But Dares is in the hands of his faithful comrades, dragging after him his feeble knees, dropping his head on this side and on that, discharging from his mouth clotted gore, teeth and blood together. Thus they lead him to 35 the ships; summoned, they receive for him the helmet and the sword; the palm and the bull they leave to Entellus. Hereon the conqueror, towering in pride of soul, and exulting in his prize, the bull: “Goddess-born,” cries he, “and you, Teucrians, take measure at once of the strength which dwelt in my frame, while that frame was young, and the death from whose door you have called back, and are still keeping, your Dares.” So saying, he took his 5 stand full before the face of the bullock, which was there as the prize of the fray, and with arm drawn back, swung the iron gauntlet right between the horns, rising to his full height, crashed it down on the bone, and shattered the brain. Prostrated, breathless, and quivering, on earth lies 10 the bull. He from his bosom’s depth speaks thus over the dead:—“This life, Eryx, I render to thee—a better substitute for Dares’ death; here, as a conqueror may, I resign the gauntlets and the game.” Next Æneas invites those who may care to vie in shooting 15 the fleet arrow, and sets forth the prizes. With his own giant hand he rears upright the mast from Serestus’ ship, and from its lofty summit ties a fluttering dove with a cord passed round the mast—a mark for aiming the steel. The archers are met; the lot has been thrown 20 and received by the brazen helmet. See! first, among the shouts of his friends, comes out before all the place of Hyrtacus’ son, Hippocoon, who is followed by Mnestheus, late conqueror in the ship-race—Mnestheus, crowned with the green olive-wreath. Third comes Eurytion, thy 25 brother, thrice glorious Pandarus, who in elder days, bidden to destroy the truce, wast the first to wing thy weapon into the Achæan ranks. Last is Acestes, sank at the bottom of the helm, the old man’s spirit nerving his arm to essay the task of the young. And now, with stern 30 strength, they bend and arch their bows, each hero his own, and draw forth the shaft from the quiver. First through heaven from the twanging string the arrow of Hyrtacus’ youthful son pierces sharp and shrill the flying air: it hits—it is lodged full in the mast-tree. After 35 him stood keen Mnestheus, his bowstring drawn to his breast, his bow pointing upwards, eye and shaft levelled at once. But the bird itself, hapless man! his arrow had not power to touch that: it cut the knot and the hempen fastening by which she hung, tied by the foot, from the mast’s top. Away she flew, all among the south-winds and their murky clouds. Then, quick as thought, his