But Mnestheus and Sergestus, coming last, have joyful hope enkindled in each heart to pass the laggard Gyas. In the lead Sergestus' ship shoots forth; and to the rock runs boldly nigh; but not his whole long keel may pass his rival; the projecting beak is followed fast by Pristis' emulous prow. Then, striding straight amidships through his crew, thus Mnestheus urged them on: “O Hector's friends! Whom in the dying hours of Troy I chose for followers! Now stand ye to your best! Put forth the thews of valor that ye showed in the Gaetulian Syrtes, or that sea Ionian, or where the waves race by the Malean promontory! Mnestheus now hopes not to be the first, nor do I strive for victory. O Father Neptune, give that garland where thou wilt! But O, the shame if we are last! Endure it not, my men! The infamy refuse!” So, bending low, they enter the home-stretch. Beneath their stroke the brass-decked galley throbs, and under her the sea-floor drops away. On, on they fly! Parched are the panting lips, and sweat in streams pours down their giant sides; but lucky chance brought the proud heroes what their honor craved. For while Sergestus furiously drove his ship's beak toward the rock, and kept inside the scanty passage, by his evil star he grounded on the jutting reef; the cliffs rang with the blow, and his entangled oars grated along the jagged granite, while the prow hung wrecked and helpless. With loud cry upsprang the sailors, while the ship stood still, and pushed off with long poles and pointed iron, or snatched the smashed oars from the whirling tide. Mnestheus exults; and, roused to keener strife by happy fortune, with a quicker stroke of each bright rank of oars, and with the breeze his prayer implored, skims o'er the obedient wave and sweeps the level main. Not otherwise a startled dove, emerging o'er the fields from secret cavern in the crannied hill where her safe house and pretty nestlings lie, soars from her nest, with whirring wings—but soon through the still sky she takes her path of air on pinions motionless. So Pristis sped with Mnestheus, cleaving her last stretch of sea, by her own impulse wafted. She outstripped Sergestus first; for he upon the reef fought with the breakers, desperately shouting for help, for help in vain, with broken oars contriving to move on. Then Mnestheus ran past Gyas, in Chimaera's ponderous hulk, of pilot now bereft; at last remains Cloanthus his sole peer, whom he pursues with a supreme endeavor. From the shore burst echoing cheers that spur him to the chase, and wild applause makes all the welkin ring. The leaders now with eager souls would scorn to Iose their glory, and faint-hearted fail to grasp a prize half-won, but fain would buy honor with life itself; the followers too are flushed with proud success, and feel them strong because their strength is proven. Both ships now with indistinguishable prows had sped to share one prize,—but with uplifted hands spread o'er the sea, Cloanthus, suppliant, called on the gods to bless his votive prayer: “Ye gods who rule the waves, whose waters be my pathway now; for you on yonder strand a white bull at the altar shall be slain in grateful tribute for a granted vow; and o'er the salt waves I will scatter far the entrails, and outpour the flowing wine.” He spoke; and from the caverns under sea Phorcus and virgin Panopea heard, and all the sea-nymphs' choir; while with strong hand the kindly God of Havens rose and thrust the gliding ship along, that swifter flew than south wind, or an arrow from the string, and soon made land in haven safe and sure. Aeneas then, assembling all to hear, by a far-sounding herald's voice proclaimed Cloanthus victor, and arrayed his brows with the green laurel-garland; to the crews three bulls, at choice, were given, and plenteous wine and talent-weight of silver; to the chiefs illustrious gifts beside; the victor had a gold-embroidered mantle with wide band of undulant Meliboean purple rare, where, pictured in the woof, young Ganymede through Ida's forest chased the light-foot deer with javelin; all flushed and panting he. But lo! Jove's thunder-bearing eagle fell, and his strong talons snatched from Ida far the royal boy, whose aged servitors reached helpless hands to heaven; his faithful hound bayed fiercely at the air. To him whose worth the second place had won, Aeneas gave a smooth-linked golden corselet, triple-chained, of which his own victorious hand despoiled Demoleos, by the swift, embattled stream of Simois, under Troy ,—and bade it be a glory and defence on valor's field; scarce might the straining shoulders of two slaves, Phegeus and Sagaris, the load endure, yet oft Demoleos in this armor dressed charged down full speed on routed hosts of Troy . The third gift was two cauldrons of wrought brass, and bowls of beaten silver, cunningly embossed with sculpture fair. Bearing such gifts, th' exultant victors onward moved, each brow bound with a purple fillet. But behold! Sergestus, from the grim rock just dragged off by cunning toil, one halting rank of oars left of his many lost, comes crawling in with vanquished ship, a mockery to all. As when a serpent, on the highway caught, some brazen wheel has crushed, or traveller with heavy-smiting blow left half alive and mangled by a stone; in vain he moves in writhing flight; a part is lifted high with hissing throat and angry, glittering eyes; but by the wounded part a captive still he knots him fold on fold: with such a track the maimed ship labored slow; but by her sails she still made way, and with full canvas on arrived at land. Aeneas then bestowed a boon upon Sergestus, as was meet for reward of the ship in safety brought with all its men; a fair slave was the prize, the Cretan Pholoe, well taught to weave, and twin boy-babes upon her breast she bore. Then good Aeneas, the ship-contest o'er, turned to a wide green valley, circled round with clasp of wood-clad hills, wherein was made an amphitheatre; entering with a throng of followers, the hero took his seat in mid-arena on a lofty mound. For the fleet foot-race, now, his summons flies, — he offers gifts, and shows the rewards due. The mingling youth of Troy and Sicily 
 hastened from far. Among the foremost came the comrades Nisus and Euryalus, Euryalus for beauty's bloom renowned, Nisus for loyal love; close-following these Diores strode, a prince of Priam's line; then Salius and Patron, who were bred in Acarnania and Arcady; then two Sicilian warriors, Helymus and Panopes, both sylvan bred and born, comrades of King Acestes; after these the multitude whom Fame forgets to tell. Aeneas, so surrounded, thus spake forth: “Hear what I purpose, and with joy receive! of all your company, not one departs with empty hand. The Cretan javelins bright-tipped with burnished steel, and battle-axe adorned with graven silver, these shall be the meed of all. The three first at the goal shall bind their foreheads with fair olive green, and win the rewards due. The first shall lead, victorious, yon rich-bridled steed away; this Amazonian quiver, the next prize, well-stocked with Thracian arrows; round it goes a baldrick broad and golden,—in its clasp a lustrous gem. The third man goes away taking this helmet from the Argive spoil.” They heard, and took their places. The loud horn gave signal, and impetuous from the line, swift as a bursting storm they sped away, eyes fixed upon the goal. Far in advance Nisus shot forward, swifter than the winds or winged thunderbolt; the next in course, next, but out-rivalled far, was Salius, 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.