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 eyeslooked back on Carthage, they beheld the glareof hapless Dido's fire. Not yet was knownwhat kindled the wild flames; but that the pangof outraged love is cruel, and what the heartof 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 wavegrew black and angry; from his Iofty seatthe 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 Kinggave happy omen, would I have good hopeof making Italy through yonder sky.Athwart our course from clouded evening-starrebellious winds run shifting, and the airinto a cloud-wrack rolls. Against such foestoo weak our strife and strain! Since now the handof Fortune triumphs, let us where she callsobedient go. For near us, I believe,lies Eryx' faithful and fraternal shore:here are Sicilian havens, if my mindof yon familiar stars have knowledge true.”then good Aeneas: “For a friendly windlong 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 cherishesAnchises' ashes?” Heedful of his word,they landward steer, while favoring zephyrs fillthe spreading sail. On currents swift and strongthe fleet is wafted, and with thankful soulthey moor on Sicily's familiar strand.

From a far hill-top having seen with joythe 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 siredof Trojan wife. Remembering in his hearthis ancient blood, he greeted with glad wordsthe wanderers returned; bade welcome tohis rude abundance, and with friendly giftstheir weariness consoled. The morrow morn,soon as the new beams of a golden dayhad banished every star, Aeneas calleda council of his followers on the shore,and from a fair green hillock gave this word:“Proud sons of Dardanus, whose lofty linenone but the gods began! This day fulfilsthe annual cycle of revolving time,since the dear relics of my god-like sireto earth we gave, and with dark offerings duebuilt altars sorrowful. If now I err not,this is my day—ye gods have willed it so! —for mourning and for praise. Should it befallme exiled in Gaetulia's wilderness,or sailing some Greek sea, or at the wallsof dire Mycenae, still would I renewunfailing vows, and make solemnitywith thankful rites, and worshipful array,at altars rich with gifts. But, lo, we come,beyond all hope, where lie the very bonesof my great sire. Nor did it come to passwithout 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 spiritgrant me to build my city, where his shrinesforever shall receive perpetual vowsmade in his name! This prince of Trojan line,Acestes, upon every ship bestowsa pair of oxen. To our offerings callthe powers that bless the altars and the firesof our ancestral hearth; and join with thesethe gods of good Acestes. Presently,when the ninth dawn shall bring its beam benignto mortal men, and show the radiant world,or all my Teucrian people I ordaina holiday of games; the flying shipsshall first contend; then swiftest runners trya foot-race; after that the champions boldwho step forth for a cast of javelins,or boast the soaring arrow; or fear notthe boxing-bout, with gauntlet of thick thongs.This summons is for all; let all have hopeto earn some noble palm! And from this hourspeak but well-boding words, and bind your browswith garlands green.” So saying, he twined a wreathof his own mother's myrtle-tree, to shadehis sacred brow; the hero Helymus,and King Acestes for his tresses gray,like coronals took on; Ascaniusand all the warrior youth like emblems wore.Then in th' attendant throng conspicuous,with thousands at his side, the hero movedfrom 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 flowersof saddest purple stain, while thus he prayed:“Hail, hallowed sire! And hail, ye ashes dearof him I vainly saved! O soul and shadeof my blest father! Heaven to us deniedto find together that predestined landof Italy, or our Ausonian streamof 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'erthe very altars; his smooth back was fleckedwith green and azure, and his changeful scalesgleamed golden, as the cloud-born rainbow flingsits thousand colors from th' opposing sun.Aeneas breathless watched the serpent windamong 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 bringsin honor of his sire; for he must deemthat serpent the kind genius of the place,or of his very father's present shadesome creature ministrant. Two lambs he slew,the wonted way, two swine, and, sable-hued,the yoke of bulls; from shallow bowl he pouredlibation of the grape, and called aloudon great Anchises' spirit, and his shade,from Acheron set free. Then all the throng,each from his separate store, heap up the shrineswith victims slain; some range in order fairthe brazen cauldrons; or along the grass,scattered at ease, hold o'er the embers brightthe spitted flesh and roast it in the flames.

Arrived the wished-for day; through cloudless skythe coursers of the Sun's bright-beaming carbore upward the ninth morn. The neighboring folkthronged eager to the shore; some hoped to seeAeneas and his warriors, others fainwould their own prowess prove in bout and game.Conspicuous lie the rewards, ranged in sightin the mid-circus; wreaths of laurel green,the honored tripod, coronals of palmfor conquerors' brows, accoutrements of war,rare robes of purple stain, and generous weightof silver and of gold. The trumpet's callproclaimed 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 crewof Mnestheus bring his speedy Pristis on, —Mnestheus in Italy erelong the sireof Memmius' noble line. Brave Gyas guideshis vast Chimaera, a colossal craft,a floating city, by a triple rowof Dardan sailors manned, whose banks of oarsin triple order rise. Sergestus, heof 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 searises a rock, which under swollen waveslies buffeted unseen, when wintry stormsmantle the stars; but when the deep is calm,lifts silently above the sleeping waveits level field,—a place where haunt and playflocks of the sea-birds, Iovers of the sun.Here was the goal; and here Aeneas seta green-leaved flex-tree, to be a markfor every captain's eye, from whence to veerthe courses of their ships in sweeping curvesand speed them home. Now places in the lineare given by lot. Upon the lofty sternsthe captains ride, in beautiful arrayof Tyriao purple and far-flaming gold;the crews are poplar-crowned, the shoulders barerubbed well with glittering oil; their straining armsmake long reach to the oar, as on the thwartsthey sit attentive, listening for the callof the loud trumpet; while with pride and feartheir hot hearts throb, impassioned for renown.Soon pealed the signal clear; from all the lineinstant the galleys bounded, and the airrang to the rowers, shouting, while their armspulled every inch and flung the waves in foam;deep cut the rival strokes; the surface fairyawned wide beneath their blades and cleaving keels.Not swifter scour the chariots o'er the plain,sped headlong from the line behind their teamsof mated coursers, while each driver shakesloose, rippling reins above his plunging pairs,and o'er the lash leans far. With loud applausevociferous and many an urgent cheerthe woodlands rang, and all the concave shoresback from the mountains took the Trojan cryin answering song. Forth-flying from his peers,while all the crowd acclaims, sped Gyas' keelalong the outmost wave. Cloanthus nextpushed hard upon, with stronger stroke of oarsbut heavier ship. At equal pace behindthe Pristis and the Centaur fiercely strivefor the third place. Now Pristis seems to lead,now mightier Centaur past her flies, then bothride on together, prow with prow, and cleavelong lines of foaming furrow with swift keels.Soon near the rock they drew, and either shipwas making goal,—when Gyas, in the lead, and winner of the half-course, Ioudly hailedmenoetes, the ship's pilot: “Why so farto starboard, we? Keep her head round this way!Hug shore! Let every oar-blade almost grazethat reef to larboard! Let the others takethe 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 sawcloanthus hard astern, and ever nearer,who, in a trice, betwixt the booming reefand Gyas' galley, lightly forward thrustthe beak of Scylla to the inside course,and, quickly taking lead, flew past the goalto the smooth seas beyond. Then wrathful griefflamed in the warrior's heart, nor was his cheekunwet with tears; and, reckless utterlyof his own honor and his comrades, lives,he hurled poor, slack Menoetes from the poopheadlong 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 wonhis rescue from the deep, engulfing wave,up the rude rock graybeard Menoetes climbedwith garment dripping wet, and there dropped downupon the cliff's dry top. With laughter loudthe Trojan crews had watched him plunging, swimming,and now to see his drink of bitter brinespewed on the ground, the sailors laughed again.