But Mnestheus and Sergestus, coming last,have joyful hope enkindled in each heartto pass the laggard Gyas. In the leadSergestus' ship shoots forth; and to the rockruns boldly nigh; but not his whole long keelmay pass his rival; the projecting beakis 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 chosefor followers! Now stand ye to your best!Put forth the thews of valor that ye showedin the Gaetulian Syrtes, or that seaIonian, or where the waves race bythe Malean promontory! Mnestheus nowhopes not to be the first, nor do I strivefor victory. O Father Neptune, givethat garland where thou wilt! But O, the shameif we are last! Endure it not, my men!The infamy refuse!” So, bending low,they enter the home-stretch. Beneath their strokethe brass-decked galley throbs, and under herthe sea-floor drops away. On, on they fly!Parched are the panting lips, and sweat in streamspours down their giant sides; but lucky chancebrought the proud heroes what their honor craved.For while Sergestus furiously drovehis ship's beak toward the rock, and kept insidethe scanty passage, by his evil starhe grounded on the jutting reef; the cliffsrang with the blow, and his entangled oarsgrated along the jagged granite, whilethe prow hung wrecked and helpless. With loud cryupsprang 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 strifeby happy fortune, with a quicker strokeof each bright rank of oars, and with the breezehis prayer implored, skims o'er the obedient waveand sweeps the level main. Not otherwisea startled dove, emerging o'er the fieldsfrom secret cavern in the crannied hillwhere her safe house and pretty nestlings lie,soars from her nest, with whirring wings—but soonthrough the still sky she takes her path of airon pinions motionless. So Pristis spedwith Mnestheus, cleaving her last stretch of sea,by her own impulse wafted. She outstrippedSergestus first; for he upon the reeffought with the breakers, desperately shoutingfor help, for help in vain, with broken oarscontriving to move on. Then Mnestheus ranpast Gyas, in Chimaera's ponderous hulk,of pilot now bereft; at last remainsCloanthus his sole peer, whom he pursueswith a supreme endeavor. From the shoreburst echoing cheers that spur him to the chase,and wild applause makes all the welkin ring.The leaders now with eager souls would scornto Iose their glory, and faint-hearted failto grasp a prize half-won, but fain would buyhonor with life itself; the followers tooare flushed with proud success, and feel them strongbecause their strength is proven. Both ships nowwith indistinguishable prows had spedto share one prize,—but with uplifted handsspread o'er the sea, Cloanthus, suppliant,called on the gods to bless his votive prayer:“Ye gods who rule the waves, whose waters bemy pathway now; for you on yonder stranda white bull at the altar shall be slainin grateful tribute for a granted vow;and o'er the salt waves I will scatter farthe entrails, and outpour the flowing wine.”He spoke; and from the caverns under seaPhorcus and virgin Panopea heard,and all the sea-nymphs' choir; while with strong handthe kindly God of Havens rose and thrustthe gliding ship along, that swifter flewthan 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 proclaimedCloanthus victor, and arrayed his browswith the green laurel-garland; to the crewsthree bulls, at choice, were given, and plenteous wineand talent-weight of silver; to the chiefsillustrious gifts beside; the victor hada gold-embroidered mantle with wide bandof undulant Meliboean purple rare,where, pictured in the woof, young Ganymedethrough Ida's forest chased the light-foot deerwith javelin; all flushed and panting he.But lo! Jove's thunder-bearing eagle fell,and his strong talons snatched from Ida farthe royal boy, whose aged servitorsreached helpless hands to heaven; his faithful houndbayed fiercely at the air. To him whose worththe second place had won, Aeneas gavea smooth-linked golden corselet, triple-chained,of which his own victorious hand despoiledDemoleos, by the swift, embattled streamof Simois, under Troy,—and bade it bea 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 dressedcharged down full speed on routed hosts of Troy.The third gift was two cauldrons of wrought