom these imperial Rome receiv’d the game,
\nWhich Troy, the youths the Trojan troop, they name.<\/p>\n
Thus far the sacred sports they celebrate:
\nBut Fortune soon resum’d her ancient hate;
\nFor, while they pay the dead his annual dues,
\nThose envied rites Saturnian Juno views;
\nAnd sends the goddess of the various bow,
\nTo try new methods of revenge below;
\nSupplies the winds to wing her airy way,
\nWhere in the port secure the navy lay.
\nSwiftly fair Iris down her arch descends,
\nAnd, undiscern’d, her fatal voyage ends.
\nShe saw the gath’ring crowd; and, gliding thence,
\nThe desart shore, and fleet without defense.
\nThe Trojan matrons, on the sands alone,
\nWith sighs and tears Anchises’ death bemoan;
\nThen, turning to the sea their weeping eyes,
\nTheir pity to themselves renews their cries.
\n“Alas!” said one, “what oceans yet remain
\nFor us to sail! what labors to sustain!”
\nAll take the word, and, with a gen’ral groan,
\nImplore the gods for peace, and places of their own.<\/p>\n
The goddess, great in mischief, views their pains,
\nAnd in a woman’s form her heav’nly limbs restrains.
\nIn face and shape old Beroe she became,
\nDoryclus’ wife, a venerable dame,
\nOnce blest with riches, and a mother’s name.
\nThus chang’d, amidst the crying crowd she ran,
\nMix’d with the matrons, and these words began:
\n“O wretched we, whom not the Grecian pow’r,
\nNor flames, destroy’d, in Troy’s unhappy hour!
\nO wretched we, reserv’d by cruel fate,
\nBeyond the ruins of the sinking state!
\nNow sev’n revolving years are wholly run,
\nSince this improsp’rous voyage we begun;
\nSince, toss’d from shores to shores, from lands to lands,
\nInhospitable rocks and barren sands,
\nWand’ring in exile thro’ the stormy sea,
\nWe search in vain for flying Italy.
\nNow cast by fortune on this kindred land,
\nWhat should our rest and rising walls withstand,
\nOr hinder here to fix our banish’d band?
\nO country lost, and gods redeem’d in vain,
\nIf still in endless exile we remain!
\nShall we no more the Trojan walls renew,
\nOr streams of some dissembled Simois view!
\nHaste, join with me, th’ unhappy fleet consume!
\nCassandra bids; and I declare her doom.
\nIn sleep I saw her; she supplied my hands
\n(For this I more than dreamt) with flaming brands:
\n‘With these,’ said she, ‘these wand’ring ships destroy:
\nThese are your fatal seats, and this your Troy.’
\nTime calls you now; the precious hour employ:
\nSlack not the good presage, while Heav’n inspires
\nOur minds to dare, and gives the ready fires.
\nSee! Neptune’s altars minister their brands:
\nThe god is pleas’d; the god supplies our hands.”
\nThen from the pile a flaming fire she drew,
\nAnd, toss’d in air, amidst the galleys threw.<\/p>\n
Wrapp’d in amaze, the matrons wildly stare:
\nThen Pyrgo, reverenc’d for her hoary hair,
\nPyrgo, the nurse of Priam’s num’rous race:
\n“No Beroe this, tho’ she belies her face!
\nWhat terrors from her frowning front arise!
\nBehold a goddess in her ardent eyes!
\nWhat rays around her heav’nly face are seen!
\nMark her majestic voice, and more than mortal mien!
\nBeroe but now I left, whom, pin’d with pain,
\nHer age and anguish from these rites detain,”
\nShe said. The matrons, seiz’d with new amaze,
\nRoll their malignant eyes, and on the navy gaze.
\nThey fear, and hope, and neither part obey:
\nThey hope the fated land, but fear the fatal way.
\nThe goddess, having done her task below,
\nMounts up on equal wings, and bends her painted bow.
\nStruck with the sight, and seiz’d with rage divine,
\nThe matrons prosecute their mad design:
\nThey shriek aloud; they snatch, with impious hands,
\nThe food of altars; fires and flaming brands.
\nGreen boughs and saplings, mingled in their haste,
\nAnd smoking torches, on the ships they cast.
\nThe flame, unstopp’d at first, more fury gains,
\nAnd Vulcan rides at large with loosen’d reins:
\nTriumphant to the painted sterns he soars,
\nAnd seizes, in this way, the banks and crackling oars.
\nEumelus was the first the news to bear,
\nWhile yet they crowd the rural theater.
\nThen, what they hear, is witness’d by their eyes:
\nA storm of sparkles and of flames arise.
\nAscanius took th’ alarm, while yet he led
\nHis early warriors on his prancing steed,
\nAnd, spurring on, his equals soon o’erpass’d;
\nNor could his frighted friends reclaim his haste.
