Aeneid

Virgil

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

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.

Then Sire Aeneas willed to make a stay
to so much rage, nor let Entellus' soul
flame beyond bound, but bade the battle pause,
and, rescuing weary Dares, thus he spoke
in soothing words: “Ill-starred! What mad attempt
is in thy mind? Will not thy heart confess
thy strength surpassed, and auspices averse?
Submit, for Heaven decrees!” With such wise words
he sundered the fell strife. But trusty friends
bore Dares off: his spent limbs helpless trailed,
his head he could not lift, and from his lips
came blood and broken teeth. So to the ship
they bore him, taking, at Aeneas' word,
the helmet and the sword—but left behind
Entellus' prize of victory, the bull.
He, then, elate and glorying, spoke forth:
“See, goddess-born, and all ye Teucrians, see,
what strength was mine in youth, and from what death
ye have clelivered Dares.” Saying so,
he turned him full front to the bull, who stood
for reward of the fight, and, drawing back
his right hand, poising the dread gauntlet high,
swung sheer between the horns and crushed the skull;
a trembling, lifeless creature, to the ground
the bull dropped forward dead. Above the fallen
Entellus cried aloud, “This victim due
I give thee, Eryx, more acceptable
than Dares' death to thy benignant shade.
For this last victory and joyful day,
my gauntlets and my art I leave with thee.”

Forthwith Aeneas summons all who will
to contest of swift arrows, and displays
reward and prize. With mighty hand he rears
a mast within th' arena, from the ship
of good Sergestus taken; and thereto
a fluttering dove by winding cord is bound
for target of their shafts. Soon to the match
the rival bowmen came and cast the lots
into a brazen helmet. First came forth
Hippocoon's number, son of Hyrtacus,
by cheers applauded; Mnestheus was the next,
late victor in the ship-race, Mnestheus crowned
with olive-garland; next Eurytion,
brother of thee, O bowman most renowned,
Pandarus, breaker of the truce, who hurled
his shaft upon the Achaeans, at the word
the goddess gave. Acestes' Iot and name
came from the helmet last, whose royal hand
the deeds of youth dared even yet to try.
Each then with strong arm bends his pliant bow,
each from the quiver plucks a chosen shaft.
First, with loud arrow whizzing from the string,
the young Hippocoon with skyward aim
cuts through the yielding air; and lo! his barb
pierces the very wood, and makes the mast
tremble; while with a fluttering, frighted wing
the bird tugs hard,—and plaudits fill the sky.
Boldly rose Mnestheus, and with bow full-drawn
aimed both his eye and shaft aloft; but he
failing, unhappy man, to bring his barb
up to the dove herself, just cut the cord
and broke the hempen bond, whereby her feet
were captive to the tree: she, taking flight,
clove through the shadowing clouds her path of air.
But swiftly—for upon his waiting bow
he held a shaft in rest—Eurytion
invoked his brother's shade, and, marking well
the dove, whose happy pinions fluttered free
in vacant sky, pierced her, hard by a cloud;
lifeless she fell, and left in light of heaven
her spark of life, as, floating down, she bore
the arrow back to earth. Acestes now
remained, last rival, though the victor's palm
to him was Iost; yet did the aged sire,
to show his prowess and resounding bow,
hurl forth one shaft in air; then suddenly
all eyes beheld such wonder as portends
events to be (but when fulfilment came,
too late the fearful seers its warning sung):
for, soaring through the stream of cloud, his shaft
took fire, tracing its bright path in flame,
then vanished on the wind,—as oft a star
will fall unfastened from the firmament,
while far behind its blazing tresses flow.
Awe-struck both Trojan and Trinacrian stood,
calling upon the gods. Nor came the sign
in vain to great Aeneas. But his arms
folded the blest Acestes to his heart,
and, Ioading him with noble gifts, he cried:
“Receive them, sire! The great Olympian King
some peerless honor to thy name decrees
by such an omen given. I offer thee
this bowl with figures graven, which my sire,
good gray Anchises, for proud gift received
of Thracian Cisseus, for their friendship's pledge
and memory evermore.” Thereon he crowned
his brows with garland of the laurel green,
and named Acestes victor over all.
Nor could Eurytion, noble youth, think ill
of honor which his own surpassed, though he,
he only, pierced the bird in upper air.
Next gift was his whose arrow cut the cord;
last, his whose light shaft clove the lofty pine.

Father Aeneas now, not making end
of game and contest, summoned to his side
Epytides, the mentor and true friend
of young Iulus, and this bidding gave
to his obedient ear: “Arise and go
where my Ascanius has lined his troop
of youthful cavalry, and trained the steeds
to tread in ranks of war. Bid him lead forth
the squadron in our sire Anchises' name,
and wear a hero's arms!” So saying, he bade
the course be cleared, and from the whole wide field
th' insurging, curious multitude withdrew.
In rode the boys, to meet their parents' eyes,
in even lines, a glittering cavalry;
while all Trinacria and the host from Troy
made loud applause. On each bright brow
a well-trimmed wreath the flowing tresses bound;
two javelins of corner tipped with steel
each bore for arms; some from the shoulder slung
a polished quiver; to each bosom fell
a pliant necklace of fine, twisted gold.
Three bands of horsemen ride, three captains proud
prance here and there, assiduous in command,
each of his twelve, who shine in parted lines
which lesser captains lead. One cohort proud
follows a little Priam's royal name —
one day, Polites, thy illustrious race
through him prolonged, shall greater glory bring
to Italy. A dappled Thracian steed
with snow-white spots and fore-feet white as snow
bears him along, its white face lifted high.
Next Atys rode, young Atys, sire to be
of th' Atian house in Rome, a boy most dear
unto the boy Iulus; last in line,
and fairest of the throng, Iulus came,
astride a steed from Sidon, the fond gift
of beauteous Dido and her pledge of love.
Close followed him the youthful chivalry
of King Acestes on Trinacrian steeds.