brass,and bowls of beaten silver, cunninglyembossed with sculpture fair. Bearing such gifts,th' exultant victors onward moved, each browbound with a purple fillet. But behold!Sergestus, from the grim rock just dragged offby cunning toil, one halting rank of oarsleft of his many lost, comes crawling inwith vanquished ship, a mockery to all.As when a serpent, on the highway caught,some brazen wheel has crushed, or travellerwith heavy-smiting blow left half aliveand mangled by a stone; in vain he movesin writhing flight; a part is lifted highwith hissing throat and angry, glittering eyes;but by the wounded part a captive stillhe knots him fold on fold: with such a trackthe maimed ship labored slow; but by her sailsshe still made way, and with full canvas onarrived at land. Aeneas then bestoweda boon upon Sergestus, as was meetfor reward of the ship in safety broughtwith 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 roundwith clasp of wood-clad hills, wherein was madean amphitheatre; entering with a throngof followers, the hero took his seatin 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 camethe comrades Nisus and Euryalus,Euryalus for beauty's bloom renowned,Nisus for loyal love; close-following theseDiores strode, a prince of Priam's line;then Salius and Patron, who were bredin Acarnania and Arcady;then two Sicilian warriors, Helymusand Panopes, both sylvan bred and born,comrades of King Acestes; after thesethe 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 departswith empty hand. The Cretan javelinsbright-tipped with burnished steel, and battle-axeadorned with graven silver, these shall bethe meed of all. The three first at the goalshall 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 goesa baldrick broad and golden,—in its claspa lustrous gem. The third man goes awaytaking this helmet from the Argive spoil.”

They heard, and took their places. The loud horngave signal, and impetuous from the line,swift as a bursting storm they sped away,eyes fixed upon the goal. Far in advanceNisus shot forward, swifter than the windsor winged thunderbolt; the next in course,next, but out-rivalled far, was Salius,and after him a space, Euryaluscame third; him Helymus was hard upon;and, look! Diores follows, heel on heel,close at his shoulder—if the race be longhe sure must win, or claim a doubtful prize.Now at the last stretch, spent and panting, allpressed to the goal, when in a slime of bloodNisus, hard fate! slipped down, where late the deathof victims slain had drenched the turf below.Here the young victor, with his triumph flushed,lost foothold on the yielding ground, and plungedface forward in the pool of filth and gore;but not of dear Euryalus was heforgetful then, nor heedless of his friend;but rising from the mire he hurled himselfin Salius' way; so he in equal plightrolled in the filthy slough. Euryalusleaped forth, the winner of the race by giftof his true friend, and flying to the goalstood first, by many a favoring shout acclaimed.Next Helymus ran in; and, for the third, last prize,Diores. But the multitude now heardthe hollowed hill-side ringing with wild wrathfrom Salius, clamoring where the chieftains satefor restitution of his stolen prize,lost by a cheat. But general favor smilesupon Euryalus, whose beauteous tearscommend him much, and nobler seems the worthof 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 firstto Salius fall. Aeneas then replied:“Your gifts, my gallant youths, remain secure.None can re-judge the prize. But to consolethe misadventure of a blameless friend,is in my power.” Therewith to Saliusan Afric lion's monstrous pelt he gave,with ponderous mane, the claws o'erlaid with gold.But Nisus cried: “If such a gift be foundfor less than victory, and men who fallare worthy so much sorrow, pray, what prizeshall Nisus have? For surely I had wonthe proudest of the garlands, if one strokeof inauspicious fortune had not fallenon Salius and me.” So saying, he showedhis smeared face and his sorry limbs befouledwith mire and slime. Then laughed the gracious sire,and bade a shield be brought, the cunning workof Didymaon, which the Greeks tore downfrom Neptune's temple; with this noble gifthe sent the high-born youth upon his way.

