Then Sire Aeneas willed to make a stayto so much rage, nor let Entellus' soulflame beyond bound, but bade the battle pause,and, rescuing weary Dares, thus he spokein soothing words: “Ill-starred! What mad attemptis in thy mind? Will not thy heart confessthy strength surpassed, and auspices averse?Submit, for Heaven decrees!” With such wise wordshe sundered the fell strife. But trusty friendsbore Dares off: his spent limbs helpless trailed,his head he could not lift, and from his lipscame blood and broken teeth. So to the shipthey bore him, taking, at Aeneas' word,the helmet and the sword—but left behindEntellus' 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 deathye have clelivered Dares.” Saying so,he turned him full front to the bull, who stoodfor reward of the fight, and, drawing backhis right hand, poising the dread gauntlet high,swung sheer between the horns and crushed the skull;a trembling, lifeless creature, to the groundthe bull dropped forward dead. Above the fallenEntellus cried aloud, “This victim dueI give thee, Eryx, more acceptablethan 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 willto contest of swift arrows, and displaysreward and prize. With mighty hand he rearsa mast within th' arena, from the shipof good Sergestus taken; and theretoa fluttering dove by winding cord is boundfor target of their shafts. Soon to the matchthe rival bowmen came and cast the lotsinto a brazen helmet. First came forthHippocoon's number, son of Hyrtacus,by cheers applauded; Mnestheus was the next,late victor in the ship-race, Mnestheus crownedwith olive-garland; next Eurytion,brother of thee, O bowman most renowned,Pandarus, breaker of the truce, who hurledhis shaft upon the Achaeans, at the wordthe goddess gave. Acestes' Iot and namecame from the helmet last, whose royal handthe 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 aimcuts through the yielding air; and lo! his barbpierces the very wood, and makes the masttremble; while with a fluttering, frighted wingthe bird tugs hard,—and plaudits fill the sky.Boldly rose Mnestheus, and with bow full-drawnaimed both his eye and shaft aloft; but hefailing, unhappy man, to bring his barbup to the dove herself, just cut the cordand broke the hempen bond, whereby her feetwere captive to the tree: she, taking flight,clove through the shadowing clouds her path of air.But swiftly—for upon his waiting bowhe held a shaft in rest—Eurytioninvoked his brother's shade, and, marking wellthe dove, whose happy pinions fluttered freein vacant sky, pierced her, hard by a cloud;lifeless she fell, and left in light of heavenher spark of life, as, floating down, she borethe arrow back to earth. Acestes nowremained, last rival, though the victor's palmto him was Iost; yet did the aged sire,to show his prowess and resounding bow,hurl forth one shaft in air; then suddenlyall eyes beheld such wonder as portendsevents to be (but when fulfilment came,too late the fearful seers its warning sung):for, soaring through the stream of cloud, his shafttook fire, tracing its bright path in flame,then vanished on the wind,—as oft a starwill 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 signin vain to great Aeneas. But his armsfolded the blest Acestes to his heart,and, Ioading him with noble gifts, he cried:“Receive them, sire! The great Olympian Kingsome peerless honor to thy name decreesby such an omen given. I offer theethis bowl with figures graven, which my sire,good gray Anchises, for proud gift receivedof Thracian Cisseus, for their friendship's pledgeand memory evermore.” Thereon he crownedhis brows with garland of the laurel green,and named Acestes victor over all.Nor could Eurytion, noble youth, think illof 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 endof game and contest, summoned to his sideEpytides, the mentor and true friendof young Iulus, and this bidding gaveto his obedient ear: “Arise and gowhere my Ascanius has lined his troopof youthful cavalry, and trained the steedsto tread in ranks of war. Bid him lead forththe squadron in our sire Anchises' name,and wear a hero's arms!” So saying, he badethe course be cleared, and from the whole wide fieldth' 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 browa well-trimmed wreath the flowing tresses bound;two javelins of corner tipped with steeleach bore for arms; some from the shoulder slunga polished quiver; to each bosom fella pliant necklace of fine, twisted gold.Three bands of horsemen ride, three captains proudprance here and there, assiduous in command,each of his twelve, who shine in parted lineswhich lesser captains lead. One cohort proudfollows a little Priam's royal name —one day, Polites, thy illustrious racethrough him prolonged, shall greater glory bringto Italy. A dappled Thracian steedwith snow-white spots and fore-feet white as snowbears him along, its white face lifted high.Next Atys rode, young Atys, sire to beof th' Atian house in Rome, a boy most dearunto the boy Iulus; last in line,and fairest of the throng, Iulus came,astride a steed from Sidon, the fond giftof beauteous Dido and her pledge of love.Close followed him the youthful chivalryof King Acestes on Trinacrian steeds.

