University of Virginia Library

The welcome day arrives; the rising sun
Brings the ninth morning in with glorious light
And all the neighboring country is aroused
By the great name and glory of Acestes.
An eager multitude they crowd the shore,
Some to behold the Trojans, some prepared
To enter for the glories of the day.
First, in their midst, the prizes are displayed;
The sacred tripods, wreaths of green, and palms;
Talents of gold and silver, arms and robes
Dyed with rich purple; now the trumpet's peal
Proclaims the joyous festival begun.
Four galleys chosen from the fleet appear,
Oared heavily and equally equipped.
The flying Pristis Mnestheus drives along
With rapid oars—Mnestheus of Italy
Soon after—whence have sprung the Memmii;
And Gyas with the great Chimera comes—
A huge affair, a city in itself—
Which Trojans in a triple line impel;
Sergestus (whence the Sergian house) commands
The mighty Centaur; and Cloanthus (whence
Your race Cluentius) the dark blue Scylla.

At sea, far distant from the foaming shore,
There is a rock, which when the wintry winds
Obscure the stars, is thumped and overwashed
By tumid floods; but when the waves are still
It rises silent from the silent sea,
A gracious haunt for sunny comorants [sic].
Here as a goal the great Aeneas fixed
A leafy oak, a signal for the seamen
That they may know the turning of the course.
Then lots are drawn for places, and the masters
Glitter in gold and purple from the sterns.
The crews are crowned with poplar leaves, and glossed
With oil, their naked shoulders turn the sun.
They take their seats and grasp with eager arms
The oars and anxiously await the sign,
While throbbing fears and burning hopes of praise
Glow in their ardent bosoms. Then at length,
When the clear trumpet sounds, without delay
All forge ahead, their clamor fills the air;
Torn by their arms the waters froth and foam;
Their wakes are equal and their trident beaks
Mixed with the oars tear up the foaming flood.
No flying chariot sweeps the field like these,
No charioteer so pays the loosened rein,
Nor hangs himself ahead to swing the lash.
Then all the grove resounds with shouts of men
And zealous cheers; along the curling shore
The voices roll; the quivering hills around
Throw back the clamor. Mid wild shoutings then
Leaps Gyas headlong, foremost in the fray;
Then comes Cloanthus, with more practiced oar,
But the huge weight of ship holds back itself;
Close after these the Centaur and the Pristis
Vie with each other striving for the lead:
'Tis now the Pristis, now the Centaur holds it;
Now they are borne together beak to beak,
Their long keels furrowing the salt sea waves.
Soon they approach the rock and reach the goal,
When conquering Gyas to the pilot cries,
“Why to the right!—come nearer—hug the shore!
So we may brush the rocks upon the left
Without the oars—let others hold away!”
He spoke, but blind Menoetes fearing reefs
Steered for the open sea. “Why thus Menortes [sic]!
Bear to the rock!” again called Gyas madly.
And now behold he sees Cloanthus coming
Close in the rear, to take the inner course;
Sheer to the left, between the sounding rocks
And Gyas' ship, he shoots a sudden course
And safely holds the sea beyond the goal.
Then fired with deep chagrin while tears of wrath
Rolled down his cheek, unmindful of the scene
And all regardless of the common safety,
He flung the dull Meneotes from the stern
Head-foremost to the sea, and took his post;
And mid the cheering of the sailors turned
The rudder to the rock. Now old Menoetes,
At length emerging from the water, climbs—
His heavy garments dripping in the sea—
High on the rock and perches in the sun.
The Trojans greet his tumble with a howl
And jeer him swimming; and they laugh aloud
To mark him heave and spew the swallowed brine.
Then to the minds of Mnestheus and Sergestus
A brave hope springs that they may overtake
The tardy Gyas. Now Sergestus leads
A little, and Pristis' forging beak
Comes tearing alongside. Then rushing down
Among the crew the urging Menesthus cries:
“Now! friends of Hector, now! bend to the oars!
Ye comrades whom I chose from falling Troy
Now show that strength and zeal by which ye passed
Graetulian [sic] quicksands and Ionian seas!
Not that I hope to win the first reward—
(Ah, if I could!)—But let thy will prevail,
O Neptune! Shameful 'tis to be last—
Conquer it, friends! and save us from disgrace.”—
Then all their power is given to the work;
The tall ship trembles with the giant strokes;
Drawing the sea beneath; with rapid breath
And parching throats their limbs are trembling,
And gushing sweat rolls over them in rivers.
Mere chance it was that gave the cherished glory:
Sergestus, furious, now turn'd his prow
Too near the rock and struck the jutting reef;
The rough crags trembled and the oars were snapped,
The broken beak hung pendant from the ledge;
The rowers with a might clamour cease
And rising seize sharp iron pikes and poles
And gather from the sea the broken oars.
But Mnestheus, joyful all the more for this,
With flying oars makes for the settling waves
And shoreward rushes down the spreading sea.
Just as a dove, whose home and cherished young
Lie in a rocky shade: the cave disturbed
And frightened from her nast she seeks the fields
With flapping wings, there through the tranquil air
She cuts a liquid course in silent flight.
So Mnestheus, so the Pristis cleaves the wave
Around the goal, borne by the impetus.
And now he leaves Sergestus on the rock
In shallow seas and vainly calling aid,
Striving to free his ship with shattered oars.
Soon the Chimera, Gyas' bulky craft—
The pilot gone—her overtakes and passes.
Cloanthus leading forges on ahead,
His only rival, whom he now pursues
With all his powers. Then great shouts arise
And all applaud while redoubled cheers
Roll through the trembling air. The Scylla's crew,
Scorning the thought of losing what is theirs,
Would willingly resign their lives for glory.
Success inflames the others: they can win
For they believe they can. Perchance they might
Have borne the prizes with an equal course
Had not Cloanthus, stretching out his hands,
Sought aid in prayers and called the gods to witness:
“Ye gods, who rule the sea, whose realms I sweep,
Joyfully will I offer unto you
Before the altar, on these shores, a bull
Snow white; and I will give unto the sea
His entrails, and pour out the flowing wine.”
He spoke, and from the bottom of the deep
His voice was heard alike by all the Nymphs,
And Phorcus and the virgin Panopea,
While old Portunus pushed with mighty hands.
Swift as the wind in arrowy flight she speeds,
And rides triumphant in the land-locked port.

