Meanwhile Aeneas, now well launched away, steered forth with all the fleet to open sea, on his unswerving course, and ploughed the waves, sped by a driving gale; but when his eyes looked back on Carthage , they beheld the glare of hapless Dido's fire. Not yet was known what kindled the wild flames; but that the pang of outraged love is cruel, and what the heart of desperate woman dares, they knew too well, and sad foreboding shook each Trojan soul. Soon in mid-sea, beyond all chart of shore, when only seas and skies were round their way, full in the zenith loomed a purple cloud, storm-laden, dark as night, and every wave grew black and angry; from his Iofty seat the helmsman Palinurus cried, “Alas! What means this host of storms encircling heaven? What, Neptune, wilt thou now?” He, having said, bade reef and tighten, bend to stronger stroke, and slant sail to the wind; then spake again: “High-souled Aeneas, not if Jove the King gave happy omen, would I have good hope of making Italy through yonder sky. Athwart our course from clouded evening-star rebellious winds run shifting, and the air into a cloud-wrack rolls. Against such foes too weak our strife and strain! Since now the hand of Fortune triumphs, let us where she calls obedient go. For near us, I believe, lies Eryx ' faithful and fraternal shore: here are Sicilian havens, if my mind of yon familiar stars have knowledge true.” then good Aeneas: “For a friendly wind long have I sued, and watched thee vainly strive. Shift sail! What happier land for me and mine, or for our storm-beat ships what safer shore, than where Dardanian Acestes reigns; the land whose faithful bosom cherishes Anchises' ashes?” Heedful of his word, they landward steer, while favoring zephyrs fill the spreading sail. On currents swift and strong the fleet is wafted, and with thankful soul they moor on Sicily 's familiar strand. From a far hill-top having seen with joy the entering ships, and knowing them for friends, good King Acestes ran to bid them hail. Garbed in rough pelt of Libyan bear was he, and javelins he bore, in sylvan guise: for him the river-god Crimisus sired of Trojan wife. Remembering in his heart his ancient blood, he greeted with glad words the wanderers returned; bade welcome to his rude abundance, and with friendly gifts their weariness consoled. The morrow morn, soon as the new beams of a golden day had banished every star, Aeneas called a council of his followers on the shore, and from a fair green hillock gave this word: “Proud sons of Dardanus, whose lofty line none but the gods began! This day fulfils the annual cycle of revolving time, since the dear relics of my god-like sire to earth we gave, and with dark offerings due built altars sorrowful. If now I err not, this is my day—ye gods have willed it so! — for mourning and for praise. Should it befall me exiled in Gaetulia's wilderness, or sailing some Greek sea, or at the walls of dire Mycenae , still would I renew unfailing vows, and make solemnity with thankful rites, and worshipful array, at altars rich with gifts. But, lo, we come, beyond all hope, where lie the very bones of my great sire. Nor did it come to pass without divine intent and heavenly power, that on these hospitable shores we stand. Up, then! For we will make a festal day, imploring lucky winds! O, may his spirit grant me to build my city, where his shrines forever shall receive perpetual vows made in his name! This prince of Trojan line, Acestes, upon every ship bestows a pair of oxen. To our offerings call the powers that bless the altars and the fires of our ancestral hearth; and join with these the gods of good Acestes. Presently, when the ninth dawn shall bring its beam benign to mortal men, and show the radiant world, or all my Teucrian people I ordain a holiday of games; the flying ships shall first contend; then swiftest runners try a foot-race; after that the champions bold who step forth for a cast of javelins, or boast the soaring arrow; or fear not the boxing-bout, with gauntlet of thick thongs. This summons is for all; let all have hope to earn some noble palm! And from this hour speak but well-boding words, and bind your brows with garlands green.” So saying, he twined a wreath of his own mother's myrtle-tree, to shade his sacred brow; the hero Helymus, and King Acestes for his tresses gray, like coronals took on; Ascanius and all the warrior youth like emblems wore. Then in th' attendant throng conspicuous, with thousands at his side, the hero moved from place of council to his father's tomb. There on the ground he poured libation due, two beakers of good wine, of sweet milk two, two of the victim's blood—and scattered flowers of saddest purple stain, while thus he prayed: “Hail, hallowed sire! And hail, ye ashes dear of him I vainly saved! O soul and shade of my blest father! Heaven to us denied to find together that predestined land of Italy , or our Ausonian stream of Tiber—ah! but where?” He scarce had said, when from the central shrine a gliding snake, coiled seven-fold in seven spirals wide, twined round the tomb and trailed innocuous o'er the very altars; his smooth back was flecked with green and azure, and his changeful scales gleamed golden, as the cloud-born rainbow flings its thousand colors from th' opposing sun. Aeneas breathless watched the serpent wind among the bowls and cups of