VIRGIL: AENEID: BOOK V: THE FUNERAL GAMES FOR ANCHISES

Introduction.

Although Book V is not one of the best known or highly regarded of the twelve  books of Virgil's "Aeneid", it was the first to be published for the use of schools in the Macmillan Elementary Classics series. The text, which is translated below, was edited by Arthur Calvert, M.A. in 1879. Book V, which features the funeral  games held on the island of Sicily for Aeneas' father, Anchises, was selected because it was felt by Macmillan that it was helpful for schoolboys to be interested in their work, and that to the British schoolboy "games" must always be a subject of interest. At the same time, however, Book V is full of examples of Virgil's best poetry and, as always, it is a pleasure both to read and to translate his verse.

Ll. 1-34.  Leaving Carthage, Aeneas steers towards Italy, but he is persuaded by Palinurus to change course and make for Sicily instead.


Meanwhile, Aeneas resolutely now kept his fleet on a mid(-sea) course, and he cut through the waves, darkened by the north-north-east wind, looking back at the walls (of Carthage), which are already glowing with the flames of unhappy Elissa (i.e. Dido). What reason had kindled so great a fire  - (this) is unknown (to Aeneas); but bitter grief, great love having been desecrated, and something well-known, what a furious woman can do, draws the hearts of the Teucrians (i.e. Trojans) through a sad foreboding.

As the ships kept to the open-sea, and no (lit. not any) land now showed itself further, the sea (was) on all sides and the sky (was) on all sides; a leaden-coloured cloud stood above his (i.e. Aeneas') head, bringing night and storm, and the sea grew rough with darkness. From the lofty stern, the helmsman, Palinurus, himself (cries out): "Alas! Why are those very great clouds encircling the sky? Or what, father Neptune, do you have in store (for us now)?" Having spoken thus, he then orders (them) to collect the (ship's) tackle and to bend the stout oars, and he turns the sails aslant to the wind, and says the following (words): "(O) great-hearted Aeneas, not, (even) if Jupiter (as) guarantor gives me his assurance, would I expect to reach Italy under this sky. The changed winds roar in a crosswise (direction) and rise up from the dark west, and the air condenses into cloud. We are not adequate to struggle against (the gale) nor to strain as much (as there is a need against it.) Since Fortune overcomes (us), let us follow (her and) let us change our course to where she calls (us). And I do not think that the trusty shores of your brother Eryx and the harbours of the Sicani (i.e. Sicily) are far off, if only, duly mindful, I scan again the stars which I have observed (lit. having been observed). Then pious Aeneas (replies): "I myself have seen for some time that the winds are demanding such action and that you are striving in vain against (them). Steer (lit. bend) your course by (the set of) your sails. Should there be any (land) more pleasing to me, or (any land) whither I should choose more (readily) to send in my exhausted ships than the land which guards Dardanian Acestes for me and clasps to its bosom the bones of my father Anchises?" When these (words) were said, they seek harbours and a following West Wind stretches their sails: the swift fleet is borne over the depths, and at last they joyfully put in at the familiar strand.

Ll. 35-71.  After the Trojans have been welcomed by Acestes, Aeneas calls a meeting and announces his intention to hold funeral games in honour of his father Anchises. 


But marvelling, from the lofty peak of a mountain a far off, at the arrival of (lit. and) the boats of his friends, Acestes comes to meet (them), bristling in javelins and the skin of a Libyan bear, (he) whom, having been conceived, a Trojan mother bore to the river(-god) Crimisus. Not unmindful of his old parents, he rejoices at the men returning, and joyfully welcomes (them) with his rustic treasures, and cheers the tired men with friendly succour. When at earliest dawn tomorrow's bright day had put the stars to flight, Aeneas calls his companions together and addresses (them) from the rampart of a mound: "Great sons of Dardanus, race (sprung) from the high blood of the gods, a year's cycle, its months having been completed, is  fulfilled, from (the point) at which we buried the relics and the bones of my divine father in the earth and consecrated our sorrowful altars. And now, unless I am deceived, the day is here, which I shall always consider unwelcome, always to be revered [the gods have wished (it) thus]. If I were to spend this (day) (as) an exile in Gaetulian (i..e. African) Syrtes, or were to be surprised (by its arrival while) on the Argive ( i.e. Aegean) sea or in the city of Mycenae, I should still be performing my anniversary vows and  ritual processions in (due) order, and piling up the altars with special gifts. Now beyond (that), we are present near the ashes and the bones of my father himself [for indeed I think (it is) not without the intention, (and) without the will of the gods], and, having come into land, we have entered this friendly harbour. So come, let us all celebrate the joyful duty; let us pray to the Winds, and may it be his (i.e. Anchises') will, my city having been founded and its temples having been consecrated, that I am undertaking these sacred rites for him every year. Acestes, born of Troy, is giving you two heads of cattle in number for each ship; invite our Household Gods and our native (gods), and (those) whom Acestes worships, to our feast. Henceforth, when the ninth dawn has lifted up her kindly day for mortal (creatures) and has renewed the world by her rays, I shall arrange for the Teucrians the first contest, for swift ships; and (he) who is strong at running with his feet, and (he) who, daring in his strength, either steps forward excelling at the javelin and light arrows, or has the confidence to join battle with the bloody gauntlet, let all be present and await the rewards of an earned prize. Keep holy silence (lit. favour [us] with your mouth) everyone, and wreathe your temples with greenery.

Ll. 72-103.  As Aeneas and his companions are offering sacrifices at Anchises' tomb, a huge snake appears, and then, having tasted the libations, returns to its lair. Uncertain as to the significance of this occurrence, Aeneas and his companions offer more sacrifices, before cooking their feast. 


So saying, he covers his temples with his mother's myrtle. Helymus does this - Acestes, mature in age, (does) this - the boy Ascanius (i.e. Iulus) (does) this, and the rest of the young men follow them. He (i.e. Aeneas) goes from the counsel-meeting to the (burial) mound with many thousands (of men), a great throng accompanying, (with him) in the middle. Duly offering a libation, he pours two flagons of undiluted wine (lit. Bacchus) on the earth - two of fresh milk, (and) two of sacrificial blood, and he scatters flowers and speaks the following (words): "Hail, holy father, (once) again: hail, the ashes of one rescued (from Troy) in vain, and the soul and shade of my father. It was not permitted (to me) to seek (together) with you our Italian territories and our predestined fields, or the Ausonian Tiber, wherever it is." He had spoken these (words), when from its innermost sanctuary a huge slimy snake dragged seven rings, its sevenfold coils, encircling the tomb quietly and sliding over the altars, its back of a dark-blue marking, and a flash speckled with gold lit up its scales, just as a rainbow, with the sun opposite, throws a thousand different colours on to the clouds. In seeing (it), Aeneas was stupefied. Finally, that snake (crept) with its long column between the bowls and the smooth goblets, and sampled the sacrificial offerings and again moved harmlessly back to the base of the tomb, and left the altars having been fed off). He celebrates the sacrificial rites to his father which he had begun (lit. having been begun), uncertain whether he supposes (it) to be the familiar spirit of the place or his father's attendant; he slaughters, according to custom, a pair of two-year-old sheep, so many pigs, and the same number of black-backed bullocks (lit. bullocks black in respect of their backs); and he poured wine from the bowls, and called upon the spirit of great Anchises and his shade having been released from Acheron (for this rite): and his comrades also gladly brought bring gifts, as each has the resources (lit. as the resources are to each), (and) they load up the altars and sacrifice bullocks; others place bronze vessels in (due) order, and, stretching (themselves) out on the grass, they bring live coals to the spits and roast the flesh.