\nSoon as the royal youth appear’d in view,
\nHe sent his voice before him as he flew:
\n“What madness moves you, matrons, to destroy
\nThe last remainders of unhappy Troy!
\nNot hostile fleets, but your own hopes, you burn,
\nAnd on your friends your fatal fury turn.
\nBehold your own Ascanius!” While he said,
\nHe drew his glitt’ring helmet from his head,
\nIn which the youths to sportful arms he led.
\nBy this, Aeneas and his train appear;
\nAnd now the women, seiz’d with shame and fear,
\nDispers’d, to woods and caverns take their flight,
\nAbhor their actions, and avoid the light;
\nTheir friends acknowledge, and their error find,
\nAnd shake the goddess from their alter’d mind.<\/p>\n
Not so the raging fires their fury cease,
\nBut, lurking in the seams, with seeming peace,
\nWork on their way amid the smold’ring tow,
\nSure in destruction, but in motion slow.
\nThe silent plague thro’ the green timber eats,
\nAnd vomits out a tardy flame by fits.
\nDown to the keels, and upward to the sails,
\nThe fire descends, or mounts, but still prevails;
\nNor buckets pour’d, nor strength of human hand,
\nCan the victorious element withstand.<\/p>\n
The pious hero rends his robe, and throws
\nTo heav’n his hands, and with his hands his vows.
\n“O Jove,” he cried, “if pray’rs can yet have place;
\nIf thou abhorr’st not all the Dardan race;
\nIf any spark of pity still remain;
\nIf gods are gods, and not invok’d in vain;
\nYet spare the relics of the Trojan train!
\nYet from the flames our burning vessels free,
\nOr let thy fury fall alone on me!
\nAt this devoted head thy thunder throw,
\nAnd send the willing sacrifice below!”<\/p>\n
Scarce had he said, when southern storms arise:
\nFrom pole to pole the forky lightning flies;
\nLoud rattling shakes the mountains and the plain;
\nHeav’n bellies downward, and descends in rain.
\nWhole sheets of water from the clouds are sent,
\nWhich, hissing thro’ the planks, the flames prevent,
\nAnd stop the fiery pest. Four ships alone
\nBurn to the waist, and for the fleet atone.<\/p>\n
But doubtful thoughts the hero’s heart divide;
\nIf he should still in Sicily reside,
\nForgetful of his fates, or tempt the main,
\nIn hope the promis’d Italy to gain.
\nThen Nautes, old and wise, to whom alone
\nThe will of Heav’n by Pallas was foreshown;
\nVers’d in portents, experienc’d, and inspir’d
\nTo tell events, and what the fates requir’d;
\nThus while he stood, to neither part inclin’d,
\nWith cheerful words reliev’d his lab’ring mind:
\n“O goddess-born, resign’d in ev’ry state,
\nWith patience bear, with prudence push your fate.
\nBy suff’ring well, our Fortune we subdue;
\nFly when she frowns, and, when she calls, pursue.
\nYour friend Acestes is of Trojan kind;
\nTo him disclose the secrets of your mind:
\nTrust in his hands your old and useless train;
\nToo num’rous for the ships which yet remain:
\nThe feeble, old, indulgent of their ease,
\nThe dames who dread the dangers of the seas,
\nWith all the dastard crew, who dare not stand
\nThe shock of battle with your foes by land.
\nHere you may build a common town for all,
\nAnd, from Acestes’ name, Acesta call.”
\nThe reasons, with his friend’s experience join’d,
\nEncourag’d much, but more disturb’d his mind.<\/p>\n
‘T was dead of night; when to his slumb’ring eyes
\nHis father’s shade descended from the skies,
\nAnd thus he spoke: “O more than vital breath,
\nLov’d while I liv’d, and dear ev’n after death;
\nO son, in various toils and troubles toss’d,
\nThe King of Heav’n employs my careful ghost
\nOn his commands: the god, who sav’d from fire
\nYour flaming fleet, and heard your just desire.
\nThe wholesome counsel of your friend receive,
\nAnd here the coward train and woman leave:
\nThe chosen youth, and those who nobly dare,
\nTransport, to tempt the dangers of the war.
\nThe stern Italians will their courage try;
\nRough are their manners, and their minds are high.
\nBut first to Pluto’s palace you shall go,
\nAnd seek my shade among the blest below:
\nFor not with impious ghosts my soul remains,
\nNor suffers with the damn’d perpetual pains,
\nBut breathes the living air of soft Elysian plains.
\nThe chaste Sibylla shall your steps convey,
\nAnd blood of offer’d victims free the way.
\nThere shall you know what realms the gods assign,
\nAnd learn the fates and fortunes of your line.
