Meanwhile Aeneas and the fleet were holding
The sure course over the sea, cutting the waters
That darkened under the wind. His gaze went back
To the walls of Carthage, glowing in the flame
Of Dido’s funeral pyre. What cause had kindled
So high a blaze, they did not know, but anguish
When love is wounded deep, and the way of a woman
With frenzy in her heart, they knew too well,
And dwelt on with foreboding.

They were out of sight of land, with only sea
Around them on all sides, alone with ocean,
Ocean and sky, when a cloud, black-blue, loomed over
With night and tempest in it; the water roughened
In shadow, and the pilot Palinurus
Cried from the lofty stern. “What clouds are these
Filling the sky? What threat is father Neptune
Preparing over our heads? Trim ship,” he ordered,
“Bend to the oars, reef down the sail.” The course
Was changed, on a slant across the wind, and the pilot
Turned to Aeneas: “With a sky like this,
I’d have no hope of reaching Italy,
Even if Jove himself should guarantee it.
The winds have changed, they roar across our course
From the black evening, thickening into cloud.
We have no strength for headway. Luck is against us,
Let us change the course, and follow. I remember
Fraternal shores near by, the land of Eryx,
Sicilian harbors; we were here before
If I recall my stars.”

Aeneas answered:
“I saw it long ago, the will of the winds,
The uselessness of struggle. Change the course,
Steer to the land most welcome to me; there
My friend Acestes dwells, and there my father
Anchises lies at rest. What better land
To rest our weary ships?” They made for the harbor,
With favoring wind, a swift run over the water,
A happy turn to a familiar shore.

High on a hill-top look-out, king Acestes,
Son of a Trojan mother and Crinisus,
A river-god, saw friendly vessels coming,
With wonder and delight, came hurrying toward them,
With a bear-skin over his shoulder, and javelins
Bristling in his grasp, and he remembered
The old relationship, and gave them welcome
With all his rustic treasure, a glad returning,
Friendly assurance for their weariness.
A good night’s rest, and a bright morning followed,
And from the shore Aeneas called his comrades,
Stood on a little rise of ground, and told them:
“Great sons of Dardanus, heaven-born, a year
Draws to an end, a year ago we buried
My father in this land, and consecrated
Sorrowful altars to his shade. The day
Comes round again, which I shall always cherish,
Always lament, with reverence, in the mourning,
For the gods’ will. If I were held, an exile,
In the Gaetulian quicksands, or a captive
In some Greek ship or city, I would honor
This day with solemn rites, and pile the altars
With sacrificial offering. But now,—
This must be heaven’s purpose—we have entered
A friendly harbor. Come, then, all of us,
Let us be happy in our celebration,
Let us pray for winds, and that the god hereafter
Receive his rites in temples for his honor
Built in the city we found. Two heads of oxen
Acestes gives each vessel; bring the gods
Of our own household, and the ones Acestes
Pays worship to. Nine days from now, if dawn
Comes bright and shining over the world of men,
There will be games, a contest for the boats,
A foot-race, javelin-throw or archery, a battle
With rawhide gloves; let all attend, competing
For victory’s palm and prize. And now, in silence,
Garland the brow with leaves.”

He bound his temples
With Venus’ myrtle, and the others followed,
Acestes, Helymus, and young Iulus,
And the other lads, and Aeneas, from the meeting,
Moved to Anchises’ tomb, and many thousands
Came thronging there. He poured libation, duly,
Bowls of pure wine, and milk, and victim-blood,
And strewed bright flowers, praying: “Holy father,
Hail, once again; hail once again, O ashes,
Regained in vain; hail, holy shade and spirit!
Hail, from a son, destined to seek alone
The fated fields, Italian soil, alone
To seek, whatever it is, Ausonian Tiber.”
And as he finished speaking, a huge serpent
Slid over the ground, seven shining loops, surrounding
The tomb, peacefully gliding around the altars,
Dappled with blue and gold, such iridescence
As rainbow gives to cloud, when the sun strikes it.
Aeneas stood amazed; and the great serpent
Crawled to the bowls and cups, tasted the offerings,
And slid again, without a hint of menace,
Under the altar-stone. Intent, Aeneas
Resumed the rites; the serpent might have been,
For all he knew, a guardian of the altar,
Or some familiar spirit of Anchises.
Two sheep he sacrificed, two swine, two heifers,
Poured wine, invoked the spirit of his father,
And the shade loosed from Acheron. His comrades
Also bring gifts, whatever they can, slay bullocks,
Load altars high; others prepare the kettles,
Sprawl on the greensward, keep the live coals glowing
Under the roasting-spits, and the meat turning.