Ll. 104-150.  With the ninth day proving fine, competitors and spectators assemble for the games. Four galleys are entered for the rowing match. A good start is achieved, amid much shouting. 


Th awaited day was here, and the horses of Phaethon were now drawing the ninth dawn through a cloudless sky (lit. a clear light). Both rumour and the famous name of Acestes had excited the neighbouring people; they had filled the shore with their joyful gathering, (some) in order to see Aeneas' men, and others ready to compete. Firstly, gifts are placed before their eyes, and, in the middle of the arena, sacred tripods and green crowns and a prize of palm for the victors, and arms and garments dyed in purple, (and) silver and gold talents; and from a mound in their midst a trumpet proclaims (lit. sounds) that the games have started. For the first contest, four well-matched ships (lit. keels) with heavy oars, come forward, selected from the whole fleet. Mnestheus commands (lit. drives) the swift Pristis with its eager crew [soon (to be) the Italian Mnestheus, from whom (is sprung) the family Memmius by name]. Gyas (commands) the huge Chimaera of vast bulk, the work of a city, which Dardan youth in triple tier drives forward; the oars arise in three banks; and Sergestus, from whom the Sergian house derives its name, sails in the mighty (ship) Centaur, and Cloanthus, whence (is sprung) your family, (O) Roman Cluentius (commands) the dark blue Scylla.

Far out in the sea there is a rock facing the foaming shore, which, at times having been submerged, is buffeted by the swelling waves, when winter's north-west wind hides the stars; in calm (weather) it is quiet, and a table of level ground is raised above a motionless sea and (is) a welcome standing-place for diving-birds to bask in the sun. Here father Aeneas erects a green turning-post out of a leafy holm-oak (as) a signal for the sailors, from which they would know (when they ought) to return and where to wheel around the long course. Then the ships' captains determine their places by lot, and on their sterns shone out afar in gold and purple array; the rest of the crews are clothed in poplar leaves, and, smeared in oil, they cause their shoulders to glisten. They settle on the thwarts, and with their arms stretching at the oars; eagerly, they await the (starting) signal, and throbbing anticipation (lit. terror) drains their leaping hearts, and their desire for praise was aroused. Then, when a shrill trumpet gave the signal, they all spurted forward from their starting positions (lit. limits) without delay: the sailors' shouts hit the sky, and the churned up straits are foaming, their arms having been brought up to (their chests). They cleave their furrows in unison, and, torn open by the oars and the three-pronged beaks, the whole sea is split apart. No chariots in a two-horse competition have seized hold of the track so precipitously and rush streaming forth from the starting-cage, nor did (any) charioteers so shake the rippling reins over uncurbed pairs and, leaning forward, (so) hang over the lash. Then, all the forest resounds with the applause and the roaring of men and of those favouring (a crew) with enthusiasm, and they roll their voices around the confined shores; having been smitten by the shouting, the hills rebound.

Ll. 151-182.  The Chimaera takes the lead, but is passed by the Scylla at the turning point. An angry Gyas throws his helmsman, Menoetes, into the sea. 


Gyas gets off before the others and glides along in the first (stretch of) water amid the disturbance and noise, (and) then Cloanthus follows him closely, (being) better in oars, but his pine(-timbers), slow in their weight, holds (him back). After them, (with) an equal interval (between them and the leading ships), the Pristis and the Centaur strive to win the prior position; and now the Pristis has (it), now the huge Centaur goes past the beaten (ship), now both together, with prows level (lit. joined), rush onwards and plough the salt sea with their long keels. And now they were approaching the rock and were reaching the turning-point, when Gyas, ahead and victor in the middle of (the course through) the depths, addresses his helmsman in this voice: "Whither are you going so far away to starboard to my (disadvantage)? Direct your course hither; hug the shore, and let the oar-blades graze the rocks to port; the others may keep to the deep (water)." He spoke; but Menoetes, fearing the hidden rocks, directs the prow towards the waters of the open-sea. "Whither are you going off course? (And) again Gyas tried to call (him) back with a shout, "Steer for the rocks, Menoetes!" And, behold, he sees Cloanthus behind (him), pressing at his stern, and holding (a position) nearer (to the turning-post). He scrapes a passage to port on the inner side between both Gyas' ship and the roaring rocks, and suddenly he passes the leader, and, the turning-post having been left behind, he occupies safe waters. Then indeed great anguish blazed forth from the bones of the young man, nor were his cheeks lacking tears, and forgetting both his own dignity and the safety of his comrades, he hurls the sluggish Menoetes headlong from his lofty poop into the sea; he himself takes his place at the helm (as) pilot, himself (as) master, and he encourages his men, and turns the rudder towards the shore. But Menoetes, as he has scarcely returned at last from the lowest depths, now older and soaking in his sodden clothing, seeks the top of the crag, and sank down on dry rock. The Teucrians laughed at him, both sinking and swimming, and they laugh at (him) disgorging the salt water from his chest.

Ll. 183-219.  The race continues. The Centaur and the Pristis seek to overhaul the Chimaera, but the Centaur runs aground. 


Hereupon, joyful hope was rekindled in the last two (competitors), Sergestus and Mnestheus to surpass Gyas, (who was) delaying. Sergestus takes the space (of water) ahead and approaches the rock, but he was not however ahead by a whole keel leading; (he was) ahead by a part (of a keel only); the rivalling Pristis grinds (the other) part with her beak. But Mnestheus, walking down through the middle of his ship among his comrades themselves, encourages (them thus): "Now, now, rise to your oars, (you former) comrades of Hector, whom I chose (as) my companions in Troy's last fated hour; now produce that strength, now (produce) that spirit, which you employed in the Gaetulian (i.e. African) Syrtes and in the Ionian sea and amid Malea's clinging waves. I am not seeking the first place now nor do I strive to achieve victory; [although oh! (if I only could win) - but, Neptune, let them to whom you have granted this be the victors] : let it shame (us) to have returned last; achieve this (point), comrades (lit. citizens), and prevent our disgrace." Those men hurled (themselves) forward with a supreme effort; the bronze(-plated) ship (lit. stern) shudders at their enormous strokes, and the (sea) surface (lit. floor) is drawn away from underneath (them); then, abundant panting convulses their limbs and parched mouths; sweat flows in streams from them all. Pure (lit. very) chance brought to these men the honour (which they) craved. For indeed, while Sergestus, wild at heart, drives his prow close up to the rocks and enters the insufficient space on the inside (of Mnestheus), he unfortunately runs aground on some protruding rocks. The rocks shuddered, and the oars, fouling on a jagged  (rock resembling a) shell-fish, cracked, and the prow, having been dashed against (it), hung (in the air). The sailors leap up, and with loud shouting they are checked (lit. linger), and they get out iron-headed poles and boat-hooks with sharp points, and they gather up the broken oars in the water. But Mnestheus, joyful and more keen through sheer success, makes for favourable (lit. downward sloping) waters with a swift stroke (lit. forward movement) of oars and with the winds having been invoked, and he skims across the open sea. Just as a rock-dove, suddenly disturbed in a cavern, who (has) (lit. to whom [there is]) a nest and sweet chicks hidden in the pumice-stone (lit. in the hidden pumice-stone), hurries flying into the fields, and, frightened from her home, she gives a huge clap of her wings, (and) soon, gliding down through the still air, she skims her serene way, nor does she move her swift wings: so Mnestheus, so the Pristis itself, cuts the last stage of the sea, so pure impetus carries it as it flies (along) (lit. flying).

