Aeneid

Virgil

Vergil. The Aeneid of Virgil. Williams, Theodore, C, translator. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1910.

But Mnestheus and Sergestus, coming last,
have joyful hope enkindled in each heart
to pass the laggard Gyas. In the lead
Sergestus' ship shoots forth; and to the rock
runs boldly nigh; but not his whole long keel
may pass his rival; the projecting beak
is followed fast by Pristis' emulous prow.
Then, striding straight amidships through his crew,
thus Mnestheus urged them on: “O Hector's friends!
Whom in the dying hours of Troy I chose
for followers! Now stand ye to your best!
Put forth the thews of valor that ye showed
in the Gaetulian Syrtes, or that sea
Ionian, or where the waves race by
the Malean promontory! Mnestheus now
hopes not to be the first, nor do I strive
for victory. O Father Neptune, give
that garland where thou wilt! But O, the shame
if we are last! Endure it not, my men!
The infamy refuse!” So, bending low,
they enter the home-stretch. Beneath their stroke
the brass-decked galley throbs, and under her
the sea-floor drops away. On, on they fly!
Parched are the panting lips, and sweat in streams
pours down their giant sides; but lucky chance
brought the proud heroes what their honor craved.
For while Sergestus furiously drove
his ship's beak toward the rock, and kept inside
the scanty passage, by his evil star
he grounded on the jutting reef; the cliffs
rang with the blow, and his entangled oars
grated along the jagged granite, while
the prow hung wrecked and helpless. With loud cry
upsprang the sailors, while the ship stood still,
and pushed off with long poles and pointed iron,
or snatched the smashed oars from the whirling tide.
Mnestheus exults; and, roused to keener strife
by happy fortune, with a quicker stroke
of each bright rank of oars, and with the breeze
his prayer implored, skims o'er the obedient wave
and sweeps the level main. Not otherwise
a startled dove, emerging o'er the fields
from secret cavern in the crannied hill
where her safe house and pretty nestlings lie,
soars from her nest, with whirring wings—but soon
through the still sky she takes her path of air
on pinions motionless. So Pristis sped
with Mnestheus, cleaving her last stretch of sea,
by her own impulse wafted. She outstripped
Sergestus first; for he upon the reef
fought with the breakers, desperately shouting
for help, for help in vain, with broken oars
contriving to move on. Then Mnestheus ran
past Gyas, in Chimaera's ponderous hulk,
of pilot now bereft; at last remains
Cloanthus his sole peer, whom he pursues
with a supreme endeavor. From the shore
burst echoing cheers that spur him to the chase,
and wild applause makes all the welkin ring.
The leaders now with eager souls would scorn
to Iose their glory, and faint-hearted fail
to grasp a prize half-won, but fain would buy
honor with life itself; the followers too
are flushed with proud success, and feel them strong
because their strength is proven. Both ships now
with indistinguishable prows had sped
to share one prize,—but with uplifted hands
spread o'er the sea, Cloanthus, suppliant,
called on the gods to bless his votive prayer:
“Ye gods who rule the waves, whose waters be
my pathway now; for you on yonder strand
a white bull at the altar shall be slain
in grateful tribute for a granted vow;
and o'er the salt waves I will scatter far
the entrails, and outpour the flowing wine.”
He spoke; and from the caverns under sea
Phorcus and virgin Panopea heard,
and all the sea-nymphs' choir; while with strong hand
the kindly God of Havens rose and thrust
the gliding ship along, that swifter flew
than south wind, or an arrow from the string,
and soon made land in haven safe and sure.

Aeneas then, assembling all to hear,
by a far-sounding herald's voice proclaimed
Cloanthus victor, and arrayed his brows
with the green laurel-garland; to the crews
three bulls, at choice, were given, and plenteous wine
and talent-weight of silver; to the chiefs
illustrious gifts beside; the victor had
a gold-embroidered mantle with wide band
of undulant Meliboean purple rare,
where, pictured in the woof, young Ganymede
through Ida's forest chased the light-foot deer
with javelin; all flushed and panting he.
But lo! Jove's thunder-bearing eagle fell,
and his strong talons snatched from Ida far
the royal boy, whose aged servitors
reached helpless hands to heaven; his faithful hound
bayed fiercely at the air. To him whose worth
the second place had won, Aeneas gave
a smooth-linked golden corselet, triple-chained,
of which his own victorious hand despoiled
Demoleos, by the swift, embattled stream
of Simois, under Troy,—and bade it be
a glory and defence on valor's field;
scarce might the straining shoulders of two slaves,
Phegeus and Sagaris, the load endure,
yet oft Demoleos in this armor dressed
charged down full speed on routed hosts of Troy.
The third gift was two cauldrons of wrought brass,
and bowls of beaten silver, cunningly
embossed with sculpture fair. Bearing such gifts,
th' exultant victors onward moved, each brow
bound with a purple fillet. But behold!
Sergestus, from the grim rock just dragged off
by cunning toil, one halting rank of oars
left of his many lost, comes crawling in
with vanquished ship, a mockery to all.
As when a serpent, on the highway caught,
some brazen wheel has crushed, or traveller
with heavy-smiting blow left half alive
and mangled by a stone; in vain he moves
in writhing flight; a part is lifted high
with hissing throat and angry, glittering eyes;
but by the wounded part a captive still
he knots him fold on fold: with such a track
the maimed ship labored slow; but by her sails
she still made way, and with full canvas on
arrived at land. Aeneas then bestowed
a boon upon Sergestus, as was meet
for reward of the ship in safety brought
with all its men; a fair slave was the prize,
the Cretan Pholoe, well taught to weave,
and twin boy-babes upon her breast she bore.