And the day came, the ninth they had awaited
With eagerness, bright and clear, and the crowd gathered
Under Acestes’ sanction; they were eager
To see the Trojans, or to join the contests.
There were the prizes, tripods, and green garlands,
And palms for the winners, armor, crimson garments,
Talents of silver and gold. And a trumpet heralds
The start of the games.

For the first contest
Four ships are entered, heavy-oared, and chosen,
The pick of the fleet. Mnestheus is one captain,
His ship the Dragon, and his crew is eager,—
(Later the Memmian line will call him father).
Gyas commands the big Chimaera, a vessel
Huge as a town; it takes three tiers of oarsmen
To keep her moving. Then there is Sergestus
Riding the Centaur, and the sea-blue Scylla
Cloanthus leads. (The Sergian house at Rome
Descends from one, Cluentians from the other.)

Far out in the water, facing the foaming shores,
There lies a rock, which the swollen waves beat over
On stormy days when gales blot out the stars,
But quiet in calm weather, a level landing
For the sun-loving sea-gulls. Here Aeneas
Sets a green bough of holm-oak, as a signal
To mark the turning-point; to this the sailors
Must row, then turn, and double back. The places
Are chosen by lot; the captains are set off,
Shining in gold and purple; all the sailors
Wear poplar-wreaths, and their naked shoulders glisten
With the smear of oil. They are at their places, straining
Arms stretched to the oars, waiting the word, and their chests
Heave, and their hearts are pumping fast; ambition
And nervousness take hold of them. The signal!
They shoot away; the noise goes up to the heavens,
The arms pull back to the chests, the water is churned
To a foam like snow; the start is very even,
The sea gapes open under the rush of the beaks
And the pull of the oars. The racers go no faster
When the chariots take the field, and the barrier springs
Cars into action, and the drivers lash
Whipping and shaking the reins. Applause and shouting
Volley and ring, and shrill excitement rises
From some with bets on the issue; all the woodland
Resounds, the shores are loud, and the beaten hillside
Sends back the uproar.

Gyas beats the others
In the rush of the starting sprint; Cloanthus follows,
With a better crew, but a slower, heavier vessel;
Behind them come the Dragon and the Centaur,
With no advantage either way; first one,
And then the other, has it, moving even
With long keels through salt water; and the leader
Has almost reached the rock, the turn; that’s Gyas,
The captain, yelling loudly at his pilot:—
“Menoetes, what the hell! Why are you steering
So far off to the right? Bring her in closer,
This way, let the oars just miss the rocks, hug shore,
Cut her close here on the left; let the other fellows
Stay out as far as they like.” Menoetes, though,
Feared unseen rocks, and made for open water.
“Why so far off the course? The rock, Menoetes,
Keep close to the rock!” And while he shouted, Gyas
Could see Cloanthus coming up behind him
Inside him, on the left, and gaining, gaining.
Between the roar of the rock and the ship of Gyas,
Cloanthus grazed his way, and passed the leader,
Made the turn safely, and reached open water.
Then Gyas really was burnt up; he was crying
In rage; to hell with pride, to hell with safety!
He grabbed that cautious pilot of his, and heaved him
Over the stern, he took the rudder over,
Steering for shore, and yelling at the sailors,
As old Menoetes slowly came to the surface,
His heavy garments dripping, clawing and scrambling
Up to the top of the rock, to perch there, drying,
A good laugh for the Trojans, as they watched him
Taking his header, coming up, and swimming,
And spitting out salt water.