\nBut now, farewell! I vanish with the night,
\nAnd feel the blast of heav’n’s approaching light.”
\nHe said, and mix’d with shades, and took his airy flight.
\n“Whither so fast?” the filial duty cried;
\n“And why, ah why, the wish’d embrace denied?”<\/p>\n
He said, and rose; as holy zeal inspires,
\nHe rakes hot embers, and renews the fires;
\nHis country gods and Vesta then adores
\nWith cakes and incense, and their aid implores.
\nNext, for his friends and royal host he sent,
\nReveal’d his vision, and the gods’ intent,
\nWith his own purpose. All, without delay,
\nThe will of Jove, and his desires obey.
\nThey list with women each degenerate name,
\nWho dares not hazard life for future fame.
\nThese they cashier: the brave remaining few,
\nOars, banks, and cables, half consum’d, renew.
\nThe prince designs a city with the plow;
\nThe lots their sev’ral tenements allow.
\nThis part is nam’d from Ilium, that from Troy,
\nAnd the new king ascends the throne with joy;
\nA chosen senate from the people draws;
\nAppoints the judges, and ordains the laws.
\nThen, on the top of Eryx, they begin
\nA rising temple to the Paphian queen.
\nAnchises, last, is honor’d as a god;
\nA priest is added, annual gifts bestow’d,
\nAnd groves are planted round his blest abode.
\nNine days they pass in feasts, their temples crown’d;
\nAnd fumes of incense in the fanes abound.
\nThen from the south arose a gentle breeze
\nThat curl’d the smoothness of the glassy seas;
\nThe rising winds a ruffling gale afford,
\nAnd call the merry mariners aboard.<\/p>\n
Now loud laments along the shores resound,
\nOf parting friends in close embraces bound.
\nThe trembling women, the degenerate train,
\nWho shunn’d the frightful dangers of the main,
\nEv’n those desire to sail, and take their share
\nOf the rough passage and the promis’d war:
\nWhom good Aeneas cheers, and recommends
\nTo their new master’s care his fearful friends.
\nOn Eryx’s altars three fat calves he lays;
\nA lamb new-fallen to the stormy seas;
\nThen slips his haulsers, and his anchors weighs.
\nHigh on the deck the godlike hero stands,
\nWith olive crown’d, a charger in his hands;
\nThen cast the reeking entrails in the brine,
\nAnd pour’d the sacrifice of purple wine.
\nFresh gales arise; with equal strokes they vie,
\nAnd brush the buxom seas, and o’er the billows fly.<\/p>\n
Meantime the mother goddess, full of fears,
\nTo Neptune thus address’d, with tender tears:
\n“The pride of Jove’s imperious queen, the rage,
\nThe malice which no suff’rings can assuage,
\nCompel me to these pray’rs; since neither fate,
\nNor time, nor pity, can remove her hate:
\nEv’n Jove is thwarted by his haughty wife;
\nStill vanquish’d, yet she still renews the strife.
\nAs if ‘t were little to consume the town
\nWhich aw’d the world, and wore th’ imperial crown,
\nShe prosecutes the ghost of Troy with pains,
\nAnd gnaws, ev’n to the bones, the last remains.
\nLet her the causes of her hatred tell;
\nBut you can witness its effects too well.
\nYou saw the storm she rais’d on Libyan floods,
\nThat mix’d the mounting billows with the clouds;
\nWhen, bribing Aeolus, she shook the main,
\nAnd mov’d rebellion in your wat’ry reign.
\nWith fury she possess’d the Dardan dames,
\nTo burn their fleet with execrable flames,
\nAnd forc’d Aeneas, when his ships were lost,
\nTo leave his foll’wers on a foreign coast.
\nFor what remains, your godhead I implore,
\nAnd trust my son to your protecting pow’r.
\nIf neither Jove’s nor Fate’s decree withstand,
\nSecure his passage to the Latian land.”<\/p>\n
Then thus the mighty Ruler of the Main:
\n“What may not Venus hope from Neptune’s reign?
\nMy kingdom claims your birth; my late defense
\nOf your indanger’d fleet may claim your confidence.
\nNor less by land than sea my deeds declare
\nHow much your lov’d Aeneas is my care.
\nThee, Xanthus, and thee, Simois, I attest.
\nYour Trojan troops when proud Achilles press’d,
\nAnd drove before him headlong on the plain,
\nAnd dash’d against the walls the trembling train;
\nWhen floods were fill’d with bodies of the slain;
\nWhen crimson Xanthus, doubtful of his way,
\nStood up on ridges to behold the sea;
\n(New heaps came tumbling in, and chok’d his way;)
\nWhen your Aeneas fought, but fought with odds
\nOf force unequal, and unequal gods;
\nI spread a cloud before the victor’s sight,
\nSustain’d the vanquish’d, and secur’d his flight;
\nEv’n then secur’d him, when I sought with joy
\nThe vow’d destruction of ungrateful Troy.
