Aeneid

Up, then! For we will make a festal day,

imploring lucky winds! O, may his spirit

grant me to build my city, where his shrines

forever shall receive perpetual vows

made in his name! This prince of Trojan line,

Acestes, upon every ship bestows

a pair of oxen. To our offerings call

the powers that bless the altars and the fires

of our ancestral hearth; and join with these

the gods of good Acestes. Presently,

when the ninth dawn shall bring its beam benign

to mortal men, and show the radiant world,

or all my Teucrian people I ordain

a holiday of games; the flying ships

shall first contend; then swiftest runners try

a foot-race; after that the champions bold

who step forth for a cast of javelins,

or boast the soaring arrow; or fear not

the boxing-bout, with gauntlet of thick thongs.

This summons is for all; let all have hope

to earn some noble palm! And from this hour

speak but well-boding words, and bind your brows

with garlands green.” So saying, he twined a wreath

of his own mother's myrtle-tree, to shade

his sacred brow; the hero Helymus,

and King Acestes for his tresses gray,

like coronals took on; Ascanius

and all the warrior youth like emblems wore.

Then in th' attendant throng conspicuous,

with thousands at his side, the hero moved

from 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 flowers

of saddest purple stain, while thus he prayed:

“Hail, hallowed sire! And hail, ye ashes dear

of him I vainly saved! O soul and shade

of my blest father! Heaven to us denied

to find together that predestined land

of Italy, or our Ausonian stream

of 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'er

the very altars; his smooth back was flecked

with green and azure, and his changeful scales

gleamed golden, as the cloud-born rainbow flings

its thousand colors from th' opposing sun.

Aeneas breathless watched the serpent wind

among 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 brings

in honor of his sire; for he must deem

that serpent the kind genius of the place,

or of his very father's present shade

some creature ministrant. Two lambs he slew,

the wonted way, two swine, and, sable-hued,

the yoke of bulls; from shallow bowl he poured

libation of the grape, and called aloud

on great Anchises' spirit, and his shade,

from Acheron set free. Then all the throng,

each from his separate store, heap up the shrines

with victims slain; some range in order fair

the brazen cauldrons; or along the grass,

scattered at ease, hold o'er the embers bright

the spitted flesh and roast it in the flames.

Arrived the wished-for day; through cloudless sky

the coursers of the Sun's bright-beaming car

bore upward the ninth morn. The neighboring folk

thronged eager to the shore; some hoped to see

Aeneas and his warriors, others fain

would their own prowess prove in bout and game.

Conspicuous lie the rewards, ranged in sight

in the mid-circus; wreaths of laurel green,

the honored tripod, coronals of palm

for conquerors' brows, accoutrements of war,

rare robes of purple stain, and generous weight

of silver and of gold. The trumpet's call

proclaimed 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 crew

of Mnestheus bring his speedy Pristis on, —

Mnestheus in Italy erelong the sire

of Memmius' noble line. Brave Gyas guides

his vast Chimaera, a colossal craft,

a floating city, by a triple row

of Dardan sailors manned, whose banks of oars

in triple order rise. Sergestus, he

of 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 sea

rises a rock, which under swollen waves

lies buffeted unseen, when wintry storms

mantle the stars; but when the deep is calm,

lifts silently above the sleeping wave

its level field,—a place where haunt and play