The two last ones,
Mnestheus and Sergestus, were encouraged;
Gyas was easy now; Sergestus managed
To get ahead, a little; he neared the rock,
Less than a length ahead; the rival Dragon
Was lapped on him, and up and down, amidships,
Went Mnestheus, cheering on his crew:—“Get going,
Rise to the oars, my comrades, men of Hector
Whom I picked out for mine in Troy’s last moment.
Show the old spirit and the nerve that took us
Through the Gaetulian sands, Ionian waters,
Off Cape Malea! We can’t hope to win it,—
Let Neptune look to that!—maybe—at least,
Whatever we do, don’t come in last! We could not
Bear any such disgrace.” They did their utmost,
Straining with all their might, the bronze deck shaking
Under the effort, and the quiet ocean
Streamed under and past them. Arms and legs were weary,
Wobbly, shaking; breath came hard, they gulped
And gasped for air, and sweat ran down in rivers,
And they had some luck. Sergestus, out of his senses,
Drove in, too close, and piled up on the rock,
Which almost bounced as he hit there, and the oars
Were sheared away, and the bow hung up, and the sailors,
Shouting like mad, pushed hard with pikes or boat-hooks,
Or the wreck of the oars, to shove them off. And Mnestheus
Easier now, and with exalted spirit
From this much victory, with a prayer to the winds
And the oars’ swift drive, was running down-hill waters,
Over the open ocean, as a dove
Suddenly startled out of her nest in a cavern
Where the young brood waits, wings to the fields in fright,
Flapping on anxious pinions, and recovers,
And skims down peaceful air, with never a motion
Of wing in the lifting air, so Mnestheus sped,
So sped the Dragon, racing home, and the sweep
Of her own speed made a wind. She passed Sergestus
Struggling, rock-bound, in shallow water, howling
For help, in vain, and learning how to manage
A boat when the oars are broken. She overhauled
Gyas, in the Chimaera, wallowing heavy
Without a pilot. Only Cloanthus was left;
They were after him with all their might, the clamor
Rose twice as loud; they were cheering the pursuer,
And the sky was a crash of shouting. On the Scylla
They would give their lives to hold their place, they have won it,
The glory and honor are theirs already, almost;
And Mnestheus’ men take courage from their nearness;
They can because they think they can. They would have,
Perhaps, or tied, at least had not Cloanthus
Taken to prayer:—“Gods of the seas, whose waters
I skim, whose empire lifts me up, I gladly
Promise you sacrifice, a snow-white bullock
At altars on this shore, and wine for the ocean,
And the entrails flung to the flood!” Under the waves
The Nereids heard him, Phorcus, Panopea
The maiden, and Portunus, the big-handed,
Boosted him on his way. Swifter than arrow,
Swifter than wind, the ship swept into the harbor.

The herald’s cry proclaimed Cloanthus victor,
When all were summoned, and Anchises’ son
Put the green bay leaf on his temples, silver
And wine for the ships, a steer for each. The captains
Have special prizes; the winner has a mantle,
Woven with gold, and a double seam of crimson,
With a story in the texture, Ganymede
Hunting on Ida, breathless, tossing darts
And racing after the deer, and caught and carried
In the talons of Jove’s eagle, soaring skyward,
While the boy’s old guardians reach their hands up, vainly,
And the hounds set up a cry. Mnestheus, second,
Has a coat of mail, with triple links of gold,
A trophy of Demoleos; Aeneas
Had beaten him at Troy, by Simois river,
And taken the armor, glory and guard in battle.
The servants, Sagaris and Phegeus, hardly
Can lift it up, but when Demoleos wore it,
He could go, full-speed, after the flying Trojans.
The third award is a pair of brazen caldrons,
And bowls embossed in silver.

They had their prizes
And went their way, proud of their wealth, and shining
With foreheads garlanded, when with much effort,
Scraped off the rock, oars lost, and one bank crippled,
Here came Sergestus, butt of jeering laughter,
Like a snake with a broken back, which a wagon-wheel
Runs over on the road, or a traveller smashes
With the weight of a stone, and, crushed, it writhes and struggles,
Looping the coils, and half of it is angry
With fiery eyes and hissing mouth, and half
Keeps dragging back the rest and doubles over
On useless muscles, powerless; Sergestus
Came home like such a serpent, maimed and broken,
But the sail went bravely up as they made the harbor,
And Aeneas kept his promise to the captain,
Glad for the ship’s return, and the safe sailors.
A slave-girl, Pholoe from Crete, accomplished
At weaving, was his prize, and her twin children,
Boy-infants, at the breast.
The boat-race over, Aeneas makes his way
To a grassy plain, with wooded hills surrounding
The race-course in the valley. All the crowd
Come trooping after, group themselves around
The central prominence. Rewards and prizes
Draw the competitors, travellers and natives,
Trojans, Sicilians; in the foremost ranks
Are Nisus and Euryalus, the latter
Conspicuous in the flower of youth and beauty,
Whom Nisus follows with entire devotion:
Diores, of the royal house of Priam,
Was ready; Salius, an Acarnanian;
Patron, Tegean-born; and two Sicilians,
Panopes, Helymus, trained to the forests,
Companions of Acestes; and many others
Whose fame by now the darkness hides. Aeneas
Speaks to their hope:—“No one goes unrewarded:
To each I give two Cretan arrows, gleaming
With polished steel, and a double-bitted axe
Embossed with silver. Everybody wins
These prizes, but the first three runners also
Shall wear the wreath of olive, and the winner
Ride home a horse equipped with splendid trappings;
For second place, an Amazonian quiver
With Thracian arrows, a broad belt of gold
With jeweled buckle; and this Argive helmet
For the one who comes in third.”

