Complete Works of Virgil

by Virgil

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,

&
nbsp; 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.

  The Trojans, with exultant, Ioud acclaim,

  receive the shy-faced boys, and joyfully

  trace in the features of the sons their sires.

  After, with smiling eyes, the horsemen proud

  have greeted each his kin in all the throng,

  Epytides th’ appointed signal calls,

  and cracks his lash; in even lines they move,

  then, Ioosely sundering in triple band,

  wheel at a word and thrust their lances forth

  in hostile ranks; or on the ample field

  retreat or charge, in figure intricate

  of circling troop with troop, and swift parade

  of simulated war; now from the field

  they flee with backs defenceless to the foe;

  then rally, lance in rest — or, mingling all,

  make common front, one legion strong and fair.

  As once in Crete, the lofty mountain-isle,

  that-fabled labyrinthine gallery

  wound on through lightless walls, with thousand paths

  which baffled every clue, and led astray

  in unreturning mazes dark and blind:

  so did the sons of Troy their courses weave

  in mimic flights and battles fought for play,

  like dolphins tumbling in the liquid waves,