BOOK V

 THE ARGUMENT.


      Aeneas, setting sail from Afric, is driven by a storm on the
      coast of Sicily, where he is hospitably received by his friend
      Acestes, king of part of the island, and born of Trojan
      parentage. He applies himself to celebrate the memory of his
      father with divine honours, and accordingly institues funeral
      games, and appoints prizes for those who should conquer in them.
      While the ceremonies are performing, Juno sends Iris to persuade
      the Trojan woman to burn the ships, who, upon her instigation,
      set fire to them: which burned four, and would have consumed the
      rest, had not Jupiter, by a miraculous shower extinguished it.
      Upon this, Aeneas, by the advice of one of his generals, and a
      vision of his father, builds a city for the women, old men, and
      others, who were either unfit for war, or weary of the voyage,
      and sails for Italy. Venus procures of Neptune a safe voyage for
      him and all his men, excepting only his pilot Palinurus, who was
      unfortunately lost.


      Meantime the Trojan cuts his watry way,
      Fixd on his voyage, thro the curling sea;
      Then, casting back his eyes, with dire amaze,
      Sees on the Punic shore the mounting blaze.
      The cause unknown; yet his presaging mind
      The fate of Dido from the fire divind;
      He knew the stormy souls of womankind,
      What secret springs their eager passions move,
      How capable of death for injurd love.
      Dire auguries from hence the Trojans draw;
      Till neither fires nor shining shores they saw.
      Now seas and skies their prospect only bound;
      An empty space above, a floating field around.
      But soon the heavns with shadows were oerspread;
      A swelling cloud hung hovring oer their head:
      Livid it lookd, the threatning of a storm:
      Then night and horror oceans face deform.
      The pilot, Palinurus, cried aloud:
      What gusts of weather from that gathring cloud
      My thoughts presage! Ere yet the tempest roars,
      Stand to your tackle, mates, and stretch your oars;
      Contract your swelling sails, and luff to wind.
      The frighted crew perform the task assignd.
      Then, to his fearless chief: Not Heavn, said he,
      Tho Jove himself should promise Italy,
      Can stem the torrent of this raging sea.
      Mark how the shifting winds from west arise,
      And what collected night involves the skies!
      Nor can our shaken vessels live at sea,
      Much less against the tempest force their way.
      Tis fate diverts our course, and fate we must obey.
      Not far from hence, if I observd aright
      The southing of the stars, and polar light,
      Sicilia lies, whose hospitable shores
      In safety we may reach with struggling oars.
      Aeneas then replied: Too sure I find
      We strive in vain against the seas and wind:
      Now shift your sails; what place can please me more
      Than what you promise, the Sicilian shore,
      Whose hallowd earth Anchises bones contains,
      And where a prince of Trojan lineage reigns?
      The course resolvd, before the western wind
      They scud amain, and make the port assignd.
      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 javlin 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 chasd away
      The flying stars, and light restord the day,
      Aeneas calld the Trojan troops around,
      And thus bespoke them from a rising ground:
      Offspring of heavn, divine Dardanian race!
      The sun, revolving thro th ethereal space,
      The shining circle of the year has filld,
      Since first this isle my fathers 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 pild, and holy flames,
      Tho banishd to Gaetulias barren sands,
      Caught on the Grecian seas, or hostile lands:
      But since this happy storm our fleet has drivn
      (Not, as I deem, without the will of Heavn)
      Upon these friendly shores and flowry plains,
      Which hide Anchises and his blest remains,
      Let us with joy perform his honours due,
      And pray for prosprous 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 ordaind, is pleasd to grace:
      Two steers on evry 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 watry race;
      Some shall in swiftness for the goal contend,
      And others try the twanging bow to bend;
      The strong, with iron gauntlets armd, shall stand
      Opposd in combat on the yellow sand.
      Let all be present at the games prepard,
      And joyful victors wait the just reward.
      But now assist the rites, with garlands crownd.
      He said, and first his brows with myrtle bound.
      Then Helymus, by his example led,
      And old Acestes, each adornd his head;
      Thus young Ascanius, with a sprightly grace,
      His temples tied, and all the Trojan race.

      Aeneas then advancd amidst the train,
      By thousands followd thro the flowry plain,
      To great Anchises tomb; which when he found,
      He pourd to Bacchus, on the hallowd ground,
      Two bowls of sparkling wine, of milk two more,
      And two from offerd bulls of purple gore,
      With roses then the sepulcher he strowd
      And thus his fathers ghost bespoke aloud:
      Hail, O ye holy manes! hail again,
      Paternal ashes, now reviewd in vain!
      The gods permitted not, that you, with me,
      Should reach the promisd shores of Italy,
      Or Tibers flood, what flood soeer it be.
      Scarce had he finishd, when, with speckled pride,
      A serpent from the tomb began to glide;
      His hugy bulk on sevn high volumes rolld;
      Blue was his breadth of back, but streakd with scaly gold:
      Thus riding on his curls, he seemd to pass
      A rolling fire along, and singe the grass.
      More various colours thro his body run,
      Than Iris when her bow imbibes the sun.
      Betwixt the rising altars, and around,
      The sacred monster shot along the ground;
      With harmless play amidst the bowls he passd,
      And with his lolling tongue assayd the taste:
      Thus fed with holy food, the wondrous guest
      Within the hollow tomb retird to rest.
      The pious prince, surprisd at what he viewd,
      The funral honours with more zeal renewd,
      Doubtful if this places genius were,
      Or guardian of his fathers sepulcher.
      Five sheep, according to the rites, he slew;
      As many swine, and steers of sable hue;
      New genrous wine he from the goblets pourd.
      And calld his fathers ghost, from hell restord.
      The glad attendants in long order come,
      Offring their gifts at great Anchises tomb:
      Some add more oxen: some divide the spoil;
      Some place the chargers on the grassy soil;
      Some blow the fires, and offered entrails broil.