They take their places,
And when the signal is given, away they go,
Like rain from storm-cloud, bodies leaning forward,
Eyes on the goal. And for the lead it’s Nisus,
Swifter than winds or lightning; running second,
A good way back, comes Salius; and the third one,
Third at some distance, is Euryalus,
Helymus next; right on his heels Diores.
There’s a little crowding there, the course too narrow,
Diores, full of run, is in a pocket,
He can’t get through. The race is almost over,
Their breath comes hard, they are almost at the finish,—
There’s a pool of blood on the ground, where the slain bullocks
Fell in the sacrifice, a slippery puddle
Red on green ground, and Nisus does not see it,
Nisus, still leading, thinking himself the winner,
Is out of luck, his feet slide out from under,
He wobbles, totters, recovers himself a little,
Slips and goes forward, in a beautiful header
Through blood and mud. But he keeps his wits about him,
Does not forget his friend Euryalus; rising,
And sort of accidentally on purpose,
Gets in the way of Salius and spills him,
A cartwheel, head over heels on the flying sand.
Euryalus flashes past, an easy winner
Thanks to his friend’s assistance, and they cheer him;
Helymus second; in third place, Diores.

Immediately there’s a loud howl of protest,
Salius shrieking in the elders’ faces
With cries of Foul! and Outrage! “I was robbed,
Give me first prize!” But all the popular favor
Sides with Euryalus, who is young, and weeping,
And better-looking; and Diores backs him,
Loudly, of course, since who would get the helmet
If Salius was first? Aeneas ends it:—
“The race will stand as run; you get your prizes
As first proposed; no one will change the order;
But one thing I can do, and will do,—offer
A consolation to our innocent friend.”
With this, he gives a lion-skin to Salius,
Heavy with shaggy hair, and the claws gilded.
Nisus is heard from:—“If you’re giving prizes
For falling down, what’s good enough for Nisus?
I would have won it surely, only Fortune
Gave me the same bad deal she handed Salius!”
And with the words he made a sudden gesture
Showing his muddy face. Aeneas, laughing,
Ordered another prize, a shield for him,
The work of Didymaon, stolen by Greeks,
From Neptune’s temple sometime, but recovered,
A worthy prize for a distinguished hero.

Next is a boxing-bout. “Whoever has courage
And fighting spirit in his heart, step forward
And put the gloves on!” There are double prizes,
For the winner a bullock, decked with gold and ribbons,
A sword and shining helmet for the loser.
Without delay, Dares gets up; a murmur
Runs through the crowd as this big man comes forward.
They know that he was Paris’ sparring-partner,
And they recall his famous match with Butes
At Hector’s tomb, where he knocked out that champion
And stretched him dying on the yellow sand.
Now Dares holds his head up for the battle,
Shakes his broad shoulders loose, warms up a little,
A left, a right, a left, in shadow-boxing.
Who will oppose him? No one puts the gloves on,
No one, from all that throng, is in a hurry
To take on Dares. So, exultant, thinking
Himself a winner by default, he grabs
The bullock by one horn, says to Aeneas:—
“If no man, goddess-born, is taking chances,
How long must I keep standing here? How long
Hang around waiting? Give the order, let me
Lead home my prize!” The Trojans all applaud him.
But king Acestes, sprawling on the greensward
Beside Entellus, nudges him a little:—
“What was the use, Entellus, of being a hero,
Of having been our bravest, under Eryx?
Where is that old Sicilian reputation,
And all those prizes hanging from the rafters?
Does Dares get away with this, no contest,
And all those prizes, and you sit here tamely?”
Entellus answers, “Oh, I still love glory
And praise; there’s nothing the matter with my courage,
But I’m too old, the blood is slow and colder,
The strength not what it used to be. That bragger
Has one thing, youth, and how he revels in it!
If I had what he has, I’d not need prizes,
Bullocks or helmets either, to get me fighting.”
From somewhere he produced the gloves of Eryx
And tossed them into the ring, all stiff and heavy,
Seven layers of hide, and insewn lead and iron.
The people stand amazed, and Dares shudders,
Wanting no part of gloves like these; Aeneas
Inspects them, turning them slowly, over and over,
And old Entellus adds a word of comment:—
“Why, these are nothing! What if you had seen
The gloves of Hercules? He used to fight here.
These are the gloves that Eryx wore against him.
You still can see the blood and a splash of brains
That stained them long ago. I used to wear them
Myself when I was younger, and unchallenged
By Time, that envious rival. But if Dares
Declines these arms, all right, make matters equal,
Don’t be afraid; I waive the gloves of Eryx,
You put the Trojan gloves aside; Aeneas
Will see fair play, Acestes be my second.”
He throws the double cloak from off his shoulders,
Strips down to the great limbs, great bones, great muscles
A giant in the ring. Aeneas brings them
Matched pairs of gloves.