Then all are summoned while the great Aeneas
Declares Cloanthus victor in the race
And crowns his temples with a wreath of laurel.
Three bullocks are awarded to the ships,
And wine, together with a weight of silver.
The leaders he rewards with special honors:
A golden chlamys to the conqueror,
Bordered by waving Meliboean purple;
And there inwoven the boy Ganymede
Through Ida's grove pursues the weary deer,
Breathless yet eager in the pictured scene:
Him Jupiter's swift eagle has caught up
And borne away from Ida in his claws;
In vain the aged guards uplift their palms,
While howls of raging dogs wail through the air.
To Mnesthus next, who by his valor won
The second place, he gives a coat of mail
Jointed with hooks and triple wove of gold.
The prince had stripped it from Demoleos
Where rapid Simois flows by lofty Troy.
This he presents. A rich defence in war,
With difficulty two attendants bore
The ponderous folds away upon their shoulders;
Demoleos however, thus arrayed,
Pursued the straggling Trojans in their flight.
Two brazen caldrons Gyas then receives,
With richly figured drinking cups of silver.
At length, now all rewarded and rejoicing,
They issue forth their temples bound with purple,
When, from the fateful rock released, Sergestus
Paddled with scanty oars his crippled craft,
Scoffed and unhonored. As a snake, o'ertaken
Upon the highway, which a wheel has crossed
Or traveller with heavy blow has struck
And left half-dead and ground beneath a rock,
Vainly retreating, curls its tortuous length
And hissing rears its head with glittering eyes,
Ferocious; though retarded by the wound
Twisting and writhing struggles on its way,
So the slow ship worked inward to the shore;
Now sails are set, and thus with spreading sheets
She enters port. Aeneas, gratified
To see the ship restored with all its crew,
Allows the foiled commander as a prize
Pholoe, a Cretan slave with nestling twins.