      Now came the day desird. The skies were bright
      With rosy luster of the rising light:
      The bordring people, rousd by sounding fame
      Of Trojan feasts and great Acestes name,
      The crowded shore with acclamations fill,
      Part to behold, and part to prove their skill.
      And first the gifts in public view they place,
      Green laurel wreaths, and palm, the victors grace:
      Within the circle, arms and tripods lie,
      Ingots of gold and silver, heapd on high,
      And vests embroiderd, of the Tyrian dye.
      The trumpets clangour then the feast proclaims,
      And all prepare for their appointed games.
      Four galleys first, which equal rowers bear,
      Advancing, in the watry lists appear.
      The speedy Dolphin, that outstrips the wind,
      Bore Mnestheus, author of the Memmian kind:
      Gyas the vast Chimaeras bulk commands,
      Which rising, like a towring city stands;
      Three Trojans tug at evry labring oar;
      Three banks in three degrees the sailors bore;
      Beneath their sturdy strokes the billows roar.
      Sergesthus, who began the Sergian race,
      In the great Centaur took the leading place;
      Cloanthus on the sea-green Scylla stood,
      From whom Cluentius draws his Trojan blood.

      Far in the sea, against the foaming shore,
      There stands a rock: the raging billows roar
      Above his head in storms; but, when tis clear,
      Uncurl their ridgy backs, and at his foot appear.
      In peace below the gentle waters run;
      The cormorants above lie basking in the sun.
      On this the hero fixd an oak in sight,
      The mark to guide the mariners aright.
      To bear with this, the seamen stretch their oars;
      Then round the rock they steer, and seek the former shores.
      The lots decide their place. Above the rest,
      Each leader shining in his Tyrian vest;
      The common crew with wreaths of poplar boughs
      Their temples crown, and shade their sweaty brows:
      Besmeard with oil, their naked shoulders shine.
      All take their seats, and wait the sounding sign:
      They gripe their oars; and evry panting breast
      Is raisd by turns with hope, by turns with fear depressd.
      The clangour of the trumpet gives the sign;
      At once they start, advancing in a line:
      With shouts the sailors rend the starry skies;
      Lashd with their oars, the smoky billows rise;
      Sparkles the briny main, and the vexd ocean fries.
      Exact in time, with equal strokes they row:
      At once the brushing oars and brazen prow
      Dash up the sandy waves, and ope the depths below.
      Not fiery coursers, in a chariot race,
      Invade the field with half so swift a pace;
      Not the fierce driver with more fury lends
      The sounding lash, and, ere the stroke descends,
      Low to the wheels his pliant body bends.
      The partial crowd their hopes and fears divide,
      And aid with eager shouts the favourd side.
      Cries, murmurs, clamours, with a mixing sound,
      From woods to woods, from hills to hills rebound.

      Amidst the loud applauses of the shore,
      Gyas outstrippd the rest, and sprung before:
      Cloanthus, better mannd, pursued him fast,
      But his oer-masted galley checkd his haste.
      The Centaur and the Dolphin brush the brine
      With equal oars, advancing in a line;
      And now the mighty Centaur seems to lead,
      And now the speedy Dolphin gets ahead;
      Now board to board the rival vessels row,
      The billows lave the skies, and ocean groans below.
      They reachd the mark; proud Gyas and his train
      In triumph rode, the victors of the main;
      But, steering round, he chargd his pilot stand
      More close to shore, and skim along the sand.
      Let others bear to sea! Menoetes heard;
      But secret shelves too cautiously he feard,
      And, fearing, sought the deep; and still aloof he steerd.
      With louder cries the captain calld again:
      Bear to the rocky shore, and shun the main.
      He spoke, and, speaking, at his stern he saw
      The bold Cloanthus near the shelvings draw.
      Betwixt the mark and him the Scylla stood,
      And in a closer compass plowd the flood.
      He passd the mark; and, wheeling, got before:
      Gyas blasphemd the gods, devoutly swore,
      Cried out for anger, and his hair he tore.
      Mindless of others lives (so high was grown
      His rising rage) and careless of his own,
      The trembling dotard to the deck he drew;
      Then hoisted up, and overboard he threw:
      This done, he seizd the helm; his fellows cheerd,
      Turnd short upon the shelfs, and madly steerd.