polished rim, tasting the sacred feast; where, having fed, back to the tomb all harmless it withdrew. Then with new zeal his sacrifice he brings in honor of his sire; for he must deem that serpent the kind genius of the place, or of his very father's present shade some creature ministrant. Two lambs he slew, the wonted way, two swine, and, sable-hued, the yoke of bulls; from shallow bowl he poured libation of the grape, and called aloud on great Anchises' spirit, and his shade, from Acheron set free. Then all the throng, each from his separate store, heap up the shrines with victims slain; some range in order fair the brazen cauldrons; or along the grass, scattered at ease, hold o'er the embers bright the spitted flesh and roast it in the flames. Arrived the wished-for day; through cloudless sky the coursers of the Sun's bright-beaming car bore upward the ninth morn. The neighboring folk thronged eager to the shore; some hoped to see Aeneas and his warriors, others fain would their own prowess prove in bout and game. Conspicuous lie the rewards, ranged in sight in the mid-circus; wreaths of laurel green, the honored tripod, coronals of palm for conquerors' brows, accoutrements of war, rare robes of purple stain, and generous weight of silver and of gold. The trumpet's call proclaimed from lofty mound the opening games. First, side by side, with sturdy, rival oars, four noble galleys, pride of all the fleet, come forward to contend. The straining crew of Mnestheus bring his speedy Pristis on, — Mnestheus in Italy erelong the sire of Memmius' noble line. Brave Gyas guides his vast Chimaera, a colossal craft, a floating city, by a triple row of Dardan sailors manned, whose banks of oars in triple order rise. Sergestus, he of whom the Sergian house shall after spring, rides in his mighty Centaur. Next in line, on sky-blue Scylla proud Cloanthus rides — whence thy great stem, Cluentius of Rome ! Fronting the surf-beat shore, far out at sea rises a rock, which under swollen waves lies buffeted unseen, when wintry storms mantle the stars; but when the deep is calm, lifts silently above the sleeping wave its level field,—a place where haunt and play flocks of the sea-birds, Iovers of the sun. Here was the goal; and here Aeneas set a green-leaved flex-tree, to be a mark for every captain's eye, from whence to veer the courses of their ships in sweeping curves and speed them home. Now places in the line are given by lot. Upon the lofty sterns the captains ride, in beautiful array of Tyriao purple and far-flaming gold; the crews are poplar-crowned, the shoulders bare rubbed well with glittering oil; their straining arms make long reach to the oar, as on the thwarts they sit attentive, listening for the call of the loud trumpet; while with pride and fear their hot hearts throb, impassioned for renown. Soon pealed the signal clear; from all the line instant the galleys bounded, and the air rang to the rowers, shouting, while their arms pulled every inch and flung the waves in foam; deep cut the rival strokes; the surface fair yawned wide beneath their blades and cleaving keels. Not swifter scour the chariots o'er the plain, sped headlong from the line behind their teams of mated coursers, while each driver shakes loose, rippling reins above his plunging pairs, and o'er the lash leans far. With loud applause vociferous and many an urgent cheer the woodlands rang, and all the concave shores back from the mountains took the Trojan cry in answering song. Forth-flying from his peers, while all the crowd acclaims, sped Gyas' keel along the outmost wave. Cloanthus next pushed hard upon, with stronger stroke of oars but heavier ship. At equal pace behind the Pristis and the Centaur fiercely strive for the third place. Now Pristis seems to lead, now mightier Centaur past her flies, then both ride on together, prow with prow, and cleave long lines of foaming furrow with swift keels. Soon near the rock they drew, and either ship was making goal,—when Gyas, in the lead, and winner of the half-course, Ioudly hailed menoetes, the ship's pilot: “Why so far to starboard, we? Keep her head round this way! Hug shore! Let every oar-blade almost graze that reef to larboard! Let the others take the deep-sea course outside!” But while he spoke, Menoetes, dreading unknown rocks below, veered off to open sea. “Why steer so wide? Round to the rock, Menoetes!” Gyas roared, — again in vain, for looking back he saw cloanthus hard astern, and ever nearer, who, in a trice, betwixt the booming reef and Gyas' galley, lightly forward thrust the beak of Scylla to the inside course, and, quickly taking lead, flew past the goal to the smooth seas beyond. Then wrathful grief flamed in the warrior's heart, nor was his cheek unwet with tears; and, reckless utterly of his own honor and his comrades, lives, he hurled poor, slack Menoetes from the poop headlong upon the waters, while himself, pilot and master both, the helm assuming, urged on his crew, and landward took his way. But now, with heavy limbs that hardly won his rescue from the deep, engulfing wave, up the rude rock graybeard Menoetes climbed with garment dripping wet, and there dropped down upon the cliff's dry top. With laughter loud the Trojan crews had watched him plunging, swimming, and now to see his drink of bitter brine spewed on the ground, the sailors laughed again.