Ll. 220-267.  The finish of the race. The Pristis overtakes the Chimaera, but just fails to catch the Scylla, which is therefore awarded the first prize by Aeneas.


And he (i.e. Mnestheus) leaves Sergestus struggling first on the deep-set rock and (then) in the shallow water, and calling in vain for help and learning how to row (lit. run) with broken oars. Thence, he overtakes Gyas and the Chimaera itself with her enormous bulk; she gives way, since she has been robbed of her master. And now only Cloanthus is left on the very end (of the course); he goes after him and presses (him) with the utmost of his strength. Then, indeed, the shouting redoubles, and everyone spurs on the pursuer with enthusiasm, and the sky resounds with the thunderous noise. The one (crew) are resentful unless they can keep the glory (which is ) their own and the honour (which they have) procured, and they wish to stake their lives in return for praise; success nourishes the other (crew): they can (win), because they seem (to themselves) to be able (to win). And perhaps they might have taken the prizes for a dead heat (lit. for level beaks), if Cloanthus, stretching both his hand-palms towards the ocean, had not both poured out prayers and called upon the gods to bear witness to his vows (lit. in respect of his vows): "(O) gods, who have (lit. to whom there is) power over the sea, (and) on whose sea I sail (lit. run), I shall gladly station before an altar on this coast a shining white bull for you, and, (being) liable for my vow, I shall scatter its entrails into the salty waters and pour streams of (lit. flowing) wine." He spoke, and at the bottom of the waves, all the dancing band of the Nereids and of Phorcus and the maiden Panopea heard him, and father Portunus himself thrust forward the moving (ship) with his mighty hand: she (i.e. the Scylla) flies to the land, and buried herself within the deep harbour. Then, the man sprung from Anchises, everyone having been called together according to custom, in the loud voice of a herald, declares Cloanthus the victor, and garlands his temples with green bay-leaves; and (as) gifts for the ships he gives three bullocks each to choose (from), wine and a great talent of silver to carry off. To the captains themselves he adds especial honours: to the victor (i.e. Cloanthus) a mantle embroidered with gold, around which ran a broad (border) of Meliboean purple with a double meander, and embroidered (on it) the royal boy (i.e. Ganymede) exhausts the fleet stags on leafy Ida with his javelin and his running, eager and similar to someone breathless, whom the bird from Ida, the armour-bearer of Jupiter, seized aloft in its hooked feet; the old men (as) his guardians stretch their hand-palms to the stars in vain, and the barking of dogs rages into the air. But to him who has held the second place by his prowess (i.e.  Mnestheus) (he gives) a cuirass woven with smooth hooks and thrice-laced with gold, which he himself had stripped from Demoleos (when) victor beside the swift-flowing Simois beneath lofty Ilium (i.e. Troy), (and) he gives it to a warrior (as) his pride and protection in warfare. His retainers, Phegeus and Sagaris, (could) scarcely carry that many-plied (cuirass), struggling (with it) on their shoulders; yet, wearing (it), Demoleos once pushed back straggling Trojans at (full) speed. As third prizes he presents a pair of cauldrons (made) from bronze and cups fashioned in silver and embossed with designs.

Ll. 268-285.  Having managed to extricate the Centaur from the rocks, Segestus is consoled with a prize as well.


And so now, everyone, having been rewarded and proud of their rich prizes, began to move off, with their temples bound (lit. bound in respect of their temples) with purple ribbons, when, having barely extricated himself from that cruel rock with much ingenuity, Sergestus brought in his boat, (which was) laughed at without honour. (She was) like a snake, caught, (as) often (happens), on the bank of a roadway, which a bronze wheel has gone over crosswise, or (which) a traveller with a heavy blow (lit. severe with a blow) has left half-dead and mangled by a stone; trying in vain to escape, it makes long writhes with its body, with a part (of it still) fierce and burning with its eyes, and raising its hissing neck up high (lit. raising [itself] up in respect of its neck); the other part, maimed by the wound, holds (itself) back, struggling in knots and enfolding itself into its own limbs. With such oarage the ship moves itself slowly; however, she hoists her sails and enters the harbour-mouth under full sail. Aeneas, glad on account of the ship having been saved and the crew having been brought back, presents Sergestus with his promised gift. A slave-girl is given to him, Pholoe, Cretan by race, not ignorant of the tasks of Minerva (i.e. weaving), and twin sons at her breast.

Ll. 286-314.  Aeneas leaves the shore and goes inland in order to hold the rest of the games. He then invites entries for a foot-race. Many come forward, both Trojans and Sicilians.


This contest having been completed, pious Aeneas proceeds towards a grassy field, which woods surrounded on all sides with undulating hill-slopes, and in the middle of the valley there was the circus of a theatre; thither with many thousands did the hero betake himself in the middle of the concourse, and he sat down on the piled up (turf). Here, he invites with prizes, and earmarks rewards for, any brave spirits who may perhaps wish to compete (with each other) in fast running. Teucrians and Sicanians (i.e. Sicilians), mixed together, congregate from all sides. Nisus and Euryalus (were) the first, Euryalus remarkable in appearance and in fresh youth, Nisus in true love of the boy; then, following them, (came) Diores, (of) royal (blood), (sprung) from the exalted stock of Priam; (after) him (came) Salius and, at the same time, Patron, of whom one was an Acarnanian, and the other from Arcadian blood, of Tegean birth; then (came) two young Trinacrian (i.e. Sicilian) men, Helymus and Panopes, familiar with the woodlands and companions of the older Acestes; (and there were) many (others), whom unknown report buries. (Standing) in their midst, Aeneas then spoke to them thus: " Receive these (words) in your minds and direct your attention (to them) joyfully: no one from your number will depart not rewarded by me. I shall give to each (of you), to carry off, two shining Cnossian (i.e. Cretan) arrow-heads of burnished steel and a two-headed axe, (its handle) embossed with silver. This prize will be one (and the same) for all of you. The first three will receive (special) rewards, and will be wreathed in respect of their heads with yellowish olive. Let the first have, (as) the winner, a horse splendid with trappings, the second a quiver (won) from the Amazons and full with Thracian arrows, which a baldrick of broad gold clasps around, and (which) a buckle of polished jewelry fastens underneath, (and) let the third depart content with this Argive helmet."