      Hardly his head the plunging pilot rears,
      Cloggd with his clothes, and cumberd with his years:
      Now dropping wet, he climbs the cliff with pain.
      The crowd, that saw him fall and float again,
      Shout from the distant shore; and loudly laughd,
      To see his heaving breast disgorge the briny draught.
      The following Centaur, and the Dolphins crew,
      Their vanishd hopes of victory renew;
      While Gyas lags, they kindle in the race,
      To reach the mark. Sergesthus takes the place;
      Mnestheus pursues; and while around they wind,
      Comes up, not half his galleys length behind;
      Then, on the deck, amidst his mates appeard,
      And thus their drooping courages he cheerd:
      My friends, and Hectors followers heretofore,
      Exert your vigour; tug the labring oar;
      Stretch to your strokes, my still unconquerd crew,
      Whom from the flaming walls of Troy I drew.
      In this, our common intrest, let me find
      That strength of hand, that courage of the mind,
      As when you stemmd the strong Malean flood,
      And oer the Syrtes broken billows rowd.
      I seek not now the foremost palm to gain;
      Tho yetBut, ah! that haughty wish is vain!
      Let those enjoy it whom the gods ordain.
      But to be last, the lags of all the race!
      Redeem yourselves and me from that disgrace.
      Now, one and all, they tug amain; they row
      At the full stretch, and shake the brazen prow.
      The sea beneath em sinks; their labring sides
      Are swelld, and sweat runs guttring down in tides.
      Chance aids their daring with unhopd success;
      Sergesthus, eager with his beak to press
      Betwixt the rival galley and the rock,
      Shuts up th unwieldly Centaur in the lock.
      The vessel struck; and, with the dreadful shock,
      Her oars she shiverd, and her head she broke.
      The trembling rowers from their banks arise,
      And, anxious for themselves, renounce the prize.
      With iron poles they heave her off the shores,
      And gather from the sea their floating oars.
      The crew of Mnestheus, with elated minds,
      Urge their success, and call the willing winds;
      Then ply their oars, and cut their liquid way
      In larger compass on the roomy sea.
      As, when the dove her rocky hold forsakes,
      Rousd in a fright, her sounding wings she shakes;
      The cavern rings with clattring; out she flies,
      And leaves her callow care, and cleaves the skies:
      At first she flutters; but at length she springs
      To smoother flight, and shoots upon her wings:
      So Mnestheus in the Dolphin cuts the sea;
      And, flying with a force, that force assists his way.
      Sergesthus in the Centaur soon he passd,
      Wedgd in the rocky shoals, and sticking fast.
      In vain the victor he with cries implores,
      And practices to row with shatterd oars.
      Then Mnestheus bears with Gyas, and outflies:
      The ship, without a pilot, yields the prize.
      Unvanquishd Scylla now alone remains;
      Her he pursues, and all his vigour strains.
      Shouts from the favring multitude arise;
      Applauding Echo to the shouts replies;
      Shouts, wishes, and applause run rattling thro the skies.
      These clamours with disdain the Scylla heard,
      Much grudgd the praise, but more the robbd reward:
      Resolvd to hold their own, they mend their pace,
      All obstinate to die, or gain the race.
      Raisd with success, the Dolphin swiftly ran;
      For they can conquer, who believe they can.
      Both urge their oars, and fortune both supplies,
      And both perhaps had shard an equal prize;
      When to the seas Cloanthus holds his hands,
      And succour from the watry powrs demands:
      Gods of the liquid realms, on which I row!
      If, givn by you, the laurel bind my brow,
      Assist to make me guilty of my vow!
      A snow-white bull shall on your shore be slain;
      His offerd entrails cast into the main,
      And ruddy wine, from golden goblets thrown,
      Your grateful gift and my return shall own.
      The choir of nymphs, and Phorcus, from below,
      With virgin Panopea, heard his vow;
      And old Portunus, with his breadth of hand,
      Pushd on, and sped the galley to the land.
      Swift as a shaft, or winged wind, she flies,
      And, darting to the port, obtains the prize.

      The herald summons all, and then proclaims
      Cloanthus conquror of the naval games.
      The prince with laurel crowns the victors head,
      And three fat steers are to his vessel led,
      The ships reward; with genrous wine beside,
      And sums of silver, which the crew divide.
      The leaders are distinguishd from the rest;
      The victor honourd with a nobler vest,
      Where gold and purple strive in equal rows,
      And needlework its happy cost bestows.
      There Ganymede is wrought with living art,
      Chasing thro Idas groves the trembling hart:
      Breathless he seems, yet eager to pursue;
      When from aloft descends, in open view,
      The bird of Jove, and, sousing on his prey,
      With crooked talons bears the boy away.
      In vain, with lifted hands and gazing eyes,
      His guards behold him soaring thro the skies,
      And dogs pursue his flight with imitated cries.

      Mnestheus the second victor was declard;
      And, summond there, the second prize he shard.
      A coat of mail, brave Demoleus bore,
      More brave Aeneas from his shoulders tore,
      In single combat on the Trojan shore:
      This was ordaind for Mnestheus to possess;
      In war for his defence, for ornament in peace.
      Rich was the gift, and glorious to behold,
      But yet so pondrous with its plates of gold,
      That scarce two servants could the weight sustain;
      Yet, loaded thus, Demoleus oer the plain
      Pursued and lightly seizd the Trojan train.
      The third, succeeding to the last reward,
      Two goodly bowls of massy silver shard,
      With figures prominent, and richly wrought,
      And two brass caldrons from Dodona brought.

      Thus all, rewarded by the heros hands,
      Their conquring temples bound with purple bands;
      And now Sergesthus, clearing from the rock,
      Brought back his galley shatterd with the shock.
      Forlorn she lookd, without an aiding oar,
      And, houted by the vulgar, made to shore.
      As when a snake, surprisd upon the road,
      Is crushd athwart her body by the load
      Of heavy wheels; or with a mortal wound
      Her belly bruisd, and trodden to the ground:
      In vain, with loosend curls, she crawls along;
      Yet, fierce above, she brandishes her tongue;
      Glares with her eyes, and bristles with her scales;
      But, groveling in the dust, her parts unsound she trails:
      So slowly to the port the Centaur tends,
      But, what she wants in oars, with sails amends.
      Yet, for his galley savd, the grateful prince
      Is pleasd th unhappy chief to recompense.
      Pholoe, the Cretan slave, rewards his care,
      Beauteous herself, with lovely twins as fair.

      From thence his way the Trojan hero bent
      Into the neighbring plain, with mountains pent,
      Whose sides were shaded with surrounding wood.
      Full in the midst of this fair valley stood
      A native theatre, which, rising slow
      By just degrees, oerlookd the ground below.
      High on a sylvan throne the leader sate;
      A numrous train attend in solemn state.
      Here those that in the rapid course delight,
      Desire of honour and the prize invite.
      The rival runners without order stand;
      The Trojans mixd with the Sicilian band.
      First Nisus, with Euryalus, appears;
      Euryalus a boy of blooming years,
      With sprightly grace and equal beauty crownd;
      Nisus, for friendship to the youth renownd.
      Diores next, of Priams royal race,
      Then Salius joined with Patron, took their place;
      But Patron in Arcadia had his birth,
      And Salius his from Arcananian earth;
      Then two Sicilian youths, the names of these,
      Swift Helymus, and lovely Panopes:
      Both jolly huntsmen, both in forest bred,
      And owning old Acestes for their head;
      With sevral others of ignobler name,
      Whom time has not deliverd oer to fame.