They take their stand, each rising
On the balls of his feet, their arms upraised, and rolling
Their heads back from the punch. They spar, they lead,
They watch for openings. Dares, much the younger,
Is much the better in footwork; old Entellus
Has to rely on strength; his knees are shaky,
His wind not what it was. They throw their punches,
And many miss; and some, with a solid thump,
Land on the ribs or chest; temples and ears
Feel the wind of a miss, or the jaws rattle
When a punch lands. Entellus stands flat-footed,
Wasting no motion, just a slip of the body,
The watchful eyes alert. And Dares, feinting,
Like one who artfully attacks a city,
Tries this approach, then that, dancing around him
In varied vain attack. Entellus, rising,
Draws back his right (in fact, he telegraphs it),
And Dares, seeing it coming, slips aside;
Entellus lands on nothing but the wind
And, thrown off balance, heavily comes down
Flat on his face, as falls on Erymanthus
A thunder-smitten oak, and so on, and so on.
Roaring, the Trojans and Sicilians both
Rise to their feet; the noise goes up to heaven;
Acestes rushes in, to raise his comrade
In pity and sorrow. But that old-time fighter
Is not slowed down a bit, nor made more wary;
His rage is terrible, and his shame awakens
A consciousness of strength. He chases Dares
All over the ring, left, right, left, right, the punches
Rattle like hailstones on a roof; he batters Dares,
Spins him halfway around with one hand, clouts him
Straight with the other again. At last Aeneas
Steps in and stops it, with a word of comfort
For the exhausted Dares:—“Luckless fellow,
Yield to the god! What madness blinds your vision
To strength beyond your own?” They rescue Dares,
And drag him to the ships, with his knees caving,
Head rolling side to side, spitting out blood
And teeth; he hardly sees the sword and helmet.
They leave the palm and bullock for Entellus,
Who, in the pride of victory, cries aloud:
“Look, goddess-born! Watch, Trojans, and discover
Two things—how strong I was when I was younger,
And what a death you’ve kept away from Dares!”
And, with the word, he faced his prize, the bullock,
Drew back his right hand, poised it, sent it smashing
Between the horns, shattering the skull, and splashing
Brains on the bones, as the great beast came down, lifeless.
“This life, a better one than Dares’, Eryx,
I vow as sacrifice, and so, victorious,
Retire, and lay aside the gloves forever.”

Next comes an archery contest. Aeneas offers
Prizes and summons; on Serestus’ vessel
The mast is raised, and from its top a cord
With a fluttering dove bound to it as the mark.
Four enter; a bronze helmet takes the lots,
Hippocoön’s leaps out first; then Mnestheus follows,
Green with the olive garland, sign and token
Of ship well driven; and third was Pandarus’ brother,
Eurytion; Pandarus was the archer
Who once broke truce with the Greeks, firing an arrow
In the days of peace; and last came king Acestes,
Willing to try his hand with younger men.

They bend the pliant bows, each archer straining,
Draw shaft from quiver. First from the twanging string
Hippocoön’s arrow flew, through sky, through wind,
Reaching its mark in the wood of the mast, which trembled
And the bird flapped wings in terror, and the crowd
Rang with applause. Mnestheus took his stand,
Drawing the bow back, aiming a little higher,
And missed the bird, but severed knot and tether,
And the dove sped free to the south. Eurytion, waiting
And ready, called in prayer upon his brother,
Let the dart fly, brought down the bird, exulting,
From under the dark of the cloud. She came down lifeless,
Pierced by the arrow still. No prize was left
For king Acestes, but he fired his arrow,
High as he could, to prove his skill. And a wonder
Came to their eyes; it proved an omen later
When seers explained its meaning. The shaft caught fire
Flying amid the clouds, a course of flame,
Vanishing into space, as comets stream
Sweeping across the heaven, their long train flying
Behind them through the sky. All hearts were shaken,
Sicilian, Trojan, both, and all men prayed
To the powers on high. Aeneas hailed the omen,
Embraced Acestes, loaded him with presents,
Saying, “Receive them, father; for the king
Of heaven has willed it so, unusual honors
For skill surpassing. This bowl, with graven figures,
Anchises owned, given him by a Thracian,
King Cisseus, memorial and token,
Of everlasting friendship.” On his brows
He bound green laurel, hailing Acestes victor
Over the rest, and no one grudged the honor,
Not even Eurytion, who had shot the dove;
Mnestheus, for the cutting of the tether,
Took his reward, and the one who hit the mast,
Hippocoön, was not forgotten either.

