The Aeneid - Virgil (13 ebook reader .TXT) š
- Author: Virgil
Book online Ā«The Aeneid - Virgil (13 ebook reader .TXT) šĀ». Author Virgil
This done, Aeneas orders, for the close,
The strife of archers with contending bows.
The mast Sergesthusā shatterād galley bore
With his own hands he raises on the shore.
A fluttāring dove upon the top they tie,
The living mark at which their arrows fly.
The rival archers in a line advance,
Their turn of shooting to receive from chance.
A helmet holds their names; the lots are drawn:
On the first scroll was read Hippocoƶn.
The people shout. Upon the next was found
Young Mnestheus, late with naval honours crownād.
The third containād Eurytionās noble name,
Thy brother, Pandarus, and next in fame,
Whom Pallas urgād the treaty to confound,
And send among the Greeks a featherād wound.
Acestes in the bottom last remainād,
Whom not his age from youthful sports restrainād.
Soon all with vigour bend their trusty bows,
And from the quiver each his arrow chose.
Hippocoƶnās was the first: with forceful sway
It flew, and, whizzing, cut the liquid way.
Fixād in the mast the featherād weapon stands:
The fearful pigeon flutters in her bands,
And the tree trembled, and the shouting cries
Of the pleasād people rend the vaulted skies.
Then Mnestheus to the head his arrow drove,
With lifted eyes, and took his aim above,
But made a glancing shot, and missed the dove;
Yet missād so narrow, that he cut the cord
Which fastenād by the foot the flitting bird.
The captive thus releasād, away she flies,
And beats with clapping wings the yielding skies.
His bow already bent, Eurytion stood;
And, having first invokād his brother god,
His winged shaft with eager haste he sped.
The fatal message reachād her as she fled:
She leaves her life aloft; she strikes the ground,
And renders back the weapon in the wound.
Acestes, grudging at his lot, remains,
Without a prize to gratify his pains.
Yet, shooting upward, sends his shaft, to show
An archerās art, and boast his twanging bow.
The featherād arrow gave a dire portent,
And latter augurs judge from this event.
Chafād by the speed, it firād; and, as it flew,
A trail of following flames ascending drew:
Kindling they mount, and mark the shiny way;
Across the skies as falling meteors play,
And vanish into wind, or in a blaze decay.
The Trojans and Sicilians wildly stare,
And, trembling, turn their wonder into prayār.
The Dardan prince put on a smiling face,
And strainād Acestes with a close embrace;
Then, honāring him with gifts above the rest,
Turnād the bad omen, nor his fears confessād.
āThe gods,ā said he, āthis miracle have wrought,
And orderād you the prize without the lot.
Accept this goblet, rough with figurād gold,
Which Thracian Cisseus gave my sire of old:
This pledge of ancient amity receive,
Which to my second sire I justly give.ā
He said, and, with the trumpetsā cheerful sound,
Proclaimād him victor, and with laurel-crownād.
Nor good Eurytion envied him the prize,
Thoā he transfixād the pigeon in the skies.
Who cut the line, with second gifts was gracād;
The third was his whose arrow piercād the mast.
The chief, before the games were wholly done,
Callād Periphantes, tutor to his son,
And whisperād thus: āWith speed Ascanius find;
And, if his childish troop be ready joinād,
On horseback let him grace his grandsireās day,
And lead his equals armād in just array.ā
He said; and, calling out, the cirque he clears.
The crowd withdrawn, an open plain appears.
And now the noble youths, of form divine,
Advance before their fathers, in a line;
The riders grace the steeds; the steeds with glory shine.
Thus marching on in military pride,
Shouts of applause resound from side to side.
Their casques adornād with laurel wreaths they wear,
Each brandishing aloft a cornel spear.
Some at their backs their gilded quivers bore;
Their chains of burnishād gold hung down before.
Three graceful troops they formād upon the green;
Three graceful leaders at their head were seen;
Twelve followād evāry chief, and left a space between.
The first young Priam led; a lovely boy,
Whose grandsire was thā unhappy king of Troy;
His race in after times was known to fame,
New honours adding to the Latian name;
And well the royal boy his Thracian steed became.
White were the fetlocks of his feet before,
And on his front a snowy star he bore.
Then beauteous Atys, with IĆ¼lus bred,
Of equal age, the second squadron led.
The last in order, but the first in place,
First in the lovely features of his face,
Rode fair Ascanius on a fiery steed,
Queen Didoās gift, and of the Tyrian breed.
Sure coursers for the rest the king ordains,
With golden bits adornād, and purple reins.
The pleasād spectators peals of shouts renew,
And all the parents in the children view;
Their make, their motions, and their sprightly grace,
And hopes and fears alternate in their face.
Thā unfledgād commanders and their martial train
First make the circuit of the sandy plain
Around their sires, and, at thā appointed sign,
Drawn up in beauteous order, form a line.
The second signal sounds, the troop divides
In three distinguishād parts, with three distinguishād guides
Again they close, and once again disjoin;
In troop to troop opposād, and line to line.
They meet; they wheel; they throw their darts afar
With harmless rage and well-dissembled war.
Then in a round the mingled bodies run:
Flying they follow, and pursuing shun;
Broken, they break; and, rallying, they renew
In other forms the military shew.
At last, in order, undiscernād they join,
And march together in a friendly line.
And, as the Cretan labyrinth of old,
With wandāring ways and many a winding fold,
Involvād the weary feet, without redress,
In a round error, which denied recess;
So fought the Trojan boys in warlike play,
Turnād and returnād, and still a diffārent way.
Thus dolphins in the deep each other chase
In circles, when they swim around the watāry race.
This game, these carousels, Ascanius taught;
And, building Alba, to the Latins brought;
Shewād what he learnād: the Latin sires impart
To their succeeding sons the graceful art;
From these imperial Rome receivād the game,
Which Troy, the youths the Trojan troop, they name.
Thus far the sacred sports they celebrate:
But Fortune soon resumād her ancient hate;
For, while they pay the dead his annual dues,
Those envied rites Saturnian Juno views;
And sends the goddess of the various bow,
To try new methods of revenge below;
Supplies the winds to wing her airy way,
Where in the port secure the navy lay.
Swiftly fair Iris down her arch descends,
And, undiscernād, her fatal voyage ends.
She saw the gathāring crowd; and, gliding thence,
The desert shore, and fleet without defence.
The Trojan matrons, on the sands alone,
With sighs and tears Anchisesā
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