      To these the hero thus his thoughts explaind,
      In words which genral approbation gaind:
      One common largess is for all designd,
      The vanquishd and the victor shall be joind,
      Two darts of polishd steel and Gnosian wood,
      A silver-studded ax alike bestowd.
      The foremost three have olive wreaths decreed:
      The first of these obtains a stately steed,
      Adornd with trappings; and the next in fame,
      The quiver of an Amazonian dame,
      With featherd Thracian arrows well supplied:
      A golden belt shall gird his manly side,
      Which with a sparkling diamond shall be tied.
      The third this Grecian helmet shall content.
      He said. To their appointed base they went;
      With beating hearts th expected sign receive,
      And, starting all at once, the barrier leave.
      Spread out, as on the winged winds, they flew,
      And seizd the distant goal with greedy view.
      Shot from the crowd, swift Nisus all oerpassd;
      Nor storms, nor thunder, equal half his haste.
      The next, but tho the next, yet far disjoind,
      Came Salius, and Euryalus behind;
      Then Helymus, whom young Diores plied,
      Step after step, and almost side by side,
      His shoulders pressing; and, in longer space,
      Had won, or left at least a dubious race.

      Now, spent, the goal they almost reach at last,
      When eager Nisus, hapless in his haste,
      Slippd first, and, slipping, fell upon the plain,
      Soakd with the blood of oxen newly slain.
      The careless victor had not markd his way;
      But, treading where the treachrous puddle lay,
      His heels flew up; and on the grassy floor
      He fell, besmeard with filth and holy gore.
      Not mindless then, Euryalus, of thee,
      Nor of the sacred bonds of amity,
      He strove th immediate rivals hope to cross,
      And caught the foot of Salius as he rose.
      So Salius lay extended on the plain;
      Euryalus springs out, the prize to gain,
      And leaves the crowd: applauding peals attend
      The victor to the goal, who vanquishd by his friend.
      Next Helymus; and then Diores came,
      By two misfortunes made the third in fame.

      But Salius enters, and, exclaiming loud
      For justice, deafens and disturbs the crowd;
      Urges his cause may in the court be heard;
      And pleads the prize is wrongfully conferrd.
      But favour for Euryalus appears;
      His blooming beauty, with his tender tears,
      Had bribd the judges for the promisd prize.
      Besides, Diores fills the court with cries,
      Who vainly reaches at the last reward,
      If the first palm on Salius be conferrd.
      Then thus the prince: Let no disputes arise:
      Where fortune placd it, I award the prize.
      But fortunes errors give me leave to mend,
      At least to pity my deserving friend.
      He said, and, from among the spoils, he draws
      (Pondrous with shaggy mane and golden paws)
      A lions hide: to Salius this he gives.
      Nisus with envy sees the gift, and grieves.
      If such rewards to vanquishd men are due.
      He said, and falling is to rise by you,
      What prize may Nisus from your bounty claim,
      Who merited the first rewards and fame?
      In falling, both an equal fortune tried;
      Would fortune for my fall so well provide!
      With this he pointed to his face, and showd
      His hand and all his habit smeard with blood.
      Th indulgent father of the people smild,
      And causd to be producd an ample shield,
      Of wondrous art, by Didymaon wrought,
      Long since from Neptunes bars in triumph brought.
      This givn to Nisus, he divides the rest,
      And equal justice in his gifts expressd.

      The race thus ended, and rewards bestowd,
      Once more the prince bespeaks th attentive crowd:
      If there be here, whose dauntless courage dare
      In gauntlet fight, with limbs and body bare,
      His opposite sustain in open view,
      Stand forth the champion, and the games renew.
      Two prizes I propose, and thus divide:
      A bull with gilded horns, and fillets tied,
      Shall be the portion of the conquring chief;
      A sword and helm shall cheer the losers grief.

      Then haughty Dares in the lists appears;
      Stalking he strides, his head erected bears:
      His nervous arms the weighty gauntlet wield,
      And loud applauses echo thro the field.
      Dares alone in combat usd to stand
      The match of mighty Paris, hand to hand;
      The same, at Hectors funrals, undertook
      Gigantic Butes, of th Amycian stock,
      And, by the stroke of his resistless hand,
      Stretchd the vast bulk upon the yellow sand.
      Such Dares was; and such he strode along,
      And drew the wonder of the gazing throng.
      His brawny back and ample breast he shows,
      His lifted arms around his head he throws,
      And deals in whistling air his empty blows.
      His match is sought; but, thro the trembling band,
      Not one dares answer to the proud demand.
      Presuming of his force, with sparkling eyes
      Already he devours the promisd prize.
      He claims the bull with awless insolence,
      And having seizd his horns, accosts the prince:
      If none my matchless valour dares oppose,
      How long shall Dares wait his dastard foes?
      Permit me, chief, permit without delay,
      To lead this uncontended gift away.
      The crowd assents, and with redoubled cries
      For the proud challenger demands the prize.

      Acestes, fird with just disdain, to see
      The palm usurpd without a victory,
      Reproachd Entellus thus, who sate beside,
      And heard and saw, unmovd, the Trojans pride:
      Once, but in vain, a champion of renown,
      So tamely can you bear the ravishd crown,
      A prize in triumph borne before your sight,
      And shun, for fear, the danger of the fight?
      Where is our Eryx now, the boasted name,
      The god who taught your thundring arm the game?
      Where now your baffled honour? Where the spoil
      That filld your house, and fame that filld our isle?
      Entellus, thus: My soul is still the same,
      Unmovd with fear, and movd with martial fame;
      But my chill blood is curdled in my veins,
      And scarce the shadow of a man remains.
      O could I turn to that fair prime again,
      That prime of which this boaster is so vain,
      The brave, who this decrepid age defies,
      Should feel my force, without the promisd prize.

      He said; and, rising at the word, he threw
      Two pondrous gauntlets down in open view;
      Gauntlets which Eryx wont in fight to wield,
      And sheathe his hands with in the listed field.
      With fear and wonder seizd, the crowd beholds
      The gloves of death, with sevn distinguishd folds
      Of tough bull hides; the space within is spread
      With iron, or with loads of heavy lead:
      Dares himself was daunted at the sight,
      Renouncd his challenge, and refusd to fight.
      Astonishd at their weight, the hero stands,
      And poisd the pondrous engines in his hands.
      What had your wonder, said Entellus, been,
      Had you the gauntlets of Alcides seen,
      Or viewd the stern debate on this unhappy green!
      These which I bear your brother Eryx bore,
      Still markd with batterd brains and mingled gore.
      With these he long sustaind th Herculean arm;
      And these I wielded while my blood was warm,
      This languishd frame while better spirits fed,
      Ere age unstrung my nerves, or time oersnowd my head.
      But if the challenger these arms refuse,
      And cannot wield their weight, or dare not use;
      If great Aeneas and Acestes join
      In his request, these gauntlets I resign;
      Let us with equal arms perform the fight,
      And let him leave to fear, since I resign my right.