Ll. 316-361.  The foot-race. Nisus takes the lead at first, but then slips. As he arises he baulks Salius who is then overtaken by Euryalus, who goes on to win the race, despite Salius' protests.


When these (words) were spoken, they take their places, and, the signal having been heard, they suddenly seize hold of the course and leave the starting-position, (and), streaming forth similar to a cloud, at once they mark their goal. Nisus goes away ahead and shoots forth in front of all the (other) persons, swifter than both the winds and the wings of a thunderbolt; next to him, but next by a long interval, Salius follows; then, a gap having been left after (him), Euryalus (is) third; and Helymus follows Euryalus; then, look, just behind him flies Diores, and. leaning over his shoulder, he now rubs heel with heel, and, if more of the course were remaining, he would go past (him), having slipped in front, and leave behind (him) someone doubtful. And now they were almost approaching the end of the last stage of the course and (were) exhausted at the very end (of the race), when the unfortunate Nisus falls in some slippery blood, as by chance, some bullocks having been slaughtered, it had poured over the ground and had soaked the green grass. Here, the young man, already rejoicing (as) the winner, the ground having been pounded, did not keep control of his tottering footsteps, but falls on his face in the filthy dirt itself and the sacrificial blood. However, he did not forget Euryalus, nor his beloved friendship; for, rising up on the slippery (path), he placed himself in the way of Salius; so the latter lay sprawling on the caked sand. Euryalus shoots ahead and holds the first (place), (as) the winner, due to the good offices of his friend, and he flies (home) with both accompanying applause and cheering. Helymus comes in after (him), and now Diores is the third prize(-winner). Hereupon, Salius fills with loud shouts the whole assemblage in the huge theatre and before the gaze of the fathers in the first (row), and he demands that the honour torn (from him) by a trick be returned to him. Acclamation supports Euryalus, as do (lit. and) his appealing tears and his manly prowess, (which was) the more pleasing coming in a beautiful body. Diores, who has come in for a prize, helps too (and) he protests in a loud voice, and he attains the third (lit. last) prize in vain, if the first prize should be given to Salius. Then father Aeneas says, "Your gifts remain secure in your case, lads, and no one is moving any prize from the (proper) order; (but) it may be permitted to me to show sympathy for the misfortune of an innocent friend." Having spoken thus, he gives to Salius the gigantic hide of a  Gaetulian lion, weighed down by its shaggy mane and its golden-plated claws. Hereupon, Nisus says, "If the defeated have such great rewards (lit. if there are such great rewards to the defeated) and you have sympathy for the fallen (lit. it moves you to pity in respect of the fallen), what worthy gifts will you give to Nisus? (I), who earned the first garland on merit, (should have received it), if hostile fate had not borne me down, as (it did) Salius." These (words) having been said, at the same time he showed (them) his face and limbs soiled with wet mud. The best of fathers smiled at him and ordered a shield to be brought out, the work of Didymaon, taken down by the Danaans (i.e. Greeks) from some sacred lintel of Neptune. He presents the excellent young man with this superb gift.

Ll. 362-425.  Aeneas now proposes a boxing match. At first only the Trojan Dares steps forward, but eventually the Sicilian veteran Entellus is persuaded to compete with him.  After some dispute over the gauntlets to be used, Aeneas produces two pairs of equally weighted ones.  


Afterwards, when the racing was completed and he had distributed the prizes, (Aeneas says): " Now, if (there is anyone) to whom (there is) courage and a ready spirit in his breast, let him come forward and let him lift up his arms with bound (hand-)palms."  So he speaks and he sets out two prizes for the fight, for the victor a bullock (its horns) arrayed with gold and ribbons, and a sword and a splendid helmet for the loser. Nor (was there) any delay; at once Dares, with his enormous strength, shows his face and raises himself up amid the great murmuring of the men; (he was) the only man who was accustomed to compete against Paris, and the same man, at the burial-mound, in which peerless Hector lies dead, overthrew the conquering Butes who carried himself with his giant bulk, coming (to Troy) (sprung) from the Bebrycian (i.e. Thracian) race of Amycus, and stretches (him) out dying on the yellow sand. Such (was)  Dares (who) raises his lofty head for the first battle, and displays his broad shoulders, and, stretching out, he spars with (lit. throws) alternate arms and thrashes the air with his blows. A match (lit. another) is sought for him; but no one from that great host of men dares to come forward and to wind the boxing-leathers on to his hands. Therefore, he stood before the feet of Aeneas with sparkling eyes and thinking that all have declined (the contest) for the prize, and, not delaying any further, he then takes hold of the bull by the left horn, and speaks thus: "(O) son of the goddess, if no one dares to entrust himself to the fight, what end of (myself) having to stand (here)? To what (end) is it right for me to be held (here) all this time? Tell (me) to lead away the prize." All the Dardanids (i.e. Trojans) shouted from their mouths together, and demanded that the promised prize should be given to the man. Hereupon, grave Acestes, as he had been sitting nearest (to him) on a bank of green grass, berates Entellus with these words: "Entellus, in vain once the greatest of heroes, will you so patiently allow so great a prize to be carried off with no struggle? Where now (is) Eryx, that god in vain remembered (as) your teacher? Where (now is) your fame throughout all Trinacria, and those trophies hanging in your house? At this he (replies): "Neither my love of glory nor my honour has retreated, routed by fear; but, indeed, my cold blood is sluggish  with retarding old age, and the exhausted strength in my body is lifeless. If (there were) to me what (youth) there once had been, and in which yonder braggart exults (so) confidently - if there were now that youth (to me), I should have come (forward), not indeed induced by any prize or fine steer; I do not care for gifts." Then, having spoken thus, he threw down in their midst two boxing-leathers of enormous weight, with which the fierce Eryx had been accustomed to engage in battle at close quarters and to bind tightly his arms with tough hide. Their minds were stupefied; the huge hides of seven of the greatest oxen were stiff with lead and iron sewn (therein). Dares himself is bemused and recoils some way; and the great-hearted son of Anchises both tries the weight and (turns) this way and that the immense coils of the thongs. Then, the older man replied with the following words (lit. voices) from his heart: "What if anyone had seen these very gauntlets and the weapons of Hercules and the grim fight on these very shores? Your brother Eryx once wore these; [you (can) still see (them) stained with blood and fragmented brain] with these he stood against the mighty Alcides (i.e. Hercules); I was accustomed to these, as long as richer blood gave (me) strength, (and) before jealous old-age, speckled (with grey) on both temples, became white. But if Trojan Dares declines these weapons of mine, and this (refusal) is acceptable to pious Aeneas, (and) my abettor Acestes approves, let us make the fight equal. For you I give up the hide of Eryx; (so) calm your fears, and, you, take off your Trojan gauntlets." Saying these (words) he threw his double cloak off his shoulders and bared the great joints of his limbs (and) his great bones and upper arms, and he stands there, gigantic, in the middle of the arena. Then, the man sprung from Anchises, (as) patron, took out matching gauntlets, and entwined the hands of both (contestants) with equal weapons.

Ll. 426-484.  Dares is quicker on his legs to begin with. After a fall, Entellus gets up and drives Dares all over the place, until Aeneas steps in to stop the fight.


