Then Sire Aeneas willed to make a stay to so much rage, nor let Entellus' soul flame beyond bound, but bade the battle pause, and, rescuing weary Dares, thus he spoke in soothing words: “Ill-starred! What mad attempt is in thy mind? Will not thy heart confess thy strength surpassed, and auspices averse? Submit, for Heaven decrees!” With such wise words he sundered the fell strife. But trusty friends bore Dares off: his spent limbs helpless trailed, his head he could not lift, and from his lips came blood and broken teeth. So to the ship they bore him, taking, at Aeneas' word, the helmet and the sword—but left behind Entellus' prize of victory, the bull. He, then, elate and glorying, spoke forth: “See, goddess-born, and all ye Teucrians, see, what strength was mine in youth, and from what death ye have clelivered Dares.” Saying so, he turned him full front to the bull, who stood for reward of the fight, and, drawing back his right hand, poising the dread gauntlet high, swung sheer between the horns and crushed the skull; a trembling, lifeless creature, to the ground the bull dropped forward dead. Above the fallen Entellus cried aloud, “This victim due I give thee, Eryx , more acceptable than Dares' death to thy benignant shade. For this last victory and joyful day, my gauntlets and my art I leave with thee.” Forthwith Aeneas summons all who will to contest of swift arrows, and displays reward and prize. With mighty hand he rears a mast within th' arena, from the ship of good Sergestus taken; and thereto a fluttering dove by winding cord is bound for target of their shafts. Soon to the match the rival bowmen came and cast the lots into a brazen helmet. First came forth Hippocoon's number, son of Hyrtacus, by cheers applauded; Mnestheus was the next, late victor in the ship-race, Mnestheus crowned with olive-garland; next Eurytion, brother of thee, O bowman most renowned, Pandarus, breaker of the truce, who hurled his shaft upon the Achaeans, at the word the goddess gave. Acestes' Iot and name came from the helmet last, whose royal hand the deeds of youth dared even yet to try. Each then with strong arm bends his pliant bow, each from the quiver plucks a chosen shaft. First, with loud arrow whizzing from the string, the young Hippocoon with skyward aim cuts through the yielding air; and lo! his barb pierces the very wood, and makes the mast tremble; while with a fluttering, frighted wing the bird tugs hard,—and plaudits fill the sky. Boldly rose Mnestheus, and with bow full-drawn aimed both his eye and shaft aloft; but he failing, unhappy man, to bring his barb up to the dove herself, just cut the cord and broke the hempen bond, whereby her feet were captive to the tree: she, taking flight, clove through the shadowing clouds her path of air. But swiftly—for upon his waiting bow he held a shaft in rest—Eurytion invoked his brother's shade, and, marking well the dove, whose happy pinions fluttered free in vacant sky, pierced her, hard by a cloud; lifeless she fell, and left in light of heaven her spark of life, as, floating down, she bore the arrow back to earth. Acestes now remained, last rival, though the victor's palm to him was Iost; yet did the aged sire, to show his prowess and resounding bow, hurl forth one shaft in air; then suddenly all eyes beheld such wonder as portends events to be (but when fulfilment came, too late the fearful seers its warning sung): for, soaring through the stream of cloud, his shaft took fire, tracing its bright path in flame, then vanished on the wind,—as oft a star will fall unfastened from the firmament, while far behind its blazing tresses flow. Awe-struck both Trojan and Trinacrian stood, calling upon the gods. Nor came the sign in vain to great Aeneas. But his arms folded the blest Acestes to his heart, and, Ioading him with noble gifts, he cried: “Receive them, sire! The great Olympian King some peerless honor to thy name decrees by such an omen given. I offer thee this bowl with figures graven, which my sire, good gray Anchises, for proud gift received of Thracian Cisseus, for their friendship's pledge and memory evermore.” Thereon he crowned his brows with garland of the laurel green, and named Acestes victor over all. Nor could Eurytion, noble youth, think ill of honor which his own surpassed, though he, he only, pierced the bird in upper air. Next gift was his whose arrow cut the cord; last, his whose light shaft clove the lofty pine. Father Aeneas now, not making end of game and contest, summoned to his side Epytides, the mentor and true friend of young Iulus, and this bidding gave to his obedient ear: “Arise and go where my Ascanius has lined his troop of youthful cavalry, and trained the steeds to tread in ranks of war. Bid him lead forth the squadron in our sire Anchises' name, and wear a hero's arms!” So saying, he bade the course be cleared, and from the whole wide field th' insurging, curious multitude withdrew. In rode the boys, to meet their parents' eyes, in even lines, a glittering cavalry; while all Trinacria and the host from Troy 