      This said, Entellus for the strife prepares;
      Strippd of his quilted coat, his body bares;
      Composd of mighty bones and brawn he stands,
      A goodly towring object on the sands.
      Then just Aeneas equal arms supplied,
      Which round their shoulders to their wrists they tied.
      Both on the tiptoe stand, at full extent,
      Their arms aloft, their bodies inly bent;
      Their heads from aiming blows they bear afar;
      With clashing gauntlets then provoke the war.
      One on his youth and pliant limbs relies;
      One on his sinews and his giant size.
      The last is stiff with age, his motion slow;
      He heaves for breath, he staggers to and fro,
      And clouds of issuing smoke his nostrils loudly blow.
      Yet equal in success, they ward, they strike;
      Their ways are diffrent, but their art alike.
      Before, behind, the blows are dealt; around
      Their hollow sides the rattling thumps resound.
      A storm of strokes, well meant, with fury flies,
      And errs about their temples, ears, and eyes.
      Nor always errs; for oft the gauntlet draws
      A sweeping stroke along the crackling jaws.
      Heavy with age, Entellus stands his ground,
      But with his warping body wards the wound.
      His hand and watchful eye keep even pace;
      While Dares traverses and shifts his place,
      And, like a captain who beleaguers round
      Some strong-built castle on a rising ground,
      Views all th approaches with observing eyes:
      This and that other part in vain he tries,
      And more on industry than force relies.
      With hands on high, Entellus threats the foe;
      But Dares watchd the motion from below,
      And slippd aside, and shunnd the long descending blow.
      Entellus wastes his forces on the wind,
      And, thus deluded of the stroke designd,
      Headlong and heavy fell; his ample breast
      And weighty limbs his ancient mother pressd.
      So falls a hollow pine, that long had stood
      On Idas height, or Erymanthus wood,
      Torn from the roots. The diffring nations rise,
      And shouts and mingled murmurs rend the skies,
      Acestus runs with eager haste, to raise
      The falln companion of his youthful days.
      Dauntless he rose, and to the fight returnd;
      With shame his glowing cheeks, his eyes with fury burnd.
      Disdain and conscious virtue fird his breast,
      And with redoubled force his foe he pressd.
      He lays on load with either hand, amain,
      And headlong drives the Trojan oer the plain;
      Nor stops, nor stays; nor rest nor breath allows;
      But storms of strokes descend about his brows,
      A rattling tempest, and a hail of blows.
      But now the prince, who saw the wild increase
      Of wounds, commands the combatants to cease,
      And bounds Entellus wrath, and bids the peace.
      First to the Trojan, spent with toil, he came,
      And soothd his sorrow for the sufferd shame.
      What fury seizd my friend? The gods, said he,
      To him propitious, and averse to thee,
      Have givn his arm superior force to thine.
      Tis madness to contend with strength divine.
      The gauntlet fight thus ended, from the shore
      His faithful friends unhappy Dares bore:
      His mouth and nostrils pourd a purple flood,
      And pounded teeth came rushing with his blood.
      Faintly he staggerd thro the hissing throng,
      And hung his head, and traild his legs along.
      The sword and casque are carried by his train;
      But with his foe the palm and ox remain.

      The champion, then, before Aeneas came,
      Proud of his prize, but prouder of his fame:
      O goddess-born, and you, Dardanian host,
      Mark with attention, and forgive my boast;
      Learn what I was, by what remains; and know
      From what impending fate you savd my foe.
      Sternly he spoke, and then confronts the bull;
      And, on his ample forehead aiming full,
      The deadly stroke, descending, piercd the skull.
      Down drops the beast, nor needs a second wound,
      But sprawls in pangs of death, and spurns the ground.
      Then, thus: In Dares stead I offer this.
      Eryx, accept a nobler sacrifice;
      Take the last gift my witherd arms can yield:
      Thy gauntlets I resign, and here renounce the field.

      This done, Aeneas orders, for the close,
      The strife of archers with contending bows.
      The mast Sergesthus shatterd galley bore
      With his own hands he raises on the shore.
      A fluttring 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 crownd.
      The third containd Eurytions noble name,
      Thy brother, Pandarus, and next in fame,
      Whom Pallas urgd the treaty to confound,
      And send among the Greeks a featherd wound.
      Acestes in the bottom last remaind,
      Whom not his age from youthful sports restraind.
      Soon all with vigour bend their trusty bows,
      And from the quiver each his arrow chose.
      Hippocoons was the first: with forceful sway
      It flew, and, whizzing, cut the liquid way.
      Fixd in the mast the featherd weapon stands:
      The fearful pigeon flutters in her bands,
      And the tree trembled, and the shouting cries
      Of the pleasd 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 missd so narrow, that he cut the cord
      Which fastend by the foot the flitting bird.
      The captive thus releasd, away she flies,
      And beats with clapping wings the yielding skies.
      His bow already bent, Eurytion stood;
      And, having first invokd his brother god,
      His winged shaft with eager haste he sped.
      The fatal message reachd 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 archers art, and boast his twanging bow.
      The featherd arrow gave a dire portent,
      And latter augurs judge from this event.
      Chafd by the speed, it fird; 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 prayr.
      The Dardan prince put on a smiling face,
      And straind Acestes with a close embrace;
      Then, honring him with gifts above the rest,
      Turnd the bad omen, nor his fears confessd.
      The gods, said he, this miracle have wrought,
      And orderd you the prize without the lot.
      Accept this goblet, rough with figurd gold,
      Which Thracian Cisseus gave my sire of old:
      This pledge of ancient amity receive,
      Which to my second sire I justly give.
      He said, and, with the trumpets cheerful sound,
      Proclaimd him victor, and with laurel-crownd.
      Nor good Eurytion envied him the prize,
      Tho he transfixd the pigeon in the skies.
      Who cut the line, with second gifts was gracd;
      The third was his whose arrow piercd the mast.