Each man took his position, alert and on his toes, and, undaunted, raised his arms into the air above. They held their heads high, far back from punches, and they intermingle fist with fist, and provoke a battle. One (was) better with the movement of his feet and (was) relying on youth, the other (was) strong in his limbs and bulk; but his slow knees totter with trembling, (and) painful panting shakes his vast limbs. The men aim (lit. throw) many punches between themselves in vain, they repeat many (punches) on a hollow flank and they cause a loud thump on the chest, and their hands dart (lit. wander) around ears and temples in quick succession, (and) jaws crack under a hard blow. Entellus stands solidly and unmoved in the same posture, and he escapes blows only by (the inclination of) his body and by watchful eyes. The other, like (a man) who attacks some tall city with assault-ramps, or settles around a mountain fortress under arms, (tries) now this, now that, approach, and explores the whole position with skill, and he follows up with various attacks, (but) to no avail. Entellus, rising up, displays his right(-arm) and lifts (it) high: the other quickly foresees the blow coming from above, and dodging, with his swift body, he stepped back: Entellus wasted his strength on the wind, and, himself a heavy man, he falls heavily to the earth through his own momentum (lit. of his own accord) and due to his vast weight: he falls, as sometimes, either on Erymanthus or on mighty Ida, a hollow pine falls, torn up by its roots. The Teucrians and the Trinacrian youth rise up in their excitement; their shouting goes to the sky, and Acestes goes to (him) first and, sympathetically, lifts up his friend of equal age. But the hero, neither slowed nor dismayed by his fall, returns to the fight keener (than ever) and stirs up his strength with rage. Then shame and conscious prowess rekindle his strength, and, blazing with fury, he drives Dares headlong over the whole plain, redoubling his blows, now with the right (hand), now, old fellow, with the left (hand); (there was) neither delay nor respite: as many as the hailstones (by which) the storm-clouds clatter the roof-tops, so the hero buffets Dares with thick blows from each hand in quick succession and sends (him) spinning. Then, father Aeneas did not allow Entellus to progress his anger and to rage in his bitter mind any longer, but put an end to the fight and rescued Dares, soothing (him) with words, and he says as follows: "Unfortunate (fellow), what very great madness has taken hold of your mind? Do you not see that (this is) another (order of) strength, and that the gods have turned against (you)? Submit to the divine will." And he spoke (thus) and stopped the battle by his voice. But his companions (lit. equals) conduct him (i.e Dares) to the ships, dragging his painful knees, shaking his head from one side to the other, and spitting from his mouth thick gore and teeth amid the blood: (those) called receive the helmet and sword; they leave the palm-leaves and the bull to Entellus. Then the victor, in an abundance of spirit, and proud at (winning) the bull (speaks): "Son of the goddess," he says, "and (all) you Teucrians, know what strength I had (lit. there was to me) in my young body, and from what a death you are saving Dares, (who has been) reprieved. " He spoke, and he took up his position in front of the muzzle of the bullock facing (him), which was standing there (as) the prize of the fight, and, his right (arm) having been drawn back, he aimed the hard boxing-leathers midway between its horns, and, (standing up) high, he dashed (them) into the bones, the brains having been broken open. The ox is laid out, and collapses on the ground, lifeless and twitching. He pours forth the following words  from the bottom of his heart: "Eryx, I pay to you this more welcome spirit in place of the death of Dares; hereupon (as) victor, I lay aside these gauntlets and my skill."

Ll. 485-544.  The archery contest. Four competitors take part. The target is a dove, tied with a cord by the leg to a mast-head.


Straightway, Aeneas invites (any) who may perhaps wish to compete with the swift(-flying) arrow and he earmarks prizes (for this), and with his huge hand erects a mast-head (taken) from Serestus' ship, and he hangs from the high mast a winged dove on a cord thrown across (it), to which they aim their steel (arrow-heads). The contestants (lit. men) gathered together and a bronze helmet received the lots dropped down (into them); the lot (lit. place) of Hippocoon, the son of Hyrtacus, comes out first with a shout from his followers; Mnestheus, victor in the boating contest just before, follows him - Mnestheus was (still) wreathed with the green olive-leaf. Third (was) Eurytion, your brother, O most illustrious Pandarus, you, who, many years ago, having been commanded to wreck the truce, were the first to bend your dart into the midst of the Achaeans. Last (was) Acestes, and (his lot) settled at the bottom of the helmet, and he himself ventured, with all his might (lit. hand), to attempt a young man's work. Then, the competitors (lit. men) bend their flexed bows, each with powerful strength on his own behalf, and draw arrows from their quivers. And the young son of Hyrtacus was the first to cut through the fleeting breezes across the sky with his arrow, his bow-string twanging. And it reaches, and is fixed in, the timber of the mast-head opposite. The mast quivered, and the bird, startled, showed fear by (fluttering) its wings, and everything resounded with huge applause. After (him), the eager Mnestheus took his stand, his bow having been drawn back, aiming at the heights, and he strained eyes and arrow at the same time. But, pitiably, he was not able to touch the bird itself with his steel (arrow-head); and he rent the knotted linen bond, by which, having been tethered in respect of its foot, it hung from the high mast; it flees, flying into the south wind and into the dark clouds. Then, for a long time holding his arrow tightly fixed (on its string) with his bow at the ready, Eurytion quickly called to his brother to bear witness (lit. in relation) to his vows, (while) observing the dove now (flying) happily in an empty sky, and he transfixes (it) beating its wings under a black cloud. It falls down dead and leaves its life amid the etherial stars, and, falling, she brings back the arrow (which has been) thrust into (her). Only Acestes was left, the palm having been lost (already); however, he aimed his arrow into the breezes of the air, a veteran (lit. father) displaying both his skill and his resounding bow. Then, an unexpected thing is cast before their eyes, and it was destined to be a portent of great presentiment: (this) its mighty issue has since revealed, and (so) terrifying seers have interpreted latter-day omens. For indeed his reed(-shaft), flying amid the vaporous clouds, caught fire, and marked its trail with flames, and, having been burned up, it faded into the thin winds; like shooting stars, often having become unfixed from the sky, run across (it) and draw their tresses (behind them). Their minds having been stunned, the Trinacrian and the Teucrian men were rooted to the spot and prayed to the beings above; nor did greatest Aeneas deny the omen; but, embracing the delighted Acestes, he heaps great prizes (on him) and says the following (words): "Take (them), father, for by such signs the great king of Olympus has wished you to receive special honour. You will have this gift from aged Anchises himself, this mixing-bowl embossed with designs, which Cisseus of Thrace had once given to my father Anchises, to take to his (home) as a generous (lit. great) token, a reminder and a pledge of his affection." Thus speaking, he wreathes his temples with green bay-leaves, and he names Acestes the winner (and) first before all (the others). Nor did good(-hearted) Eurytion envy (him) the honour (of him) having been preferred, although he alone had brought down the bird from the high heaven. The next to step forward for his prize (was he) who broke the bond (i.e. Mnestheus), (and) the last (was he) who pierced the mast-head with his reed(-shaft) (i.e. Hippocoon).

