XLIV. Heel touching heel, on Helymus he hung,
Shoulder to shoulder. But a rood beside,
And, slipping past him, foremost he had sprung,
And solved a doubt by winning. Side by side,
The last lap reached, with many a labouring stride
And breathless effort to the post they strain,
When lo! chance-tripping where the sward is dyed
With slippery blood of oxen newly slain,		388
Down luckless Nisus slides, and sprawls upon the plain.
XLV. Stumbling, he felt the tottering knees give way.
With shouts of triumph on his lips he falls
Prone in the gore and in the miry clay.
E'en then, his love remembering, he recalls
Euryalus. Across the track he crawls,
Then, scrambling up from out the quagmire, flies
At Salius. In the dust proud Salius sprawls.
Forth darts Euryalus, 'mid cheers and cries,		397
Hailed, through his helping friend, the winner of the prize.
XLVI. The second prize to Helymus, the third
Falls thus to brave Diores.—Now the heat
Was o'er, when Salius with his clamouring stirred
Troy's seated elders, furious with defeat,
And claimed the prize, as wrested by a cheat.
Tears aid Euryalus, and favour pleads
His worth, more winsome in a form so sweet,
And loudly, too, Diores intercedes.		406
Lost were his own last prize, if Salius' claim succeeds.
XLVII. "Boys," said the good Æneas, "the award
Is fixt, and no man shall the palm withhold.
Yet be it mine to cheer a friend ill-starred."
He spake, and Salius with a gift consoled,
A Moorish lion's hide, with claws of gold
And shaggy hair. Then Nisus with a frown:
"If gifts so great a vanquished man may hold,
If falls win pity, and defeat renown,		415
What prize shall Nisus gain, whose merit earned the crown?
XLVIII. "Ay, who had won, had Chance not interfered,
And baffled me, like Salius? Look," he said,
And pointed to his limbs and forehead, smeared
With ordure. Smiling, the good Sire surveyed
His piteous plight and raiment disarrayed;
Then forth he bade a glittering shield be borne,
Which Didymaon's workmanship had made,
From Neptune's temple by the Danaans torn.		424
This prize he gives the youth, his prowess to adorn.
XLIX. The race was ended, and the gifts assigned,
When thus Æneas, as they thronged about,
Addressed the crowd: "Now, whosoe'er hath mind
His nerve to venture, or whose heart is stout,
Step forth, and don the gauntlets and strike out."
He spake, and straightway, while the lists they clear,
Sets forth the gifts, for him who wins the bout,
Gilt-horned and garlanded, a comely steer,		433
A sword and glittering helm, the loser's soul to cheer.

L. At once, amid loud murmurs, to his feet
Upsprang great Dares, who in olden day
Alone the haughty Paris dared to meet.
He, by the tomb where mightiest Hector lay,
Huge Butes fought, who, glorying in the bay,
And boasting Amycus' Bebrycian strain,
Called for his match. But Dares heard him, yea,
And smote him. Headlong on the sandy plain		442
A lifeless corpse he rolled, and all his boasts were vain.
LI. Such Dares towers, and strides into the ring,
With head erect, and shoulders broad and bare,
And right and left his sinewy arms doth swing,
And burning for a rival, beats the air.
Where is his match? Not one of all will dare
To don the gloves. So, deeming none can stand
Against him, flushed with triumph, then and there
Before Æneas, grasping in his hand		451
The heifer's horns, he cries in accents of command:
LII. "Son of a goddess, if none risks the fray,
How long shall Dares guerdonless remain?
What end of standing? Must I wait all day?
Bring the prize hither." Straight the Dardan train
Shout for their champion, and his claim sustain.
Then to Entellus, seated at his side,
Couched on the green grass, in reproachful strain
Thus sternly spake Acestes, fired with pride,		460
And fain, for manhood sake, his younger friend to chide: