Than what you promise, the Sicilian shore, Whose hallow’d earth Anchises’ bones contains, And where a prince of Trojan lineage reigns?” The course resolv’d, before the western wind They scud amain, and make the port assign’d. Meantime Acestes, from a lofty stand, Beheld the fleet descending on the land; And, not unmindful of his ancient race, Down from the cliff he ran with eager pace, And held the hero in a strict embrace. Of a rough Libyan bear the spoils he wore, And either hand a pointed jav’lin bore. His mother was a dame of Dardan blood; His sire Crinisus, a Sicilian flood. He welcomes his returning friends ashore With plenteous country cates and homely store. Now, when the following morn had chas’d away The flying stars, and light restor’d the day, Aeneas call’d the Trojan troops around, And thus bespoke them from a rising ground: “Offspring of heav’n, divine Dardanian race! The sun, revolving thro’ th’ ethereal space, The shining circle of the year has fill’d, Since first this isle my father’s ashes held: And now the rising day renews the year; A day for ever sad, for ever dear. This would I celebrate with annual games, With gifts on altars pil’d, and holy flames, Tho’ banish’d to Gaetulia’s barren sands, Caught on the Grecian seas, or hostile lands: But since this happy storm our fleet has driv’n (Not, as I deem, without the will of Heav’n) Upon these friendly shores and flow’ry plains, Which hide Anchises and his blest remains, Let us with joy perform his honours due, And pray for prosp’rous winds, our voyage to renew; Pray, that in towns and temples of our own, The name of great Anchises may be known, And yearly games may spread the gods’ renown. Our sports Acestes, of the Trojan race, With royal gifts ordain’d, is pleas’d to grace: Two steers on ev’ry ship the king bestows; His gods and ours shall share your equal vows. Besides, if, nine days hence, the rosy morn Shall with unclouded light the skies adorn, That day with solemn sports I mean to grace: Light galleys on the seas shall run a wat’ry race; Some shall in swiftness for the goal contend, And others try the twanging bow to bend; The strong, with iron gauntlets arm’d, shall stand Oppos’d in combat on the yellow sand. Let all be present at the games prepar’d, And joyful victors wait the just reward. But now assist the rites, with garlands crown’d.” He said, and first his brows with myrtle bound. Then Helymus, by his example led, And old Acestes, each adorn’d his head; Thus young Ascanius, with a sprightly grace, His temples tied, and all the Trojan race.