But while the shoot was on, Aeneas called
Epytides, Iulus’ guardian, to him,
With words for a loyal ear:—“Go, tell Iulus,
If the boys are ready, and the horses marshalled,
To lead them, for Anchises’ sake, presenting
Himself in arms.” And he bade the throng draw back,
Leaving the long course clear and the field open.
The boys rode in, shining on bridled ponies
Before their fathers’ eyes, in true formation,
To a murmur of delight. The garlands weighed
The young hair down, they carried cornel spear-wands
With iron at the tip; and some had quivers
Bright-polished, at their shoulders; torques of gold
Looped high on the breast in pliant rings. Three leaders
Led, each, three squadrons, and a dozen followed
Each gay young captain. One of them was Priam,
Son of Polites, and King Priam’s grandson,
On a piebald Thracian, white of brow and fetlock.
Young Atys led another line—(The Atii,
In Latium, claim descent from him)—young Atys,
Iulus’ special friend. And last, most handsome,
Iulus rode a Carthaginian courser,
Queen Dido’s gift. Sicilian horses carried
The other riders, who rode up to the cheering
Shy, as they heard the sound, and the fond welcome
Of crowds that saw the fathers in the children.
They rode full circle once, and then a signal,
A crack of the whip, was given, and they parted
Into three groups, went galloping off, recalled,
Wheeled, made mock charge, with lances at the ready,
Made march and counter-march, troops intermingled
With troops, to right and left, in mimic battle,
Mimic retreat, and mimic peace, a course
Confusing as the Labyrinth in Crete
Whose path runs through blind walls, where craft has hidden
A thousand wandering ways, mistake and error
Threading insoluble mazes, so the children,
The sons of Troy, wove in and out, in conflict
In flight and sport, as happy as dolphins leaping
Through the Carpathian waters. This was a custom
Ascanius, when grown, himself established
At Alba Longa, his own town, and taught there
What he had learned in boyhood, and the Albans
In turn informed their children, and the Romans
Keep this ancestral rite; the boys are Troy,
And the game Trojan, to this very day,
From its first observance, in Anchises’ honor.

Here fortune changed, not keeping faith; for Juno,
While the ritual of sport went on, sent Iris,
With a fair wind, to the Trojan fleet. She was angry,
Still, and the ancient grudge unsatisfied,
And Iris, over her thousand-colored rainbow,
Ran her swift path, unseen, beheld the crowd,
Surveyed the shore, harbor and fleet deserted,
While far off on the lonely coast the women
Mourned for Anchises lost, weeping and watching
The unfathomable deep. “For weary people,
Alas! how much remains, of shoal and ocean!”
So ran the common sigh. They crave a city,
They are tired of bearing the vast toil of sailing,
And into their midst came Iris, versed in mischief,
Laying aside her goddess-guise, becoming
Old Beroe, Doryclus’ wife, who sometime
Had children, fame, and lineage. Now Iris,
Resembling her, came down to the Trojan mothers.
“Alas for us!” she cried, “on whom the Greeks
Never laid hands, to drag us down to death
Before our native walls! Unfortunate people,
For what is fortune saving us, what doom,
What dying? It is seven weary summers
Since Troy’s destruction, and still we wander over
All lands, all seas, with rocks and stars forever
Implacable, as we go on pursuing
A land that flees forever over the waters.
Here lived our brother Eryx, here we find
A welcomer, king Acestes; who forbids us
To found the walls, to build our city here?
O fatherland, O household gods in vain
Saved from the Greeks, will there never be any walls
For Troy again? No Simois or Xanthus,
The rivers Hector loved? Come with me, burn
These vessels of ill-omen. Let me tell you,
I have been given warnings; in a dream
I saw Cassandra, she was giving me firebrands,
Here seek your Troy, here is your home, she told me;
It is time for us to act, be quick about it!
Neptune himself, with fire on these four altars,
Provides the method, and the resolution.”

She was the first to seize a brand; she raised it
Above her head, and swung it, streaming and glowing,
And flung it forth. The women, for a moment,
Stood in bewilderment, and one, the oldest,
Named Pyrgo, nurse to Priam’s many children,
Cried out:—“This is no Beroe, I tell you,
Mothers! Look at her flashing eyes, her spirit,
Her stride, her features; every mark of the goddess
Attends her presence. Beroe I myself
Have just now come from; she lies ill and grieving
All by herself, in sorrow for her absence
From reverence for Anchises.”

As they gazed
Doubtfully at the ships, with sullen eyes,
Distracted, torn between a sickly yearning
For present land and rest, and the kingdoms calling
Them fatefully over the sea, the goddess, cleaving
The air on her bright pinions, rose to heaven.
They were shaken then, amazed, and frenzy-driven;
They cried aloud; tore fire from the hearths and altars;
Made tinder of the altar-decorations,
The garlandry and wreaths. And the fire, let loose,
Rioted over thwarts and oars and rigging.