 made loud applause. On each bright brow a well-trimmed wreath the flowing tresses bound; two javelins of corner tipped with steel each bore for arms; some from the shoulder slung a polished quiver; to each bosom fell a pliant necklace of fine, twisted gold. Three bands of horsemen ride, three captains proud prance here and there, assiduous in command, each of his twelve, who shine in parted lines which lesser captains lead. One cohort proud follows a little Priam's royal name — one day, Polites, thy illustrious race through him prolonged, shall greater glory bring to Italy . A dappled Thracian steed with snow-white spots and fore-feet white as snow bears him along, its white face lifted high. Next Atys rode, young Atys, sire to be of th' Atian house in Rome , a boy most dear unto the boy Iulus; last in line, and fairest of the throng, Iulus came, astride a steed from Sidon , the fond gift of beauteous Dido and her pledge of love. Close followed him the youthful chivalry of King Acestes on Trinacrian steeds. The Trojans, with exultant, Ioud acclaim, receive the shy-faced boys, and joyfully trace in the features of the sons their sires. After, with smiling eyes, the horsemen proud have greeted each his kin in all the throng, Epytides th' appointed signal calls, and cracks his lash; in even lines they move, then, Ioosely sundering in triple band, wheel at a word and thrust their lances forth in hostile ranks; or on the ample field retreat or charge, in figure intricate of circling troop with troop, and swift parade of simulated war; now from the field they flee with backs defenceless to the foe; then rally, lance in rest—or, mingling all, make common front, one legion strong and fair. As once in Crete , the lofty mountain-isle, that-fabled labyrinthine gallery wound on through lightless walls, with thousand paths which baffled every clue, and led astray in unreturning mazes dark and blind: so did the sons of Troy their courses weave in mimic flights and battles fought for play, like dolphins tumbling in the liquid waves, along the Afric or Carpathian seas. This game and mode of march Ascanius, when Alba Longa 's bastions proudly rose, taught to the Latin people of the prime; and as the princely Trojan and his train were wont to do, so Alba to her sons the custom gave; so glorious Rome at last the heritage accepted and revered; and still we know them for the “Trojan Band,” and call the lads a “ Troy .” Such was the end of game and contest at Anchises' grave. Then fortune veered and different aspect wore. For 'ere the sacred funeral games are done, Saturnian Juno from high heaven sent down the light-winged Iris to the ships of Troy , giving her flight good wind—still full of schemes and hungering to avenge her ancient wrong. Unseen of mortal eye, the virgin took her pathway on the thousand-colored bow, and o'er its gliding passage earthward flew. She scanned the vast assemblage; then her gaze turned shoreward, where along the idle bay the Trojan galleys quite unpeopled rode. But far removed, upon a lonely shore, a throng of Trojan dames bewailed aloud their lost Anchises, and with tears surveyed the mighty deep. “O weary waste of seas! What vast, untravelled floods beyond us roll!” So cried they with one voice, and prayed the gods for an abiding city; every heart loathed utterly the long, laborious sea. Then in their midst alighted, not unskilled in working woe, the goddess; though she wore nor garb nor form divine, but made herself one Beroe , Doryclus' aged wife, who in her happier days had lineage fair and sons of noble name; in such disguise she called the Trojan dames: “O ye ill-starred, that were not seized and slain by Grecian foes under your native walls! O tribe accursed, what death is Fate preparing? Since Troy fell the seventh summer flies, while still we rove o'er cruel rocks and seas, from star to star, from alien land to land, as evermore we chase, storm-tossed, that fleeting Italy 
