Aeneid

flocks of the sea-birds, Iovers of the sun.

Here was the goal; and here Aeneas set

a green-leaved flex-tree, to be a mark

for every captain's eye, from whence to veer

the courses of their ships in sweeping curves

and speed them home. Now places in the line

are given by lot. Upon the lofty sterns

the captains ride, in beautiful array

of Tyriao purple and far-flaming gold;

the crews are poplar-crowned, the shoulders bare

rubbed well with glittering oil; their straining arms

make long reach to the oar, as on the thwarts

they sit attentive, listening for the call

of the loud trumpet; while with pride and fear

their hot hearts throb, impassioned for renown.

Soon pealed the signal clear; from all the line

instant the galleys bounded, and the air

rang to the rowers, shouting, while their arms

pulled every inch and flung the waves in foam;

deep cut the rival strokes; the surface fair

yawned wide beneath their blades and cleaving keels.

Not swifter scour the chariots o'er the plain,

sped headlong from the line behind their teams

of mated coursers, while each driver shakes

loose, rippling reins above his plunging pairs,

and o'er the lash leans far. With loud applause

vociferous and many an urgent cheer

the woodlands rang, and all the concave shores

back from the mountains took the Trojan cry

in answering song. Forth-flying from his peers,

while all the crowd acclaims, sped Gyas' keel

along the outmost wave. Cloanthus next

pushed hard upon, with stronger stroke of oars

but heavier ship. At equal pace behind

the Pristis and the Centaur fiercely strive

for the third place. Now Pristis seems to lead,

now mightier Centaur past her flies, then both

ride on together, prow with prow, and cleave

long lines of foaming furrow with swift keels.

Soon near the rock they drew, and either ship

was making goal,—when Gyas, in the lead,

and winner of the half-course, Ioudly hailed

menoetes, the ship's pilot: “Why so far

to starboard, we? Keep her head round this way!

Hug shore! Let every oar-blade almost graze

that reef to larboard! Let the others take

the deep-sea course outside!” But while he spoke,

Menoetes, dreading unknown rocks below,

veered off to open sea. “Why steer so wide?

Round to the rock, Menoetes!” Gyas roared, —

again in vain, for looking back he saw

cloanthus hard astern, and ever nearer,

who, in a trice, betwixt the booming reef

and Gyas' galley, lightly forward thrust

the beak of Scylla to the inside course,

and, quickly taking lead, flew past the goal

to the smooth seas beyond. Then wrathful grief

flamed in the warrior's heart, nor was his cheek

unwet with tears; and, reckless utterly

of his own honor and his comrades, lives,

he hurled poor, slack Menoetes from the poop

headlong upon the waters, while himself,

pilot and master both, the helm assuming,

urged on his crew, and landward took his way.

But now, with heavy limbs that hardly won

his rescue from the deep, engulfing wave,

up the rude rock graybeard Menoetes climbed

with garment dripping wet, and there dropped down

upon the cliff's dry top. With laughter loud

the Trojan crews had watched him plunging, swimming,

and now to see his drink of bitter brine

spewed on the ground, the sailors laughed again.

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