Ll. 545-603.  Next, Aeneas surprises the assemblage with an equestrian pageant, in which three troops - each composed of twelve Trojan horsemen - display their riding skills.


But father Aeneas, the (archery) contest not yet ended, calls Epytides, the guardian and companion of the boy Iulus, to him, and speaks thus into his trusty ear: "Come, go and tell Ascanius, if he now has his troop of boys ready, and has arranged for the ride of the horses, to lead (out) these squadrons in honour of his grandfather, and show themselves in arms," he says. He himself commands that all the people who have (lit. having) poured on to the long track, should leave (it) and that the grounds should be (kept) clear (lit. open). The boys come forward, and shine on their bridled horses (and) at the same time before the gaze (lit. faces) of their parents, and all the young men of Trinacria and Troy murmur in admiration at them as they advance (lit. advancing). They all have (lit. [There is] to all [of them]) hair bound, according to custom, by a clipped wreath, (and) they are each carrying two cornel-wood spear-shafts headed with iron. Some (have) polished quivers (slung) from the shoulder; a pliant circlet of twisted gold passes over the top of their chests (and) around their necks. The squadrons (are) three in number, and three leaders are roving around; twelve (lit. twice six) boys, following each one, with their own trainers, shine in parted columns. The first line of young men, which a little Priam, recalling the name of his grandfather, leads triumphantly, your illustrious progeny, Polites, destined to increase the Italians; a piebald (lit. two-coloured) horse with white spots bears him, displaying white feet in the front of (each) leg and, (standing) erect (lit. high), a white forehead. The second (leader was) Atys, from whom the family of the Latin Atii have derived, little Atys and a boy beloved by the boy Iulus. Lastly, Iulus, fair in appearance before all (others), rode on a Sidonian horse, which the lovely (lit. white[-skinned]) Dido had given (to him) to be his own (as) a reminder and a pledge of her love. The rest of the youths ride (lit. are borne by) Trinacrian horses of old Acestes. The Dardanids welcome the nervous (boys) and rejoice, looking at (them), and they recognise the features of old forbears (lit. parents). After they had joyfully paraded on their horses past the whole concourse and the eyes of their (kindred), Epytides gave the signal with a lengthy shout to them having been prepared, and cracked with his whip. They gallop apart in equal (detachments) and each of the three (detachments) dissolve their column into divided ranks, and, having been called upon once more, they changed direction and levelled (lit. lifted up) their couched lances. Thence, they enter upon other charges and other retreats, facing (one another) across a space (of ground), and they entangle alternate wheels with wheels and give rise to the pretence of fighting under arms; and sometimes they expose their backs in flight, sometimes they turn their spear-points in a hostile manner, sometimes, peace having been made, they ride (lit. are borne along) together. (It is) as the Labyrinth in mountainous Crete is once said to have had a path hedged with blind walls and a puzzle with a thousand ways, by which the untraceable and irretraceable maze would baffle (any) clue of getting out. By just this (lit. not by another) course the sons of the Teucrians entangle their footsteps and weave their flights and skirmishes in play, like dolphins that by swimming through the wet seas cut the Carpathian and Libyan (waters) [and play among the waves]. Ascanius was the first to repeat this custom of riding and this contest, when he encircled Alba Longa with walls, and he taught the ancient Latins to celebrate (it) in the way, in which (he) himself (had celebrated it as) a boy, (and ) in which the Trojan youth (had celebrated it) with him; the Albans taught (it) to their (sons); hence greatest Rome inherited (it) in succession, and preserved the ancestral ceremony; (the game is) now (named) Troy, (and) the boys are said (to be) the Trojan troop. To this (end) the games in honour of that venerated father were celebrated.

Ll. 604-699.  Not satisfied with the mischief she has previously caused the Trojans, Juno send Iris in the form of Beroe to stir up discontent among the Trojan women, who set the ships on fire. Only rain stops the destruction of all the ships, but still four are lost completely.

Hereupon, Fortune, having first shifted, altered its loyalty. While they were paying solemn (rites) to the burial-mound by these various games, Saturnian Juno sent Iris (down) from the sky to the Ilian (i.e. Trojan) fleet, and she blows winds (to assist her) as she went (lit. going), and, not yet assuaged in respect of her old resentment, setting many things in motion. She, hurrying on her way along a rainbow with a thousand colours, the maiden, being visible to no one, comes down in swift course. She catches sight of the huge assembly, and scans the shore, and she sees the deserted harbour and the unattended fleet. But, far apart on the lonely sea-shore, the Trojan women were weeping for the lost Anchises, and, as they wept (lit. weeping), they all looked out over the deep ocean. Alas, that so many shoals and such a great (expanse) of sea should be left, (them being so) weary! (There was) one voice on all (their lips). They plead for a city (of their own), (and) it wearies (them) to endure the toils of the sea. So, not unaware of mischief-making, she flies (lit. throws herself) into their midst, and lays aside the aspect and the garments of a goddess; she becomes Beroe, the aged wife of Tmarian Doryclus, who would have had (lit. to whom there would have been) ancestry and, at one time, a (good) name and sons, and thus she rushes (lit. betakes herself) into the midst of the mothers of the Dardanids. "O wretched women, whom no Greek hands have dragged to death in war under the walls of our native-city! O unlucky race, for what (manner of) destruction is Fortune reserving you? The seventh summer has now passed since the downfall of Troy, while we are being borne over straits, while (we are being borne over) every land, surveying so many inhospitable rocks and stars, while we are in quest of an (ever) receding Italy across the great sea, and are rolled in the waves. Here (are) the fraternal territories of Eryx, and our host (is) Acestes: who is preventing (us) from laying down walls and giving a city to our citizens? O fatherland and household gods, rescued in vain from the enemy, will nothing now be called the walls of Troy? Shall I nowhere see the rivers of Hector, Xanthus and Simois? Come with me and set fire to the ill-omened ships (lit. sterns). For, in my sleep, the prophetess Cassandra seemed to give me burning brands: 'Look here for Troy; here is a home for you,' she says. Now (is) the time for matters to be taken in hand, nor, with such great portents, (can there be) delay. Behold, the four altars to Neptune! The god himself is supplying (us) with brands and courage (as well)." Saying these (words), she was the first to snatch a menacing flame with force, and, her right (hand) having been raised to its full distance, with all her might (lit. straining) she brandishes (it) and throws (it). The minds of the Ilian women were aroused and their hearts were astounded. Hereupon, one out of the many women, (she) who was the oldest (lit. the greatest by birth), Pyrgo, the royal nurse to so many of the sons of Priam, (cried out): "You have (lit. There is to you) no Beroe (here), mothers, not that lady of Rhoteum, the consort of Doryclus; observe the marks of divine beauty and the burning eyes; what a spirit in her case, what a countenance, (what) a sound of voice or (what) a stride in respect of her going forward! Indeed I myself, having parted (from her) a little while ago, have left Beroe sick and resentful, because she alone was missing such a (fine) ceremony, nor could she bring to Anchises his due honours." She spoke these (words). But at first the mothers (were) confused, and with malignant eyes they look at the ships, undecided between their pathetic love of their present land and the kingdom calling (them) according to destiny, when the goddess soared (lit. raised herself) through the sky on evenly balanced wings, and, in her flight she cuts a huge rainbow beneath the clouds. Then indeed, astonished by this portent and driven by madness, they scream and seize fire from their innermost hearths; some (of them) pillage altars, (and) hurl foliage, faggots and torches. Vulcan rages, the reins having been let loose, along the thwarts and oars and the sterns decorated with fir-wood.  Eumelus, (as) the messenger, brings the news to the burial-mound of Anchises and to the benches of the theatre that the ships have been set on fire, and they see for themselves the black ashes floating in the cloud (of smoke). And, in the first place, Ascanius, just as he was happily leading his troop of horsemen, just so he eagerly made for the troubled camp on his horse, nor could his breathless mentors restrain (him). "What is this strange madness of yours? Alas, (O) reckless women citizens, at what now, at what are you aiming?" he says. "You are burning, not the enemy and the hostile camp of the Argives, (but) your own hopes (for the future). Look, (it is) I, your Ascanius! - (and) he flung down at his feet his empty helmet, with which, wearing (it) in play, he was giving rise to the pretence of warfare. At the same time, Aeneas comes up in haste, together with a column of Teucrians. And the women, having scattered in fear, disperse along the shore in all directions, and, wherever (there are) woods and hollow caves, they make for (them) furtively; they hate (lit. it irks [them] in respect of) the beginning of the daylight, and, having been changed for the better, they  recognise their own people (once more), and (the power of) Juno has been expelled from their hearts. But not for this reason did the flames and the conflagration abate their indomitable strength; beneath the moist timbers the tow is (now) alive, discharging a lingering smoke, and the sluggish steam devours the keels, and  the canker penetrates throughout the whole hulk, nor does the strength of the heroes, and the rivers (of water) poured (by them), avail (anything). Then, pious Aeneas tears the cloak from his shoulders, and calls upon the gods for help and stretches (out) his palms, (saying): "Almighty Jupiter, if not yet detesting Trojans to a single man, (and) if that old loving-kindness (still) takes note of human tribulations, grant that the flames now evade our fleet, Father, and pluck the tenuous fortunes of the Teucrians from death. If I (so) deserve, do you cast what is left (of us) down to death by a hostile thunderbolt, and overwhelm (us) here by your own right (hand)." Scarcely had he uttered these (words), when, rain having poured forth, a blackening tempest rages without pause, and at its thundering the high (places) of the earth and its plains begin to shake; from the whole sky rushes the downpour, murky with water, and very darkened by the dense southerly winds; and the ships were  filled (with water) from above, (and) the charred timbers are soaked, until all the heat was quenched, and all the ships, (except) four having been lost, were saved from ruin.