 across the waters wide. Behold this land of Eryx , of Acestes, friend and kin; what hinders them to raise a rampart here and build a town? O city of our sires! O venerated gods from haughty foes rescued in vain! Will nevermore a wall rise in the name of Troy ? Shall I not see a Xanthus or a Simois, the streams to Hector dear? Come now! I lead the way. Let us go touch their baneful ships with fire! I saw Cassandra in a dream. Her shade, prophetic ever, gave me firebrands, and cried, ‘Find Ilium so! The home for thee is where thou art.’ Behold, the hour is ripe for our great act! No longer now delay to heed the heavenly omen. Yonder stand four altars unto Neptune. 'T is the god, the god himself, gives courage for the deed, and swift-enkindling fire.” So having said, she seized a dreadful brand; then, lifting high, waved it all flaming, and with furious arm hurled it from far. The Ilian matrons gazed, bewildered and appalled. But one, of all the eldest, Pyrgo, venerated nurse of Priam's numerous sons, exclaimed, “Nay, nay! This is no Beroe , my noble dames. Doryclus knew her not. Behold and see her heavenly beauty and her radiant eyes! What voice of music and majestic mien, what movement like a god! Myself am come from Beroe sick, and left her grieving sore that she, she only, had no gift to bring of mournful honor to Anchises' shade.” She spoke. The women with ill-boding eyes looked on the ships. Their doubting hearts were torn 'twixt tearful passion for the beauteous isle their feet then trod, and that prophetic call of Fate to lands unknown. Then on wide wings soared Iris into heaven, and through the clouds clove a vast arch of light. With wonder dazed, the women in a shrieking frenzy rose, took embers from the hearth-stones, stole the fires upon the altars—faggots, branches, brands — and rained them on the ships. The god of fire, through thwarts and oars and bows of painted fir, ran in unbridled flame. Swift to the tomb of Sire Anchises, to the circus-seats, the messenger Eumelus flew, to bring news of the ships on fire; soon every eye the clouds of smoke and hovering flame could see. Ascanius, who had led with smiling brow his troops of horse, accoutred as he was, rode hot-haste to the turmoil of the camp, nor could his guards restrain . “What madness now? What is it ye would do?” he cried. “Alas! Ill-fated women! Not our enemies, nor the dread bulwarks of the Greek ye burn, but all ye have to hope for. Look at me, your own Ascanius!” His helmet then into their midst he flung, which he had worn for pageantry of war. Aeneas, too, with Trojan bands sped thither. But far off, the women, panic-scattered on the shore, fled many ways, and deep in caverned crags or shadowed forests hid them, for they Ioathed their deed and life itself; their thoughts were changed; they knew their kin and husbands, and their hearts from Juno were set free. But none the less the burning and indomitable flames raged without stay; beneath the ships' smeared sides the hempen fuel puffed a lingering smoke, as, through the whole bulk creeping, the slow fire devoured its way; and little it availed that strong men fought the fire with stream on stream. Then good Aeneas from his shoulder rent his garment, and with lifted hands implored the help of Heaven. “O Jove omnipotent! If thou not yet thy wrath implacable on every Trojan pourest, if thou still hast pity, as of old, for what men bear, O, grant my fleet deliverance from this flame! From uttermost destruction, Father, save our desperate Trojan cause! Or even now — last cruelty! thy fatal thunders throw. If this be my just meed, let thy dread arm confound us all.” But scarce the prayer is said, when with a bursting deluge a dark storm falls, marvellous to see; while hills and plains with thunder shake, and to each rim of heaven spreads swollen cloud-rack, black with copious rain and multitudinous gales. The full flood pours on every ship, and all the smouldering beams are drenched, until the smoke and flames expire and (though four ships be lost) the burning fleet rides rescued from its doom. But smitten sore by this mischance, Aeneas doubtfully weighs in his heart its mighty load of cares, and ponders if indeed he may abide in Sicily , not heeding prophet-songs, or seek Italian shores. Thereon uprose Nautes, an aged sire, to whom alone Tritonian Pallas of her wisdom gave and made his skill renowned; he had the power to show celestial anger's warning signs, or tell Fate's fixed decree. The gifted man thus to Aeneas comfortably spoke: “O goddess-born, we follow here or there, as Fate compels or stays. But come what may, he triumphs over Fortune, who can bear whate'er she brings. Behold, Acestes draws from Dardanus his origin divine! Make him thy willing friend, to share with thee thy purpose and thy counsel. Leave with him the crews of the lost ships, and all whose hearts repine at thy high task and great emprise: the spent old men, the women ocean-weary, whate'er is feeble found, or faint of heart in danger's hour,—set that apart, and give such weary ones within this friendly isle a city called Acesta,—if he will.”