      The chief, before the games were wholly done,
      Calld Periphantes, tutor to his son,
      And whisperd thus: With speed Ascanius find;
      And, if his childish troop be ready joind,
      On horseback let him grace his grandsires day,
      And lead his equals armd in just array.
      He said; and, calling out, the cirque he clears.
      The crowd withdrawn, an open plain appears.
      And now the noble youths, of form divine,
      Advance before their fathers, in a line;
      The riders grace the steeds; the steeds with glory shine.

      Thus marching on in military pride,
      Shouts of applause resound from side to side.
      Their casques adornd with laurel wreaths they wear,
      Each brandishing aloft a cornel spear.
      Some at their backs their gilded quivers bore;
      Their chains of burnishd gold hung down before.
      Three graceful troops they formd upon the green;
      Three graceful leaders at their head were seen;
      Twelve followd evry chief, and left a space between.
      The first young Priam led; a lovely boy,
      Whose grandsire was th unhappy king of Troy;
      His race in after times was known to fame,
      New honours adding to the Latian name;
      And well the royal boy his Thracian steed became.
      White were the fetlocks of his feet before,
      And on his front a snowy star he bore.
      Then beauteous Atys, with Iulus bred,
      Of equal age, the second squadron led.
      The last in order, but the first in place,
      First in the lovely features of his face,
      Rode fair Ascanius on a fiery steed,
      Queen Didos gift, and of the Tyrian breed.
      Sure coursers for the rest the king ordains,
      With golden bits adornd, and purple reins.

      The pleasd spectators peals of shouts renew,
      And all the parents in the children view;
      Their make, their motions, and their sprightly grace,
      And hopes and fears alternate in their face.

      Th unfledgd commanders and their martial train
      First make the circuit of the sandy plain
      Around their sires, and, at th appointed sign,
      Drawn up in beauteous order, form a line.
      The second signal sounds, the troop divides
      In three distinguishd parts, with three distinguishd guides
      Again they close, and once again disjoin;
      In troop to troop opposd, and line to line.
      They meet; they wheel; they throw their darts afar
      With harmless rage and well-dissembled war.
      Then in a round the mingled bodies run:
      Flying they follow, and pursuing shun;
      Broken, they break; and, rallying, they renew
      In other forms the military shew.
      At last, in order, undiscernd they join,
      And march together in a friendly line.
      And, as the Cretan labyrinth of old,
      With wandring ways and many a winding fold,
      Involvd the weary feet, without redress,
      In a round error, which denied recess;
      So fought the Trojan boys in warlike play,
      Turnd and returnd, and still a diffrent way.
      Thus dolphins in the deep each other chase
      In circles, when they swim around the watry race.
      This game, these carousels, Ascanius taught;
      And, building Alba, to the Latins brought;
      Shewd what he learnd: the Latin sires impart
      To their succeeding sons the graceful art;
      From these imperial Rome receivd the game,
      Which Troy, the youths the Trojan troop, they name.

      Thus far the sacred sports they celebrate:
      But Fortune soon resumd her ancient hate;
      For, while they pay the dead his annual dues,
      Those envied rites Saturnian Juno views;
      And sends the goddess of the various bow,
      To try new methods of revenge below;
      Supplies the winds to wing her airy way,
      Where in the port secure the navy lay.
      Swiftly fair Iris down her arch descends,
      And, undiscernd, her fatal voyage ends.
      She saw the gathring crowd; and, gliding thence,
      The desert shore, and fleet without defence.
      The Trojan matrons, on the sands alone,
      With sighs and tears Anchises death bemoan;
      Then, turning to the sea their weeping eyes,
      Their pity to themselves renews their cries.
      Alas! said one, what oceans yet remain
      For us to sail! what labours to sustain!
      All take the word, and, with a genral groan,
      Implore the gods for peace, and places of their own.

      The goddess, great in mischief, views their pains,
      And in a womans form her heavnly limbs restrains.
      In face and shape old Beroe she became,
      Doryclus wife, a venerable dame,
      Once blest with riches, and a mothers name.
      Thus changd, amidst the crying crowd she ran,
      Mixd with the matrons, and these words began:
      O wretched we, whom not the Grecian powr,
      Nor flames, destroyd, in Troys unhappy hour!
      O wretched we, reservd by cruel fate,
      Beyond the ruins of the sinking state!
      Now sevn revolving years are wholly run,
      Since this improsprous voyage we begun;
      Since, tossd from shores to shores, from lands to lands,
      Inhospitable rocks and barren sands,
      Wandring in exile thro the stormy sea,
      We search in vain for flying Italy.
      Now cast by fortune on this kindred land,
      What should our rest and rising walls withstand,
      Or hinder here to fix our banishd band?
      O country lost, and gods redeemd in vain,
      If still in endless exile we remain!
      Shall we no more the Trojan walls renew,
      Or streams of some dissembled Simois view!
      Haste, join with me, th unhappy fleet consume!
      Cassandra bids; and I declare her doom.
      In sleep I saw her; she supplied my hands
      (For this I more than dreamt) with flaming brands:
      With these, said she, these wandring ships destroy:
      These are your fatal seats, and this your Troy.
      Time calls you now; the precious hour employ:
      Slack not the good presage, while Heavn inspires
      Our minds to dare, and gives the ready fires.
      See! Neptunes altars minister their brands:
      The god is pleasd; the god supplies our hands.
      Then from the pile a flaming fire she drew,
      And, tossd in air, amidst the galleys threw.