Ll. 700-745.  Much disturbed by this calamity, Aeneas ponders whether or not the Trojans should now settle down in Sicily and give up all thoughts of Italy. However, Nautes advises him to leave some of his weaker compatriots in Sicily with Acestes, and to take a select band to Italy. The ghost of his father Anchises then visits him and supports Nautes' advice. 


Then father Aeneas, shaken by this bitter misfortune, shifted his heavy responsibilities in his breast, now in this direction, now in that direction, pondering whether, forgetting his destiny, he should settle in the fields of Sicily, (or) whether he should strive to reach the shores of Italy. Then old Nautes, whom (as) the one man Tritonian Pallas taught and rendered pre-eminent for his vast skill - [she used to give (such) answers (as) these, either what the great anger of the gods did portend, or what the (immutable) order of destiny did demand] and he, consoling Aeneas, instructs (him) with these words: "Son of the goddess, we should follow whither destiny leads (us) and leads (us) back; whatever shall befall (us), every (turn of) fortune (which) must be (lit. is meet to be) surmounted must be (lit. is meet to be) endured. You have (lit. There is to you) Acestes, a Dardanian of divine lineage. Take him into your counsels (as) a comrade, and join with him, as he is willing (lit. being willing); hand over to him (those) who are superfluous, the ships having been lost, and those who are tired of (lit. those whom it moves to tiredness in respect of) your great enterprise and your fortunes; choose both old men of great age and mothers worn out by the sea, and whomever (of those) with you is frail and afraid of risk; and allow that the weary may have a city in this land; the (right of choosing its) name having been permitted (to them), they will call the city Acesta." His mind, having been set on fire by such words from his old friend, is indeed then distracted among all his cares. And (now) black night, having been supported by its chariot and pair, was occupying the vault of heaven: then the ghost of his father Anchises was suddenly seen, gliding down from the sky, to pour forth the following words: "(O) son, once more dear to me than life, while life remained (to me), son, having been kept occupied by the destiny of Ilium, I come hither by the command of Jupiter, who has driven away the fire from the fleet, and from high heaven has taken pity (on you) at last. Obey the advice, which, most excellent (as it is), old Nautes is now giving (you); convey to Italy your chosen young men, the bravest hearts; in Latium a hardy nation and (one) rough in its manner of life must be (lit. is meet to be) subdued in war by you. But, before (that), go down to the infernal dwelling-place of Dis (i.e. Pluto), and through the depths of Avernus seek a meeting with me, my son. For indeed neither impious Tartarus nor the gloomy shades are holding me, but I inhabit the pleasant gatherings of the dutiful and Elysium. A chaste Sibyl shall guide you hither with much blood from black flocks. You will then learn about all your progeny and what city walls shall be granted (to you). And now, farewell, (for) damp Night is turning in the middle of her course, and cruel dawn (lit. the East) breathes upon me with her panting horses." He had spoken, and he fled like smoke in thin air. Aeneas cries, "Whither then are you rushing off? Whither are you hurrying away? Whom are you fleeing? Or who is keeping you away from my embraces? Saying these (words), he stirs the ash and the smouldering fires, and worships the Hearth God of Pergama (i.e. the citadel of Troy) and the innermost shrines of white(-haired) Vesta, as a suppliant, with ritual meal  and a full incense-casket.

Ll. 746-778.  Aeneas and Acestes make arrangements for the new city of Acesta (Segesta), and Aeneas and those whom he has selected then set sail for Italy.


Immediately, he summons his comrades, and Acestes first, and he expounds (to them) Jupiter's command and the instructions of his dear father, and the decision which is now clear in his mind. (There is) no delay to the debate, nor does Acestes reject his orders. They transfer mothers to the city, and set ashore those people (who are) willing, their hearts not in need of great renown. They themselves repaired the thwarts and in the ships replace the timbers consumed by the flames; they fit both oars and rigging; (they were) few in number but their valour (was) vital in war. Meanwhile, Aeneas marks out (the boundaries of) the city with a plough and allots (the ground for) homes; he ordains this (place to be) Ilium and those places (to be) Troy. Trojan Acestes delights in his kingdom, and proclaims an (assembly) forum and gives laws to the senators (whom he has) summoned.  Then, on the crest of Eryx and in the neighbourhood of the stars, he founds a temple (lit. dwelling-place) for Idalian Venus, and a priest and a broad grove sacred to the burial-mound of  Anchises. And now the whole nation have feasted for nine days and honours have been paid to to the altars: gentle winds have calmed (lit. smoothed) the seas, and a regular and favourable South Wind summons (them) again on to the deep (sea). Loud weeping arises along the curved shore; for both a night and a day they linger, embracing among themselves. Now the very mothers, the very men, to whom the appearance of the sea once seemed rough, and (even) its name not bearable, wish to go and to endure every ordeal of exile. Good Aeneas consoles them with friendly words, and tearfully commends (them) to their kinsman Acestes. Then, he orders (them) to sacrifice three calves to Eryx and a lamb to the Storm(-Gods), and the stern-cable (of each ship) to be loosed in turn (lit. in due order). He himself, standing on his prow well away (from the land), wreathed in respect of his head with the leaves of trimmed olive, holds an offering bowl and offers the entrails as a sacrifice and pours the flowing wine into the salty waves. A wind, rising from the stern, follows (them) as they go (lit. going). His comrades strike the seas (with their oars) in rivalry and sweep the surface of the ocean.