The foot-race over and the gifts disbursed,“Come forth!” he cries, “if any in his hearthave strength and valor, let him now pull onthe gauntlets and uplift his thong-bound armsin challenge.” For the reward of this fighta two-fold gift he showed: the victor's meed,a bullock decked and gilded; but a swordand glittering helmet to console the fallen.Straightway, in all his pride of giant strength,Dares Ioomed up, and wondering murmurs ranalong the gazing crowd; for he alonewas wont to match with Paris, he it wasmet Butes, the huge-bodied championboasting 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 throngnot one puts on the gauntlets, or would facethe hero's challenge. Therefore, striding forth,believing none now dare but yield the palm,he stood before Aeneas, and straightwayseized with his left hand the bull's golden horn,and cried, “O goddess-born, if no man daresto 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 allmurmured assent, and bade the due awardof promised gift. But with a brow severeAcestes to Entellus at his sideaddressed upbraiding words, where they reclinedon grassy bank and couch of pleasant green:“O my Entellus, in the olden daysbravest among the mighty, but in vain!Endurest thou to see yon reward wonwithout a blow? Where, prithee, is that godwho taught thee? Are thy tales of Eryx vain?Does all Sicilia praise thee? Is thy roofwith trophies hung?” The other in reply:“My jealous honor and good name yield notto fear. But age, so cold and slow to move,makes my blood laggard, and my ebbing powersin 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 askthe fair bull for a prize, nor to the listsin search of gifts come forth.” So saying, he threwinto the mid-arena a vast pairof ponderous gauntlets, which in former daysfierce Eryx for his fights was wont to bindon hand and arm, with the stiff raw-hide thong.All marvelled; for a weight of seven bulls' hideswas pieced with lead and iron. Dares staredastonished, 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 armsof Hercules, and what his gauntlets were!Would thou hadst seen the conflict terribleupon this self-same shore! These arms were borneby Eryx. Look; thy brother's!—spattered yetwith blood, with dashed-out brains! In these he stoodwhen he matched Hercules. I wore them oftwhen in my pride and prime, ere envious ageshed frost upon my brows. But if these armsbe of our Trojan Dares disapproved,if good Aeneas rules it so, and KingAcestes wills it, let us offer fighton even terms. Let Eryx' bull's-hide go.Tremble no more! But strip those gauntlets off —fetched here from Troy.” So saying, he dropped downthe 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 pairsof gauntlets, and accoutred with like armsboth champions. Each lifted him full heighton tiptoe; each with mien unterrifiedheld both fists high in air, and drew his headfar back from blows assailing. Then they joinedin struggle hand to hand, and made the frayeach moment fiercer. One was light of footand on his youth relied; the other strongin bulk of every limb, but totteringon sluggish knees, while all his body shookwith labor of his breath. Without availthey rained their blows, and on each hollow side,each sounding chest, the swift, reverberate strokesfell without pause; around their ears and browscame blow on blow, and with relentless shocksthe smitten jaws cracked loud. Entellus standsunshaken, and, the self-same posture keeping,only by body-movement or quick eyeparries attack. Dares (like one in siegeagainst a mountain-citadel, who now will drivewith ram and engine at the craggy wall,now wait in full-armed watch beneath its towers)tries manifold approach, most craftilyinvests each point of vantage, and renewshis unsuccessful, ever various war.Then, rising to the stroke, Entellus poisedaloft his ponderous right; but, quick of eye,the other the descending wrath foresawand nimbly slipped away; Entellus sowasted his stroke on air, and, self-o'erthrown,dropped prone to earth his monstrous length along,as when on Erymanth or Ida fallsa hollowed pine from giant roots uptorn.Alike the Teucrian and Trinacrian throngshout wildly; while Acestes, pitying, hastesto lift his gray companion. But, unchecked,undaunted by his fall, the champion braverushed fiercer to the fight, his strength now rousedby rage, while shame and courage confidentkindle his soul; impetuous he drivesDares full speed all round the ring, with blowsredoubled right and left. No stop or staygives he, but like a storm of rattling hailupon a house-top, so from each huge handthe champion's strokes on dizzy Dares fall.