Then good Aeneas, the ship-contest o'er,
turned to a wide green valley, circled round
with clasp of wood-clad hills, wherein was made
an amphitheatre; entering with a throng
of followers, the hero took his seat
in mid-arena on a lofty mound.
For the fleet foot-race, now, his summons flies, —
he offers gifts, and shows the rewards due.
The mingling youth of Troy and Sicily
hastened from far. Among the foremost came
the comrades Nisus and Euryalus,
Euryalus for beauty's bloom renowned,
Nisus for loyal love; close-following these
Diores strode, a prince of Priam's line;
then Salius and Patron, who were bred
in Acarnania and Arcady;
then two Sicilian warriors, Helymus
and Panopes, both sylvan bred and born,
comrades of King Acestes; after these
the multitude whom Fame forgets to tell.
Aeneas, so surrounded, thus spake forth:
“Hear what I purpose, and with joy receive!
of all your company, not one departs
with empty hand. The Cretan javelins
bright-tipped with burnished steel, and battle-axe
adorned with graven silver, these shall be
the meed of all. The three first at the goal
shall bind their foreheads with fair olive green,
and win the rewards due. The first shall lead,
victorious, yon rich-bridled steed away;
this Amazonian quiver, the next prize,
well-stocked with Thracian arrows; round it goes
a baldrick broad and golden,—in its clasp
a lustrous gem. The third man goes away
taking this helmet from the Argive spoil.”

They heard, and took their places. The loud horn
gave signal, and impetuous from the line,
swift as a bursting storm they sped away,
eyes fixed upon the goal. Far in advance
Nisus shot forward, swifter than the winds
or winged thunderbolt; the next in course,
next, but out-rivalled far, was Salius,
and after him a space, Euryalus
came third; him Helymus was hard upon;
and, look! Diores follows, heel on heel,
close at his shoulder—if the race be long
he sure must win, or claim a doubtful prize.
Now at the last stretch, spent and panting, all
pressed to the goal, when in a slime of blood
Nisus, hard fate! slipped down, where late the death
of victims slain had drenched the turf below.
Here the young victor, with his triumph flushed,
lost foothold on the yielding ground, and plunged
face forward in the pool of filth and gore;
but not of dear Euryalus was he
forgetful then, nor heedless of his friend;
but rising from the mire he hurled himself
in Salius' way; so he in equal plight
rolled in the filthy slough. Euryalus
leaped forth, the winner of the race by gift
of his true friend, and flying to the goal
stood first, by many a favoring shout acclaimed.
Next Helymus ran in; and, for the third, last prize,
Diores. But the multitude now heard
the hollowed hill-side ringing with wild wrath
from Salius, clamoring where the chieftains sate
for restitution of his stolen prize,
lost by a cheat. But general favor smiles
upon Euryalus, whose beauteous tears
commend him much, and nobler seems the worth
of valor clothed in youthful shape so fair.
Diores, too, assists the victor's claim,
with loud appeal—he too has won a prize,
and vainly holds his last place, if the first
to Salius fall. Aeneas then replied:
“Your gifts, my gallant youths, remain secure.
None can re-judge the prize. But to console
the misadventure of a blameless friend,
is in my power.” Therewith to Salius
an Afric lion's monstrous pelt he gave,
with ponderous mane, the claws o'erlaid with gold.
But Nisus cried: “If such a gift be found
for less than victory, and men who fall
are worthy so much sorrow, pray, what prize
shall Nisus have? For surely I had won
the proudest of the garlands, if one stroke
of inauspicious fortune had not fallen
on Salius and me.” So saying, he showed
his smeared face and his sorry limbs befouled
with mire and slime. Then laughed the gracious sire,
and bade a shield be brought, the cunning work
of Didymaon, which the Greeks tore down
from Neptune's temple; with this noble gift
he sent the high-born youth upon his way.