      Wrappd in amaze, the matrons wildly stare:
      Then Pyrgo, reverencd for her hoary hair,
      Pyrgo, the nurse of Priams numrous race:
      No Beroe this, tho she belies her face!
      What terrors from her frowning front arise!
      Behold a goddess in her ardent eyes!
      What rays around her heavnly face are seen!
      Mark her majestic voice, and more than mortal mien!
      Beroe but now I left, whom, pind with pain,
      Her age and anguish from these rites detain,
      She said. The matrons, seizd with new amaze,
      Roll their malignant eyes, and on the navy gaze.
      They fear, and hope, and neither part obey:
      They hope the fated land, but fear the fatal way.
      The goddess, having done her task below,
      Mounts up on equal wings, and bends her painted bow.
      Struck with the sight, and seizd with rage divine,
      The matrons prosecute their mad design:
      They shriek aloud; they snatch, with impious hands,
      The food of altars; fires and flaming brands.
      Green boughs and saplings, mingled in their haste,
      And smoking torches, on the ships they cast.
      The flame, unstoppd at first, more fury gains,
      And Vulcan rides at large with loosend reins:
      Triumphant to the painted sterns he soars,
      And seizes, in this way, the banks and crackling oars.
      Eumelus was the first the news to bear,
      While yet they crowd the rural theatre.
      Then, what they hear, is witnessd by their eyes:
      A storm of sparkles and of flames arise.
      Ascanius took th alarm, while yet he led
      His early warriors on his prancing steed,
      And, spurring on, his equals soon oerpassd;
      Nor could his frighted friends reclaim his haste.
      Soon as the royal youth appeard in view,
      He sent his voice before him as he flew:
      What madness moves you, matrons, to destroy
      The last remainders of unhappy Troy!
      Not hostile fleets, but your own hopes, you burn,
      And on your friends your fatal fury turn.
      Behold your own Ascanius! While he said,
      He drew his glittring helmet from his head,
      In which the youths to sportful arms he led.
      By this, Aeneas and his train appear;
      And now the women, seizd with shame and fear,
      Dispersd, to woods and caverns take their flight,
      Abhor their actions, and avoid the light;
      Their friends acknowledge, and their error find,
      And shake the goddess from their alterd mind.

      Not so the raging fires their fury cease,
      But, lurking in the seams, with seeming peace,
      Work on their way amid the smouldring tow,
      Sure in destruction, but in motion slow.
      The silent plague thro the green timber eats,
      And vomits out a tardy flame by fits.
      Down to the keels, and upward to the sails,
      The fire descends, or mounts, but still prevails;
      Nor buckets pourd, nor strength of human hand,
      Can the victorious element withstand.

      The pious hero rends his robe, and throws
      To heavn his hands, and with his hands his vows.
      O Jove, he cried, if prayrs can yet have place;
      If thou abhorrst not all the Dardan race;
      If any spark of pity still remain;
      If gods are gods, and not invokd in vain;
      Yet spare the relics of the Trojan train!
      Yet from the flames our burning vessels free,
      Or let thy fury fall alone on me!
      At this devoted head thy thunder throw,
      And send the willing sacrifice below!

      Scarce had he said, when southern storms arise:
      From pole to pole the forky lightning flies;
      Loud rattling shakes the mountains and the plain;
      Heavn bellies downward, and descends in rain.
      Whole sheets of water from the clouds are sent,
      Which, hissing thro the planks, the flames prevent,
      And stop the fiery pest. Four ships alone
      Burn to the waist, and for the fleet atone.

      But doubtful thoughts the heros heart divide;
      If he should still in Sicily reside,
      Forgetful of his fates, or tempt the main,
      In hope the promisd Italy to gain.
      Then Nautes, old and wise, to whom alone
      The will of Heavn by Pallas was foreshown;
      Versd in portents, experiencd, and inspird
      To tell events, and what the fates requird;
      Thus while he stood, to neither part inclind,
      With cheerful words relievd his labring mind:
      O goddess-born, resignd in evry state,
      With patience bear, with prudence push your fate.
      By suffring well, our Fortune we subdue;
      Fly when she frowns, and, when she calls, pursue.
      Your friend Acestes is of Trojan kind;
      To him disclose the secrets of your mind:
      Trust in his hands your old and useless train;
      Too numrous for the ships which yet remain:
      The feeble, old, indulgent of their ease,
      The dames who dread the dangers of the seas,
      With all the dastard crew, who dare not stand
      The shock of battle with your foes by land.
      Here you may build a common town for all,
      And, from Acestes name, Acesta call.
      The reasons, with his friends experience joind,
      Encouragd much, but more disturbd his mind.

      Twas dead of night; when to his slumbring eyes
      His fathers shade descended from the skies,
      And thus he spoke: O more than vital breath,
      Lovd while I livd, and dear evn after death;
      O son, in various toils and troubles tossd,
      The King of Heavn employs my careful ghost
      On his commands: the god, who savd from fire
      Your flaming fleet, and heard your just desire.
      The wholesome counsel of your friend receive,
      And here the coward train and woman leave:
      The chosen youth, and those who nobly dare,
      Transport, to tempt the dangers of the war.
      The stern Italians will their courage try;
      Rough are their manners, and their minds are high.
      But first to Plutos palace you shall go,
      And seek my shade among the blest below:
      For not with impious ghosts my soul remains,
      Nor suffers with the damnd perpetual pains,
      But breathes the living air of soft Elysian plains.
      The chaste Sibylla shall your steps convey,
      And blood of offerd victims free the way.
      There shall you know what realms the gods assign,
      And learn the fates and fortunes of your line.
      But now, farewell! I vanish with the night,
      And feel the blast of heavns approaching light.
      He said, and mixd with shades, and took his airy flight.
      Whither so fast? the filial duty cried;
      And why, ah why, the wishd embrace denied?

