Classic Poem

THE SHIP RACE .

'Twas the expected day, and the Sun-god's horses had borne
Upwards in light unclouded the ninth fair queen of the morn.
Led by the name and the fame of Acestes, king of the land,
Tribes from the marches gather in concourse gay to the strand,
Eager some to compete, and the Teucrians some to behold.
Gifts are arranged in the centre before all eyes to be seen;
Tripods meet for the priest and the altar, garlands of green,
Branches of palm for the conqueror's meed, bright arms for the bold,
Raiment dipt in the purple, with talents silver and gold.
Hark! from the central hill 't is the trumpet sounds for the games!
Pickt from the fleet four equal barks, each ponderous-oared,
Enter the watery lists. Here Mnestheus, noblest of names,
Teucrian warrior now — ere long an Italian lord —
Urges the flying Dragon, her crew all keen for the race:
Sire of the Memmian house. There Gyas steers to his place,
Handling the huge Chimaera, immense of bulk and of span,
Vast as a floating town. Three tiers that his Teucrians man,
Triple banks uplifted in order over the brine,
Drive her. The great Sergestus, from whom our Sergian clan,
Sails in the Centaur tall; and the dark blue Scylla is thine,
Haughty Cloanthus, father of Rome's Cluentian line.

Far in the deep sea facing the foam-white shore is a rock;
Ever, when stars are veiled and the northern hurricane raves,
Drowned in the billows, and lashed by the thundering water shock;
Silent in summer weather, it springs from the slumbering waves
Level and bare, and is haunted of sea-gulls loving the sun.
Bough of a holm-oak green, ere race of the ships has begun,
Yonder the kind chief sets, as a sign for the mariner oar,
Whence to return and to sweep at a distance round to the shore.
Duly by lot their places are chosen; in purple aud gold
High on the stern the commanders shine, all bright to behold.
Poplar branches for garlands the joyous mariners twine,
Bared and anointed shoulders with glistening unguent shine.
Benches are manned. All arms reach eagerly, grasping the oar;
Hearts to the signal strain. Through rioting pulses run
Throbbing fear and desire of immortal praise to be won.
Then at the ringing sound of the clarion, halting no more,
Each from the station suddenly bounds; shouts roll to the sky;
Under the swing of the shoulders the foam-flakes rapidly fly.
Side by side deep furrows are cloven, the great sea gapes,
Rent to a chasm by the blades and the beaks with their trident shapes.
Not so swiftly the cars in the two-wheeled chariot race
Scour the expanse of plain, stream forth from the barrier space;
Not so plunges the yoke, when the charioteer as he speeds
Tosses his flowing reins, and arising, lashes his steeds.

Thundering voices and loud applause from the woodlands sound,
Roll from the land-locked shores, from the mountains echo around.
Far to the front shoots Gyas, of crowd and of thunder clear,
Gliding ahead on the water. Cloanthus follows in rear;
Better his service of oars, but his vessel's ponderous size
Heavily stays him. Behind, at an equal interval, vies
Dragon with Centaur vast for the foremost lead on the bow.
Now 't is the Dragon hath it — the Centaur passes her now.
Beak by beak and together the pair now travel in line,
Each with her long keel ploughing in lengthened furrows the brine.
Nearer the ships had drawn meanwhile to the reef and the mark,
When, still leading the van, midway on the watery realm,
Gyas shouts to Menaetes, the master guiding his bark:
" Whither away to the starboard seas? Turn hither the helm;
Cling to the shore, graze lightly the larboard rocks with the blade.
Leave deep water to others, " he spake; but Menaetes, afraid,
Sheered to the open, in fear of the shallows, deaf to his chief.
" Whither away so wildly, Menaetes? Head for the reef! "
Gyas thunders again. For Cloanthus, lo! is at hand
Close on her larboard quarter and holding nearer to land.
Edging the shore on the left, in the inner channel between
Gyas's bark and the loud sea-rocks, his Scylla is seen,
Suddenly forges ahead to the front, flies suddenly past,
Then rounds swiftly the beacon, and holds safe water at last.
Fierce grief broke to a flame in the hero's heart; on his cheeks
Salt tears rolled; in his anger the tardy Menaetes he seeks.
All unmindful of honour's voice and the lives of his crew,
Headlong into the waters the laggard helmsman he threw,
Strode himself to the rudder, himself assumed the command,
Cheerily spake to his men, then wrested the helm to the strand.
Scarcely from under the billows emerging, stricken in years,
Heavy with dripping raiment, Menaetes slowly appears;
Makes for the dry rock level, and yonder safely he sits.
Laughter greeted his fall, and pursued him swimming to land;
Laughter follows him still as the salt seawater he spits.
Hope at the sight inspirits the hearts of the hindmost pair,
Ere he recovers, the palm from the lingering Gyas to bear.
Seizing the vantage water, Sergestus edges the bank,
Draws not his Centaur clear of the rival keel on her flank;
Part of her broadside clears it, a part is prest by the prow
Still of the jealous Dragon. Amidst his mariners now
Over his deck strides Mnestheus bold: " Rise all to the oar,
Brave companions! " he shouts; " great Hector's fellows of yore,
Whom I chose to be mine upon Ilion's funeral night;
Put forth now your spirit, the old inveterate might,
Which once nerved ye the sands of the shifting Syrtes to brave,
Dread Ionia's seas, and the merciless Malean wave.
Mnestheus asks no triumph, alas! — no conqueror's place.
Yea! let them that are chosen of Neptune win in the race!
Natheless, deem it reproach to be last. This victory gain,
Friends, at the least, and preserve us from shame's indelible stain. "
Every muscle is strained; they bend to the benches with glee,
Brass-bound timbers are shaken with huge strokes dealt to the sea.
Waters recede from beneath them; the limb and the feverish lip
Quiver with quick-drawn breath, and the sweat-drops over them drip.