The foot-race over and the gifts disbursed,
“Come forth!” he cries, “if any in his heart
have strength and valor, let him now pull on
the gauntlets and uplift his thong-bound arms
in challenge.” For the reward of this fight
a two-fold gift he showed: the victor's meed,
a bullock decked and gilded; but a sword
and glittering helmet to console the fallen.
Straightway, in all his pride of giant strength,
Dares Ioomed up, and wondering murmurs ran
along the gazing crowd; for he alone
was wont to match with Paris, he it was
met Butes, the huge-bodied champion
boasting the name and race of Amycus,
Bythinian-born; him felled he at a blow,
and stretched him dying on the tawny sand.
Such Dares was, who now held high his head,
fierce for the fray, bared both his shoulders broad,
lunged out with left and right, and beat the air.
Who shall his rival be? Of all the throng
not one puts on the gauntlets, or would face
the hero's challenge. Therefore, striding forth,
believing none now dare but yield the palm,
he stood before Aeneas, and straightway
seized with his left hand the bull's golden horn,
and cried, “O goddess-born, if no man dares
to risk him in this fight, how Iong delay?
how Iong beseems it I should stand and wait?
Bid me bear off my prize.” The Trojans all
murmured assent, and bade the due award
of promised gift. But with a brow severe
Acestes to Entellus at his side
addressed upbraiding words, where they reclined
on grassy bank and couch of pleasant green:
“O my Entellus, in the olden days
bravest among the mighty, but in vain!
Endurest thou to see yon reward won
without a blow? Where, prithee, is that god
who taught thee? Are thy tales of Eryx vain?
Does all Sicilia praise thee? Is thy roof
with trophies hung?” The other in reply:
“My jealous honor and good name yield not
to fear. But age, so cold and slow to move,
makes my blood laggard, and my ebbing powers
in all my body are but slack and chill.
O, if I had what yonder ruffian boasts—
my own proud youth once more! I would not ask
the fair bull for a prize, nor to the lists
in search of gifts come forth.” So saying, he threw
into the mid-arena a vast pair
of ponderous gauntlets, which in former days
fierce Eryx for his fights was wont to bind
on hand and arm, with the stiff raw-hide thong.
All marvelled; for a weight of seven bulls' hides
was pieced with lead and iron. Dares stared
astonished, and step after step recoiled;
high-souled Anchises' son, this way and that,
turned o'er the enormous coil of knots and thongs;
then with a deep-drawn breath the veteran spoke:
“O, that thy wondering eyes had seen the arms
of Hercules, and what his gauntlets were!
Would thou hadst seen the conflict terrible
upon this self-same shore! These arms were borne
by Eryx. Look; thy brother's!—spattered yet
with blood, with dashed-out brains! In these he stood
when he matched Hercules. I wore them oft
when in my pride and prime, ere envious age
shed frost upon my brows. But if these arms
be of our Trojan Dares disapproved,
if good Aeneas rules it so, and King
Acestes wills it, let us offer fight
on even terms. Let Eryx' bull's-hide go.
Tremble no more! But strip those gauntlets off —
fetched here from Troy.” So saying, he dropped down
the double-folded mantle from his shoulders,
stripped bare the huge joints, the huge arms and thews,
and towered gigantic in the midmost ring.
Anchises' son then gave two equal pairs
of gauntlets, and accoutred with like arms
both champions. Each lifted him full height
on tiptoe; each with mien unterrified
held both fists high in air, and drew his head
far back from blows assailing. Then they joined
in struggle hand to hand, and made the fray
each moment fiercer. One was light of foot
and on his youth relied; the other strong
in bulk of every limb, but tottering
on sluggish knees, while all his body shook
with labor of his breath. Without avail
they rained their blows, and on each hollow side,
each sounding chest, the swift, reverberate strokes
fell without pause; around their ears and brows
came blow on blow, and with relentless shocks
the smitten jaws cracked loud. Entellus stands
unshaken, and, the self-same posture keeping,
only by body-movement or quick eye
parries attack. Dares (like one in siege
against a mountain-citadel, who now will drive
with ram and engine at the craggy wall,
now wait in full-armed watch beneath its towers)
tries manifold approach, most craftily
invests each point of vantage, and renews
his unsuccessful, ever various war.
Then, rising to the stroke, Entellus poised
aloft his ponderous right; but, quick of eye,
the other the descending wrath foresaw
and nimbly slipped away; Entellus so
wasted his stroke on air, and, self-o'erthrown,
dropped prone to earth his monstrous length along,
as when on Erymanth or Ida falls
a hollowed pine from giant roots uptorn.
Alike the Teucrian and Trinacrian throng
shout wildly; while Acestes, pitying, hastes
to lift his gray companion. But, unchecked,
undaunted by his fall, the champion brave
rushed fiercer to the fight, his strength now roused
by rage, while shame and courage confident
kindle his soul; impetuous he drives
Dares full speed all round the ring, with blows
redoubled right and left. No stop or stay
gives he, but like a storm of rattling hail
upon a house-top, so from each huge hand
the champion's strokes on dizzy Dares fall.