Page:Aeneid (Conington 1866).djvu/162

138 A level, on whose ample breast

The basking sea-birds love to rest.

Thereon an oak with leafy bole

Æneas plants, to form a goal,

That helmsman's eye the spot may mark

And prompt his hand to turn the bark.

Each takes the place his lot assigns:

Proud on the stern each captain shines

With gold and purple dye:

The crews are wreathed with poplar green:

Their naked shoulders oil makes sheen:

And now on rowing-bench they sit,

Bend to the oar their arms close knit,

And straining watch the sign to start;

While generous trembling thrills each heart

And thirst for victory.

Then, at the trumpet's piercing sound,

All from their barriers onward bound:

Upsoars to heaven the oarsman's shout:

The upturned billows froth and spout.

In level lines they plough the deep:

All ocean yawns, as on they sweep,

And three-toothed beak and plashing oar

Tear from its base the marble floor.

Less swift in heady two-horse race

The chariots scour the field apace,

When from their base they dash:

Less eager o'er the tossing manes

The charioteer flings out the reins,

And bends him o'er the lash.

With plaudits loud and clamorous zeal

Echoes the woodland round:

The pent shores roll the thunder-peal,

The stricken hills rebound.

'Mid hurry and tumultuous shout

First Gyas issues from the rout,