Chance vouchsafed to the gallants the modest fame they desire.
While in the inner channel Sergestus, all upon fire,
Heads for the rock, — as he nears it, for want of an ampler sweep,
Lo! ill-fated he strikes upon the crags that jut to the deep.
Even the reefs are shaken; the oars upon splinters of rock
Catch and crash, and the bows hang helpless and rent with the shock.
Oarsmen spring from the thwarts, hold fast to the ledge with a cry,
Busily handle the steel-shod pike, and the boat-hook ply,
Then collect from the waters the shattered oars of the crew.
Mnestheus gaily behind, inspired by his triumph anew,
Plies a redoubled stroke and, the breezes now at command,
Steers for the shelving seas, sweeps down through the open to land.
So some dove, from the rock's dark cavern suddenly roused,
Whose dear home, whose nestlings sweet in its hollows are housed,
Rushes apace to the fields, and, driven in her terrible scare
Forth from her cell, beats loudly her sounding pinions in air;
Reaches unbroken stillness, and floats down silent skies,
Sails on her shining journey, and moves no wing as she flies.
So sped Mnestheus now, and his bark on her voyage held
Over the homeward seas, of her own smooth motion impelled.

First in his triumph he passes Sergestus battling amain
Still with the rock and the shoals, and for succour shouting in vain,
Learning feebly to row with his fragments of shattered blade.
Next for the floating monster, Chimaera, and Gyas he made;
Place the Chimaera resigns, of her helmsman reft, and at last
Only Cloanthus remains, as the end draws near, to be past.
On him he closes, with main might labours, presses the race;
Shouts are redoubled, the great crowd cheer as he follows in chase —
Heaven with the voices resounds. These glow for thought of the shame
Should their laurels be stolen, and rivals rob them of fame;
Even at sweet life's cost for the glory of victory long;
Yonder thrive on success; their strength is to seem to be strong.

Beak on a level with beak, peradventure both of the braves
Now had divided the prize, but Cloanthus spreads to the waves
Both clasped hands, prays loudly, attests all heaven to his vow:
" Gods, whose royal domain is the sea, whose waters I plough,
Gladly before your altars a milk-white bull I will lay,
Yonder on shore, right gladly a debtor's offerings pay;
Fling to the billows a victim's heart, pour wine from the bowl. "
Lo! as he spake, he was heard far down in the waves by the whole
Nereid band, and the Neptune choir, and the ocean maid,
Fair Panopea. The sire Portunus graciously laid
Hands almighty upon him, and pushed his ship as she flew.
Swifter than southern gale or a feathered arrow she made
Soon to the shore, and was lost in the distant harbour to view.

Summoning all, Æneas by voice of herald proclaims
Now his Cloanthus victor of all Troy's fleet in the games;
Crowns with the bay-leaf green his brows; then gives to the crews
Largess noble of three steers each, for the winner to choose;
Flagons of wine, and of silver a massive talent besides.
Special honours apiece for the captains then he provides;
First for the victor a gold-bound scarf, twice round it in rows
Thick Melibaean purple for border meandering goes.
Here inwoven a prince with his hounds and his arrows is seen
Chasing the fleet-foot deer amid Ida's forests of green;
Eager and breathless seems. There swooping, and talons displayed,
Jupiter's armour-bearer has borne him aloft from the glade.
Wildly his aged guards stretch forth vain hands upon high;
Furious hounds yell vainly with baying throats to the sky.
Next to the chief who merits the second honour, he told
Hauberk woven of polished chain, thrice threaded with gold —
Spoil that his conquering hands from the slain Demoleos tore
'Neath high Troy, on the rapidly rolling Simois' shore.
Heavy and many its folds; upon straining shoulders to-day
Hardly can Sagaris even, or Phegeus, bear it away —
Stalwart slaves; yet of old its lord in his armour-chain
Drove Troy's scattering legions in hot flight over the plain.
Brazen caldrons twain for a third last guerdon he gave;
Bowls from the silver wrought, and engraven with tracery brave.

Now all held their prizes and proud were wending their way,
Purple ribbons adorning their foreheads bound with the bay,
When from the wild rock painfully rescued, many an oar
Missing, but one tier left his disabled bark, to the shore
Home amid jeers Sergestus his way inglorious wrought.
As on the crown of the great highway some snake that is caught, —
Crushed by a wheel as it crosses, or left in torture to lie
Mangled and all but slain by the stone of a passer-by, —
Seeking idly for shelter, it writhes round slowly, in part
Fierce to the last, eyes blazing with fire, throat lifted to dart
Hiss upon hiss; — part, lamed with the wound, still keeps it in vain
Wreathing its spires, and entwining its knotted coils in its pain; —
So with her oarage crippled, the ship makes slowly her way,
Nevertheless spreads canvas, and glides full sail to the bay.
Then for the rescued bark, for the sailors saved from the seas,
Troy's glad chief to Sergestus the promised guerdon decrees;
Gives him Pholoe fair for a slave, in her motherly bloom,
Cretan of race, twin boys at her bosom, and skilled at the loom.