Whose fame by now the darkness hides. Aeneas Speaks to their hope:--“No one goes unrewarded: To each I give two Cretan arrows, gleaming With polished steel, and a double-bitted axe Embossed with silver. Everybody wins These prizes, but the first three runners also Shall wear the wreath of olive, and the winner Ride home a horse equipped with splendid trappings; For second place, an Amazonian quiver With Thracian arrows, a broad belt of gold With jeweled buckle; and this Argive helmet For the one who comes in third.” They take their places, And when the signal is given, away they go, Like rain from storm-cloud, bodies leaning forward, Eyes on the goal. And for the lead it’s Nisus, Swifter than winds or lightning; running second, A good way back, comes Salius; and the third one, Third at some distance, is Euryalus, Helymus next; right on his heels Diores. There’s a little crowding there, the course too narrow, Diores, full of run, is in a pocket, He can’t get through. The race is almost over, Their breath comes hard, they are almost at the finish,-- There’s a pool of blood on the ground, where the slain bullocks Fell in the sacrifice, a slippery puddle Red on green ground, and Nisus does not see it, Nisus, still leading, thinking himself the winner, Is out of luck, his feet slide out from under, He wobbles, totters, recovers himself a little, Slips and goes forward, in a beautiful header Through blood and mud. But he keeps his wits about him, Does not forget his friend Euryalus; rising, And sort of accidentally on purpose, Gets in the way of Salius and spills him, A cartwheel, head over heels on the flying sand. Euryalus flashes past, an easy winner Thanks to his friend’s assistance, and they cheer him; Helymus second; in third place, Diores.