\nMy will’s the same: fair goddess, fear no more,
\nYour fleet shall safely gain the Latian shore;
\nTheir lives are giv’n; one destin’d head alone
\nShall perish, and for multitudes atone.”
\nThus having arm’d with hopes her anxious mind,
\nHis finny team Saturnian Neptune join’d,
\nThen adds the foamy bridle to their jaws,
\nAnd to the loosen’d reins permits the laws.
\nHigh on the waves his azure car he guides;
\nIts axles thunder, and the sea subsides,
\nAnd the smooth ocean rolls her silent tides.
\nThe tempests fly before their father’s face,
\nTrains of inferior gods his triumph grace,
\nAnd monster whales before their master play,
\nAnd choirs of Tritons crowd the wat’ry way.
\nThe marshal’d pow’rs in equal troops divide
\nTo right and left; the gods his better side
\nInclose, and on the worse the Nymphs and Nereids ride.<\/p>\n
Now smiling hope, with sweet vicissitude,
\nWithin the hero’s mind his joys renew’d.
\nHe calls to raise the masts, the sheets display;
\nThe cheerful crew with diligence obey;
\nThey scud before the wind, and sail in open sea.
\nAhead of all the master pilot steers;
\nAnd, as he leads, the following navy veers.
\nThe steeds of Night had travel’d half the sky,
\nThe drowsy rowers on their benches lie,
\nWhen the soft God of Sleep, with easy flight,
\nDescends, and draws behind a trail of light.
\nThou, Palinurus, art his destin’d prey;
\nTo thee alone he takes his fatal way.
\nDire dreams to thee, and iron sleep, he bears;
\nAnd, lighting on thy prow, the form of Phorbas wears.
\nThen thus the traitor god began his tale:
\n“The winds, my friend, inspire a pleasing gale;
\nThe ships, without thy care, securely sail.
\nNow steal an hour of sweet repose; and I
\nWill take the rudder and thy room supply.”
\nTo whom the yawning pilot, half asleep:
\n“Me dost thou bid to trust the treach’rous deep,
\nThe harlot smiles of her dissembling face,
\nAnd to her faith commit the Trojan race?
\nShall I believe the Siren South again,
\nAnd, oft betray’d, not know the monster main?”
\nHe said: his fasten’d hands the rudder keep,
\nAnd, fix’d on heav’n, his eyes repel invading sleep.
\nThe god was wroth, and at his temples threw
\nA branch in Lethe dipp’d, and drunk with Stygian dew:
\nThe pilot, vanquish’d by the pow’r divine,
\nSoon clos’d his swimming eyes, and lay supine.
\nScarce were his limbs extended at their length,
\nThe god, insulting with superior strength,
\nFell heavy on him, plung’d him in the sea,
\nAnd, with the stern, the rudder tore away.
\nHeadlong he fell, and, struggling in the main,
\nCried out for helping hands, but cried in vain.
\nThe victor daemon mounts obscure in air,
\nWhile the ship sails without the pilot’s care.
\nOn Neptune’s faith the floating fleet relies;
\nBut what the man forsook, the god supplies,
\nAnd o’er the dang’rous deep secure the navy flies;
\nGlides by the Sirens’ cliffs, a shelfy coast,
\nLong infamous for ships and sailors lost,
\nAnd white with bones. Th’ impetuous ocean roars,
\nAnd rocks rebellow from the sounding shores.
\nThe watchful hero felt the knocks, and found
\nThe tossing vessel sail’d on shoaly ground.
\nSure of his pilot’s loss, he takes himself
\nThe helm, and steers aloof, and shuns the shelf.
\nInly he griev’d, and, groaning from the breast,
\nDeplor’d his death; and thus his pain express’d:
\n“For faith repos’d on seas, and on the flatt’ring sky,
\nThy naked corpse is doom’d on shores unknown to lie.”<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":19,"menu_order":5,"template":"","meta":{"_candela_citation":"[]","CANDELA_OUTCOMES_GUID":"","pb_show_title":"on","pb_short_title":"","pb_subtitle":"","pb_authors":[],"pb_section_license":""},"chapter-type":[],"contributor":[],"license":[],"class_list":["post-115","chapter","type-chapter","status-web-only","hentry"],"part":110,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/115","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/chapter"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/19"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/115\/revisions"}],"part":[{"href":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/parts\/110"}],"metadata":[{"href":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/115\/metadata\/"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=115"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"chapter-type","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapter-type?post=115"},{"taxonomy":"contributor","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/contributor?post=115"},{"taxonomy":"license","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/license?post=115"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}