Ll. 779-826.  Venus, much vexed by Juno's harassment of the Trojans, applies to Neptune for help. Neptune agrees to help, and says that the Trojans will reach Italy with the loss of only one life.


But, meanwhile, Venus, agitated by anxiety, addresses Neptune, and pours out the following complaints from her heart: "The oppressive anger and the not appeasable heart of Juno compel me, (O) Neptune, to stoop to every entreaty; neither a long period of time (lit. a day) nor any honour mollifies her, nor, unbroken, is she pacified by the command of Jupiter and by (the will of) destiny. In her wicked hatred it is not enough (for her) to have consumed the city (of Troy) out of the midst of the race of the Phrygians, nor to have dragged (it) through every (form of) punishment; she persecutes (even) the relics, the ashes and the bones of Troy (which has been) destroyed. She may be aware of the reasons for so great a rage. You yourself (were) recently a witness for me with regard to the turmoil which she has suddenly aroused: she has mingled all the seas with the sky, relying in vain upon the storms of Aeolus, having ventured this in your domains. Behold, even the Trojan mothers having been driven into (sheer) wickedness, she has foully burned up their ships, and, the fleet having been lost, she has forced (Aeneas) to abandon his comrades in an unknown land. As for what is left (of them), may it be permitted (to them), I pray, to set sail safely over your waves, and (even) if I am seeking things (which have been) conceded, and if the Fates are granting (them) that walled city, may it be permitted (to them) to reach the Laurentine Tiber. Then, the son of Saturn (i.e. Neptune), master of the deep sea, uttered these (words): "It is wholly right, Cytherea (i.e. Venus), that you should trust my realm, whence you draw your birth. Also, I have earned (it); I have often restrained those frenzies and that very great madness from both the sky and the sea. Nor have I had (lit. has there been to me) any less care for your Aeneas on land [(I call) Xanthus and Simois (as) witness]. When Achilles, pursuing the breathless columns of Troy, dashed (them) against its walls, and gave many thousands (notice) of death, and the rivers, choked (with corpses) were groaning, and Xanthus could not find a path and roll himself down to the sea, then did I rescue Aeneas (as he was) contending with the valiant son of Peleus, neither the gods nor his (own) strength (being) favourable (to him), by a hollow cloud, although I desired to overthrow from its foundations (lit. its lowest point), the walls of forsworn Troy built by my own hands. Now also my mind continues the same, (so) dispel your fears. He will safely reach the harbour of Avernus (i.e. Cumae), which you wish for (as his destination). There will only be one man lost, whom you will seek upon the sea; one man will be given on behalf of many." When he has calmed the joyful breast of the goddess by these words, the father (i.e. Neptune) harnesses his horses with a golden (bridle) and inserts the foaming bits into (the mouths of) the steeds and let all the reins go through his hands. He flies over the top of the surface of the sea in his blue-green chariot; the waves subside, and the swelling sea is becalmed with its waters beneath the thundering axle; the storm-clouds flee from the vast (expanse of) sky. Then, the various shapes of his retinue (appear), monstrous sea-beasts, and the hoary dance-troop of Glaucus, and Palaemon, (son) of Ino, and the swift Tritons, and all the host of Phorcus; Thetis occupies the left-hand (side), and Melite, and the maiden Panopea, Nisaee and Spio and Thalia and Cymodoce.

Ll. 827-870.  Aeneas, with Palinurus as helmsman, makes for Italy under full sail. Somnus, the god of sleep, induces Palinurus to fall asleep, and he falls in the water and drowns. Aeneas then steers his ship past the dangerous reef of the Sirens. 

Then, caressing joy pervades the anxious mind of father Aeneas in its turn: he commands that all the masts are erected, (and) the yard-arms spread with sails; together they all make (fast) the sail-rope, and at the same time they loosen the sails on the port (side), now on the starboard (side); in unison, they swing and swing around the lofty sailyard ends; suitable winds carry the fleet along. Out in front before everyone, Palinurus drove the close column; the others were ordered to direct their course in his wake (lit. according to him). And now damp Night had almost reached the mid-point of the sky; the sailors were relaxing their limbs in gentle repose, stretched along their hard seats under the oars, when the (God of) Sleep, slipping lightly down from the stars of heaven, parted the gloomy air and dispelled the shadows, seeking you, (O) Palinurus, (and) carrying a sombre dream to you (although you were) blameless; and, like Phorbus, the god took his seat on the lofty stern, and pours these words from his mouth: "(O) Palinurus, son of Iasius, the seas themselves are conveying the fleet; steady (lit. well-balanced) breezes are blowing; an hour is given (to you) for rest. Lay down your head, and withdraw your eyes from their toil. I myself will take over (lit. enter upon) your duties for you for a little while." Scarcely raising his eyes, Palinurus speaks to him (thus): "Are you bidding me to disregard the countenance of this tranquil sea and its quiet waves? (Are you bidding) me to put my trust in this demon? For why should I entrust Aeneas to deceitful winds, having been deceived so often too, by the treachery of a clear sky?" He gave (out) such words, and, fastened to the tiller and sticking (to it), he was not letting go (of it) for anything, and he kept his gaze (lit. eyes) up towards the stars. Behold, the god shakes a branch, dripping with Lethe's dew and inducing drowsiness with the force of the Styx, over both of his temples, and (himself) hesitating, it released his swimming eyes. Scarcely had the unexpected rest relaxed his limbs, when (the god) flinging himself down upon (him), hurled (him) headlong into the flowing waves, a part of the stern having been wrenched away (together) with the tiller, and (him) continually calling his comrades in vain. (The god) himself, flying, soared (lit. raised himself) on his wings into the light breezes. As before (lit. not otherwise), the fleet forges on undaunted in accordance with the promise of father Neptune. And now it was approaching the rocks of the Sirens, once difficult (to pass) and whitened with the bones of many men, (and) then the rocks were sounding raucously afar off in the unceasing surf, when father (Aeneas) realised that (his ship) was drifting at random (lit. afloat), his helmsman having been lost, and he himself steered the ship amid the nocturnal waves, sighing much and shaken in his mind by the misfortune of his friend: "O Palinurus, trusting too much in the clear sky and sea, (now) you will lie naked on an unknown shore."