Then, thus:--"In Dares's stead I offer this. Eryx! accept a nobler sacrifice: Take the last gift my withered arms can yield: The gauntlets I resign, and here renounce the field." This done, Æneas orders, for the close, The strife of archers, with contending bows. The mast, Sergestus' shattered galley bore, With his own hands he raises on the shore. A fluttering dove upon the top they tie, The living mark at which their arrows fly. The rival archers in a line advance, Their turn of shooting to receive from chance. A helmet holds their names: the lots are drawn; On the first scroll was read Hippocoon: The people shout. Upon the next was found Young Mnestheus, late with naval honours crowned. The third contained Eurytion's noble name, Thy brother, Pandarus, and next in fame, Whom Pallas urged the treaty to confound, And send among the Greeks a feathered wound. Acestes, in the bottom, last remained, Whom not his age from youthful sports restrained. Soon all with vigour bend their trusty bows, And from the quiver each his arrow chose. Hippocoon's was the first: with forceful sway It flew, and, whizzing, cut the liquid way. Fixed in the mast the feathered weapon stands: The fearful pigeon flutters in her bands, And the tree trembled, and the shouting cries Of the pleased people rend the vaulted skies. Then Mnestheus to the head his arrow drove, } With lifted eyes, and took his aim above, } But made a glancing shot, and missed the dove; } Yet missed so narrow, that he cut the cord, Which fastened, by the foot, the flitting bird. The captive thus released, away she flies, And beats, with clapping wings, the yielding skies. His bow already bent, Eurytion stood; And, having first invoked his brother god, His winged shaft with eager haste he sped. The fatal message reached her as she fled: She leaves her life aloft; she strikes the ground, And renders back the weapon in the wound. Acestes, grudging at his lot, remains, Without a prize to gratify his pains. Yet, shooting upward, sends his shaft, to show An archer's art, and boast his twanging bow. The feathered arrow gave a dire portent, And latter augurs judge from this event. Chafed by the speed, it fired; and, as it flew, A trail of following flames, ascending drew: Kindling they mount, and mark the shiny way; } Across the skies as falling meteors play, } And vanish into wind, or in a blaze decay. } The Trojans and Sicilians wildly stare, And, trembling, turn their wonder into prayer. The Dardan prince put on a smiling face, And strained Acestes with a close embrace; Then honouring him with gifts above the rest, Turned the bad omen, nor his fears confessed. "The gods (said he) this miracle have wrought, And ordered you the prize without the lot.