The Trojans, with exultant, Ioud acclaim,receive the shy-faced boys, and joyfullytrace in the features of the sons their sires.After, with smiling eyes, the horsemen proudhave 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 forthin hostile ranks; or on the ample fieldretreat or charge, in figure intricateof circling troop with troop, and swift paradeof simulated war; now from the fieldthey 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 gallerywound on through lightless walls, with thousand pathswhich baffled every clue, and led astrayin unreturning mazes dark and blind:so did the sons of Troy their courses weavein 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 trainwere wont to do, so Alba to her sonsthe custom gave; so glorious Rome at lastthe heritage accepted and revered;and still we know them for the “Trojan Band,”and call the lads a “Troy.” Such was the endof 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 downthe light-winged Iris to the ships of Troy,giving her flight good wind—still full of schemesand hungering to avenge her ancient wrong.Unseen of mortal eye, the virgin tookher pathway on the thousand-colored bow,and o'er its gliding passage earthward flew.She scanned the vast assemblage; then her gazeturned shoreward, where along the idle baythe Trojan galleys quite unpeopled rode.But far removed, upon a lonely shore,a throng of Trojan dames bewailed aloudtheir lost Anchises, and with tears surveyedthe mighty deep. “O weary waste of seas!What vast, untravelled floods beyond us roll!”So cried they with one voice, and prayed the godsfor an abiding city; every heartloathed utterly the long, laborious sea.Then in their midst alighted, not unskilledin working woe, the goddess; though she worenor garb nor form divine, but made herselfone Beroe, Doryclus' aged wife,who in her happier days had lineage fairand sons of noble name; in such disguiseshe called the Trojan dames:“O ye ill-starred,that were not seized and slain by Grecian foesunder your native walls! O tribe accursed,what death is Fate preparing? Since Troy fellthe seventh summer flies, while still we roveo'er cruel rocks and seas, from star to star,from alien land to land, as evermorewe chase, storm-tossed, that fleeting Italy across the waters wide. Behold this landof Eryx, of Acestes, friend and kin;what hinders them to raise a rampart hereand build a town? O city of our sires!O venerated gods from haughty foesrescued in vain! Will nevermore a wall rise in the name of Troy? Shall I not seea Xanthus or a Simois, the streamsto 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 theeis where thou art.’ Behold, the hour is ripefor our great act! No longer now delayto heed the heavenly omen. Yonder standfour 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 armhurled it from far. The Ilian matrons gazed,bewildered and appalled. But one, of allthe eldest, Pyrgo, venerated nurseof Priam's numerous sons, exclaimed, “Nay, nay!This is no Beroe, my noble dames.Doryclus knew her not. Behold and seeher heavenly beauty and her radiant eyes!What voice of music and majestic mien,what movement like a god! Myself am comefrom Beroe sick, and left her grieving sorethat she, she only, had no gift to bringof mournful honor to Anchises' shade.”She spoke. The women with ill-boding eyeslooked on the ships. Their doubting hearts were torn'twixt tearful passion for the beauteous isletheir feet then trod, and that prophetic callof Fate to lands unknown. Then on wide wingssoared Iris into heaven, and through the cloudsclove a vast arch of light. With wonder dazed,the women in a shrieking frenzy rose,took embers from the hearth-stones, stole the firesupon 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 tombof Sire Anchises, to the circus-seats,the messenger Eumelus flew, to bringnews of the ships on fire; soon every eyethe clouds of smoke and hovering flame could see.Ascanius, who had led with smiling browhis 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 theninto their midst he flung, which he had wornfor 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 cragsor shadowed forests hid them, for they Ioathedtheir deed and life itself; their thoughts were changed;they knew their kin and husbands, and their heartsfrom Juno were set free. But none the lessthe burning and indomitable flamesraged without stay; beneath the ships' smeared sidesthe hempen fuel puffed a lingering smoke,as, through the whole bulk creeping, the slow firedevoured its way; and little it availedthat strong men fought the fire with stream on stream.Then good Aeneas from his shoulder renthis garment, and with lifted hands imploredthe help of Heaven. “O Jove omnipotent!If thou not yet thy wrath implacableon every Trojan pourest, if thou stillhast pity, as of old, for what men bear,O, grant my fleet deliverance from this flame!From uttermost destruction, Father, saveour desperate Trojan cause! Or even now —last cruelty! thy fatal thunders throw.If this be my just meed, let thy dread armconfound us all.” But scarce the prayer is said,when with a bursting deluge a dark stormfalls, marvellous to see; while hills and plainswith thunder shake, and to each rim of heavenspreads swollen cloud-rack, black with copious rainand multitudinous gales. The full flood pourson every ship, and all the smouldering beamsare drenched, until the smoke and flames expireand (though four ships be lost) the burning fleetrides rescued from its doom. But smitten soreby this mischance, Aeneas doubtfullyweighs in his heart its mighty load of cares,and ponders if indeed he may abidein Sicily, not heeding prophet-songs,or seek Italian shores. Thereon uproseNautes, an aged sire, to whom aloneTritonian Pallas of her wisdom gaveand made his skill renowned; he had the powerto show celestial anger's warning signs,or tell Fate's fixed decree. The gifted manthus 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 bearwhate'er she brings. Behold, Acestes drawsfrom Dardanus his origin divine!Make him thy willing friend, to share with theethy purpose and thy counsel. Leave with himthe crews of the lost ships, and all whose heartsrepine at thy high task and great emprise:the spent old men, the women ocean-weary, whate'er is feeble found, or faint of heartin danger's hour,—set that apart, and givesuch weary ones within this friendly islea city called Acesta,—if he will.”