Aeneid
Virgil
Vergil. The Aeneid of Virgil. Williams, Theodore, C, translator. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1910.
- Fronting the surf-beat shore, far out at sea
- rises a rock, which under swollen waves
- lies buffeted unseen, when wintry storms
- mantle the stars; but when the deep is calm,
- lifts silently above the sleeping wave
- its level field,—a place where haunt and play
- flocks of the sea-birds, Iovers of the sun.
- Here was the goal; and here Aeneas set
- a green-leaved flex-tree, to be a mark
- for every captain's eye, from whence to veer
- the courses of their ships in sweeping curves
- and speed them home. Now places in the line
- are given by lot. Upon the lofty sterns
- the captains ride, in beautiful array
- of Tyriao purple and far-flaming gold;
- the crews are poplar-crowned, the shoulders bare
- rubbed well with glittering oil; their straining arms
- make long reach to the oar, as on the thwarts
- they sit attentive, listening for the call
- of the loud trumpet; while with pride and fear
- their hot hearts throb, impassioned for renown.
- Soon pealed the signal clear; from all the line
- instant the galleys bounded, and the air
- rang to the rowers, shouting, while their arms
- pulled every inch and flung the waves in foam;
- deep cut the rival strokes; the surface fair
- yawned wide beneath their blades and cleaving keels.
- Not swifter scour the chariots o'er the plain,
- sped headlong from the line behind their teams
- of mated coursers, while each driver shakes
- loose, rippling reins above his plunging pairs,
- and o'er the lash leans far. With loud applause
- vociferous and many an urgent cheer
- the woodlands rang, and all the concave shores
- back from the mountains took the Trojan cry
- in answering song. Forth-flying from his peers,
- while all the crowd acclaims, sped Gyas' keel
- along the outmost wave. Cloanthus next
- pushed hard upon, with stronger stroke of oars
- but heavier ship. At equal pace behind
- the Pristis and the Centaur fiercely strive
- for the third place. Now Pristis seems to lead,
- now mightier Centaur past her flies, then both
- ride on together, prow with prow, and cleave
- long lines of foaming furrow with swift keels.
- Soon near the rock they drew, and either ship
- was making goal,—when Gyas, in the lead,
- and winner of the half-course, Ioudly hailed
- menoetes, the ship's pilot: “Why so far
- to starboard, we? Keep her head round this way!
- Hug shore! Let every oar-blade almost graze
- that reef to larboard! Let the others take
- the deep-sea course outside!” But while he spoke,
- Menoetes, dreading unknown rocks below,
- veered off to open sea. “Why steer so wide?
- Round to the rock, Menoetes!” Gyas roared, —
- again in vain, for looking back he saw
- cloanthus hard astern, and ever nearer,
- who, in a trice, betwixt the booming reef
- and Gyas' galley, lightly forward thrust
- the beak of Scylla to the inside course,
- and, quickly taking lead, flew past the goal
- to the smooth seas beyond. Then wrathful grief
- flamed in the warrior's heart, nor was his cheek
- unwet with tears; and, reckless utterly
- of his own honor and his comrades, lives,
- he hurled poor, slack Menoetes from the poop
- headlong upon the waters, while himself,
- pilot and master both, the helm assuming,
- urged on his crew, and landward took his way.
- But now, with heavy limbs that hardly won
- his rescue from the deep, engulfing wave,
- up the rude rock graybeard Menoetes climbed
- with garment dripping wet, and there dropped down
- upon the cliff's dry top. With laughter loud
- the Trojan crews had watched him plunging, swimming,
- and now to see his drink of bitter brine
- spewed on the ground, the sailors laughed again.