They take their stand, each rising
On the balls of his feet, their arms upraised, and rolling
Their heads back from the punch. They spar, they lead,
They watch for openings. Dares, much the younger,
Is much the better in footwork; old Entellus
Has to rely on strength; his knees are shaky,
His wind not what it was. They throw their punches,
And many miss; and some, with a solid thump,
Land on the ribs or chest; temples and ears
Feel the wind of a miss, or the jaws rattle
When a punch lands. Entellus stands flat-footed,
Wasting no motion, just a slip of the body,
The watchful eyes alert. And Dares, feinting,
Like one who artfully attacks a city,
Tries this approach, then that, dancing around him
In varied vain attack. Entellus, rising,
Draws back his right (in fact, he telegraphs it),
And Dares, seeing it coming, slips aside;
Entellus lands on nothing but the wind
And, thrown off balance, heavily comes down
Flat on his face, as falls on Erymanthus
A thunder-smitten oak, and so on, and so on.
Roaring, the Trojans and Sicilians both
Rise to their feet; the noise goes up to heaven;
Acestes rushes in, to raise his comrade
In pity and sorrow. But that old-time fighter
Is not slowed down a bit, nor made more wary;
His rage is terrible, and his shame awakens
A consciousness of strength. He chases Dares
All over the ring, left, right, left, right, the punches
Rattle like hailstones on a roof; he batters Dares,
Spins him halfway around with one hand, clouts him
Straight with the other again. At last Aeneas
Steps in and stops it, with a word of comfort
For the exhausted Dares:—“Luckless fellow,
Yield to the god! What madness blinds your vision
To strength beyond your own?” They rescue Dares,
And drag him to the ships, with his knees caving,
Head rolling side to side, spitting out blood
And teeth; he hardly sees the sword and helmet.
They leave the palm and bullock for Entellus,
Who, in the pride of victory, cries aloud:
“Look, goddess-born! Watch, Trojans, and discover
Two things—how strong I was when I was younger,
And what a death you’ve kept away from Dares!”
And, with the word, he faced his prize, the bullock,
Drew back his right hand, poised it, sent it smashing
Between the horns, shattering the skull, and splashing
Brains on the bones, as the great beast came down, lifeless.
“This life, a better one than Dares’, Eryx,
I vow as sacrifice, and so, victorious,
Retire, and lay aside the gloves forever.”

Next comes an archery contest. Aeneas offers
Prizes and summons; on Serestus’ vessel
The mast is raised, and from its top a cord
With a fluttering dove bound to it as the mark.
Four enter; a bronze helmet takes the lots,
HippocoÖn’s leaps out first; then Mnestheus follows,
Green with the olive garland, sign and token
Of ship well driven; and third was Pandarus’ brother,
Eurytion; Pandarus was the archer
Who once broke truce with the Greeks, firing an arrow
In the days of peace; and last came king Acestes,
Willing to try his hand with younger men.

They bend the pliant bows, each archer straining,
Draw shaft from quiver. First from the twanging string
HippocoÖn’s arrow flew, through sky, through wind,
Reaching its mark in the wood of the mast, which trembled
And the bird flapped wings in terror, and the crowd
Rang with applause. Mnestheus took his stand,
Drawing the bow back, aiming a little higher,
And missed the bird, but severed knot and tether,
And the dove sped free to the south. Eurytion, waiting
And ready, called in prayer upon his brother,
Let the dart fly, brought down the bird, exulting,
From under the dark of the cloud. She came down lifeless,
Pierced by the arrow still. No prize was left
For king Acestes, but he fired his arrow,
High as he could, to prove his skill. And a wonder
Came to their eyes; it proved an omen later
When seers explained its meaning. The shaft caught fire
Flying amid the clouds, a course of flame,
Vanishing into space, as comets stream
Sweeping across the heaven, their long train flying
Behind them through the sky. All hearts were shaken,
Sicilian, Trojan, both, and all men prayed
To the powers on high. Aeneas hailed the omen,
Embraced Acestes, loaded him with presents,
Saying, “Receive them, father; for the king
Of heaven has willed it so, unusual honors
For skill surpassing. This bowl, with graven figures,
Anchises owned, given him t rides smoothly in the even weather,
The hour is given for rest. Lay down the head,
Rest the tired eyes from toil. I will take over
A little while.” But Palinurus, barely
Lifting his eyes, made answer: “Trust the waves,
However quiet? trust a peaceful ocean?
Put faith in such a monster? Never! I
Have been too often fooled by the clear stars
To trust Aeneas to their faithless keeping.”
And so he clung to the tiller, never loosed
His hand from the wood, his eyes from the fair heaven.
But lo, the god over his temples shook
A bough that dripped with dew from Lethe, steeped
With Stygian magic, so the swimming eyes,
Against his effort close, blink open, close
Again, and slumber takes the drowsy limbs.
Bending above him, leaning over, the god
Shoves him, still clinging to the tiller, calling
His comrades vainly, into the clear waves.
And the god is gone like a bird to the clear air,
And the fleet is going safely over its journey
As Neptune promised. But the rocks were near,
The Siren-cliffs, most perilous of old,
White with the bones of many mariners,
Loud with their hoarse eternal warning sound.
Aeneas starts from sleep, aware, somehow,
Of a lost pilot, and a vessel drifting,
Himself takes over guidance, with a sigh
And heartache for a friend’s mishap, “Alas,
Too trustful in the calm of sea and sky,
O Palinurus, on an unknown shore,
You will be lying, naked.”