To theatre and tomb Eumelus brought
Word of the ships on fire; and the men could see
The black ash billowing in the smoky cloud,
And first Ascanius, as full of spirit
As when he led the games, rushed to the trouble
As fast as he could ride; no troubled masters
Could hold him back. “Poor things, what are you doing?
What craziness is this? what are you up to?
It is no Greek camp, no enemy you’re burning
But your own hopes! Look at me! Here I am,
Your own Ascanius!” And before their feet
He flung the helmet he had worn when leading
The little war-game. And Aeneas hurried
With others to the troubled camp. The women
Scattered and fled along the shore, in terror
And guilt, wherever they could, to hiding-places
In woods or caves in the rock; they are ashamed
Of daylight and their deed; Juno is shaken
Out of their hearts, and they recognize their own.
That does not stop the fire; it burns in fury
Under wet oak, tow smoulders, and the stubborn
Steam eats the keels away, destruction seizing
On deck and hull, and water can not quench it,
Nor any strength of men. Tearing his garment
Loose from his shoulders, Aeneas prays to heaven:—
“Almighty Jove, if the Trojans are not hateful
To the last man, if any record of goodness
Alleviates human trouble, let our fleet
Escape this flame, O father; save from doom
This little Trojan remnant; or with lightning,
If I deserve it, strike us down forever!”
He had scarcely spoken, when a cloudburst fell
Full force, with darkness and black tempest streaming,
And thunder rumbling over plain and hillock,
The whole sky pouring rain; the ships were drowned
With water from above, the half-burnt timbers
Were soaked, and the hiss of steam died out; four vessels
Were gone, the others rescued from disaster.

And now Aeneas, stunned by the bitter evil,
Was troubled at heart, uncertain, anxious, grieving:
What could be done? forget the call of the fates
And settle here in Sicily, or keep on
To the coast of Italy? An old man, Nautes,
Whom Pallas had instructed in deep wisdom,
Gave him the answer. “Goddess-born, wherever
Fate pulls or hauls us, there we have to follow;
Whatever happens, fortune can be beaten
By nothing but endurance. We have here
A friend, Acestes, Trojan-born, divine
In parentage; make him an ally in counsel,
Partner in enterprise; to him hand over
The ones whose ships are lost, and all the weary,
The sick and tired, the old men, and the mothers
Who have had too much of the sea, and the faint-hearted,
Whose weariness may find a city for them
Here in this land; Acesta, let them call it.”
The old man’s words still troubled him; the mind
Was torn this way and that. Night rode the heavens
In her dark chariot, and there came from the darkness
The image of Anchises, speaking to him
In words of comfort:—“Son, more dear to me
Than life, when life was mine; son, sorely troubled
By Trojan fate, I come at Jove’s command,
Who drove the fire away, and from the heaven
Has taken pity. Obey the words of Nautes,
He gives the best of counsel; the flower of the youth,
The bravest hearts, lead on to Italy.
There will be trouble there, a rugged people
Must be subdued in Latium. Come to meet me,
First, in the lower world; come through Avernus
To find me, son. Tartarus’ evil prison
Of gloomy shades I know not, for I dwell
Among the happy spirits in Elysium.
Black sheep are good for sacrifice. The Sibyl,
A holy guide, will lead the way, foretelling
The race to come, the given walls. Farewell,
My son; the dewy night is almost over,
I feel the breath of the morning’s cruel horses.”
He spoke, and vanished, smoke into airy thinness,
From the cries of his son, who woke, and roused the embers
Of the drowsing altar-fires, with meal and censer
Propitiating Vesta, making worship
To Trojan household gods.

And called Acestes
And the Trojan counsellors, told them of Jove
And his good father’s orders, the decision
He has reached at last. They all agree, Acestes
Accepts the trust. They make a roll for the city,
The women-folk, the people willing to linger,
The unadventurous; and they make ready
The thwarts again, replace the fire-scorched timbers,
Fit out new oars and rigging. There are not many,
But a living company, for war brave-hearted.
Aeneas ploughs the limits for the city,
Sets out new homes, Ilium, again, and Troy,
A kingdom welcome to Acestes, senate
And courts, and laws, established; and a shrine
High on the crest of Eryx, is given Venus,
Near the high stars, and a priest assigned as warden
To the wide boundaries of Anchises’ grove.

Nine days they hold farewells, one tribe together
For the last time, with honor at the altars,
And seas are calm, and winds go down, and the whisper
Of a little breeze calls to the sail; the shore
Hears a great wail arise; they cling to each other
All through the night and day. Even the mothers,
The weary men, to whom the face of the sea
Once seemed so cruel, and its very name
A menacing monster, want to go now, willing
For all the toil of exile. These Aeneas
Comforts with friendly words, and bids Acestes
Be their good brother. Then he slays to Eryx
Three bullocks, and a lamb to the gods of storm-cloud.
It is time to loose the cables. At the bow
He stands, his temples garlanded with olive,
Makes to the sea libation of wine and entrails,
And the wind comes up astern, and they sweep the waters
In happy rivalry.

But meanwhile Venus,
Driven by worry, went to Neptune, pouring
Complaints from a full heart:—“Neptune, the anger
Of Juno, her insatiable vengeance,
Which neither time nor any goodness softens,
Drives me to humble prayer. She never weakens
For Jove’s command, nor the orders of the fates;
It is not enough for her that the Trojan city
Is quite consumed by hatred, and the remnants
Of that poor town harried all over the world
With every kind of punishment; she still follows
Even their bones and ashes. She may know
The reasons for that wrath of hers. Remember
How great a weight of water she stirred up lately
In the Libyan seas, confusing sky and ocean,
With Aeolus conspiring, and in your kingdom!
And now her crime has driven the Trojan mothers
To burn their ships, to give their comrades over
To a coast unknown. Let what is left come safely
Over the sea, to reach Laurentian Tiber,
If what I ask is just, if those are walls
Due them by fate’s decree.”

And Neptune answered:—
“None has a better right to trust my kingdom
Than the goddess born of the sea-foam. And I have earned
This confidence. I have often checked the anger
Of sea and sky. And the rivers of Troy are witness
I have helped on land as well, and saved Aeneas.
When thousands died at Troy, with fierce Achilles
In hot pursuit, and the rivers groaned, and Xanthus
Could hardly find the sea, I formed a cloud
Around Aeneas, when he met Achilles
With the gods adverse, and no great strength to help him
I rescued him, in spite of my own anger
At the perjury of Troy, in spite of my passion
To raze the walls I had built. Now too my purpose
Remains; have done with fear; he will reach in safety
The haven of Avernus; the prayer is granted.
Let one be lost in the flood, one life alone
Be given for the many.”

This comfort given,
To bring the goddess joy, he yoked his horses,
Gold bridle, foaming bit, and sent them flying
With the lightest touch of the reins, skimming the surface
In the bright blue car; and the waves went down, the axle
Subdued the swell of the wave, and storm-clouds melted
To nothing in the sky, and his attendants
Followed along, great whales, and ancient Glaucus,
Palaemon, Ino’s son, and the rushing Tritons,
The army of Phorcus, Melite and Thetis
Watching the left, and the maiden Panopea,
Cymodoce and Thalia and Spio,
So that Aeneas, in his turn, was happy,
Less anxious at heart. The masts are raised, and sail
Stretched from the halyards; right and left they bend
The canvas to fair winds: at the head of the fleet
Rides Palinurus, and the others follow,
As ordered, close behind him; dewy night
Has reached mid-heaven, while the sailors, sleeping,
Relax on the hard benches under the oars,
All calm, all quiet. And the god of Sleep
Parting the shadowy air, comes gently down,
Looking for Palinurus, bringing him,
A guiltless man, ill-omened dreams. He settles
On the high stern, a god disguised as a man,
Speaking in Phorbas’ guise, “O Palinurus,
The fleet rides smoothly in the even weather,
The hour is given for rest. Lay down the head,
Rest the tired eyes from toil. I will take over
A little while.” But Palinurus, barely
Lifting his eyes, made answer: “Trust the waves,
However quiet? trust a peaceful ocean?
Put faith in such a monster? Never! I
Have been too often fooled by the clear stars
To trust Aeneas to their faithless keeping.”
And so he clung to the tiller, never loosed
His hand from the wood, his eyes from the fair heaven.
But lo, the god over his temples shook
A bough that dripped with dew from Lethe, steeped
With Stygian magic, so the swimming eyes,
Against his effort close, blink open, close
Again, and slumber takes the drowsy limbs.
Bending above him, leaning over, the god
Shoves him, still clinging to the tiller, calling
His comrades vainly, into the clear waves.
And the god is gone like a bird to the clear air,
And the fleet is going safely over its journey
As Neptune promised. But the rocks were near,
The Siren-cliffs, most perilous of old,
White with the bones of many mariners,
Loud with their hoarse eternal warning sound.
Aeneas starts from sleep, aware, somehow,
Of a lost pilot, and a vessel drifting,
Himself takes over guidance, with a sigh
And heartache for a friend’s mishap, “Alas,
Too trustful in the calm of sea and sky,
O Palinurus, on an unknown shore,
You will be lying, naked.”