      He said, and rose; as holy zeal inspires,
      He rakes hot embers, and renews the fires;
      His country gods and Vesta then adores
      With cakes and incense, and their aid implores.
      Next, for his friends and royal host he sent,
      Reveald his vision, and the gods intent,
      With his own purpose. All, without delay,
      The will of Jove, and his desires obey.
      They list with women each degenerate name,
      Who dares not hazard life for future fame.
      These they cashier: the brave remaining few,
      Oars, banks, and cables, half consumd, renew.
      The prince designs a city with the plow;
      The lots their sevral tenements allow.
      This part is namd from Ilium, that from Troy,
      And the new king ascends the throne with joy;
      A chosen senate from the people draws;
      Appoints the judges, and ordains the laws.
      Then, on the top of Eryx, they begin
      A rising temple to the Paphian queen.
      Anchises, last, is honourd as a god;
      A priest is added, annual gifts bestowd,
      And groves are planted round his blest abode.
      Nine days they pass in feasts, their temples crownd;
      And fumes of incense in the fanes abound.
      Then from the south arose a gentle breeze
      That curld the smoothness of the glassy seas;
      The rising winds a ruffling gale afford,
      And call the merry mariners aboard.

      Now loud laments along the shores resound,
      Of parting friends in close embraces bound.
      The trembling women, the degenerate train,
      Who shunnd the frightful dangers of the main,
      Evn those desire to sail, and take their share
      Of the rough passage and the promisd war:
      Whom good Aeneas cheers, and recommends
      To their new masters care his fearful friends.
      On Eryxs altars three fat calves he lays;
      A lamb new-fallen to the stormy seas;
      Then slips his haulsers, and his anchors weighs.
      High on the deck the godlike hero stands,
      With olive crownd, a charger in his hands;
      Then cast the reeking entrails in the brine,
      And pourd the sacrifice of purple wine.
      Fresh gales arise; with equal strokes they vie,
      And brush the buxom seas, and oer the billows fly.

      Meantime the mother goddess, full of fears,
      To Neptune thus addressd, with tender tears:
      The pride of Joves imperious queen, the rage,
      The malice which no suffrings can assuage,
      Compel me to these prayrs; since neither fate,
      Nor time, nor pity, can remove her hate:
      Evn Jove is thwarted by his haughty wife;
      Still vanquishd, yet she still renews the strife.
      As if twere little to consume the town
      Which awd the world, and wore th imperial crown,
      She prosecutes the ghost of Troy with pains,
      And gnaws, evn to the bones, the last remains.
      Let her the causes of her hatred tell;
      But you can witness its effects too well.
      You saw the storm she raisd on Libyan floods,
      That mixd the mounting billows with the clouds;
      When, bribing Aeolus, she shook the main,
      And movd rebellion in your watry reign.
      With fury she possessd the Dardan dames,
      To burn their fleet with execrable flames,
      And forcd Aeneas, when his ships were lost,
      To leave his follwers on a foreign coast.
      For what remains, your godhead I implore,
      And trust my son to your protecting powr.
      If neither Joves nor Fates decree withstand,
      Secure his passage to the Latian land.

      Then thus the mighty Ruler of the Main:
      What may not Venus hope from Neptunes reign?
      My kingdom claims your birth; my late defence
      Of your indangerd fleet may claim your confidence.
      Nor less by land than sea my deeds declare
      How much your lovd Aeneas is my care.
      Thee, Xanthus, and thee, Simois, I attest.
      Your Trojan troops when proud Achilles pressd,
      And drove before him headlong on the plain,
      And dashd against the walls the trembling train;
      When floods were filld with bodies of the slain;
      When crimson Xanthus, doubtful of his way,
      Stood up on ridges to behold the sea;
      New heaps came tumbling in, and chokd his way;
      When your Aeneas fought, but fought with odds
      Of force unequal, and unequal gods;
      I spread a cloud before the victors sight,
      Sustaind the vanquishd, and securd his flight;
      Evn then securd him, when I sought with joy
      The vowd destruction of ungrateful Troy.
      My wills the same: fair goddess, fear no more,
      Your fleet shall safely gain the Latian shore;
      Their lives are givn; one destind head alone
      Shall perish, and for multitudes atone.
      Thus having armd with hopes her anxious mind,
      His finny team Saturnian Neptune joind,
      Then adds the foamy bridle to their jaws,
      And to the loosend reins permits the laws.
      High on the waves his azure car he guides;
      Its axles thunder, and the sea subsides,
      And the smooth ocean rolls her silent tides.
      The tempests fly before their fathers face,
      Trains of inferior gods his triumph grace,
      And monster whales before their master play,
      And choirs of Tritons crowd the watry way.
      The marshald powrs in equal troops divide
      To right and left; the gods his better side
      Inclose, and on the worse the Nymphs and Nereids ride.

      Now smiling hope, with sweet vicissitude,
      Within the heros mind his joys renewd.
      He calls to raise the masts, the sheets display;
      The cheerful crew with diligence obey;
      They scud before the wind, and sail in open sea.
      Ahead of all the master pilot steers;
      And, as he leads, the following navy veers.
      The steeds of Night had traveld half the sky,
      The drowsy rowers on their benches lie,
      When the soft God of Sleep, with easy flight,
      Descends, and draws behind a trail of light.
      Thou, Palinurus, art his destind prey;
      To thee alone he takes his fatal way.
      Dire dreams to thee, and iron sleep, he bears;
      And, lighting on thy prow, the form of Phorbas wears.
      Then thus the traitor god began his tale:
      The winds, my friend, inspire a pleasing gale;
      The ships, without thy care, securely sail.
      Now steal an hour of sweet repose; and I
      Will take the rudder and thy room supply.
      To whom the yawning pilot, half asleep:
      Me dost thou bid to trust the treachrous deep,
      The harlot smiles of her dissembling face,
      And to her faith commit the Trojan race?
      Shall I believe the Siren South again,
      And, oft betrayd, not know the monster main?
      He said: his fastend hands the rudder keep,
      And, fixd on heavn, his eyes repel invading sleep.
      The god was wroth, and at his temples threw
      A branch in Lethe dippd, and drunk with Stygian dew:
      The pilot, vanquishd by the powr divine,
      Soon closd his swimming eyes, and lay supine.
      Scarce were his limbs extended at their length,
      The god, insulting with superior strength,
      Fell heavy on him, plungd him in the sea,
      And, with the stern, the rudder tore away.
      Headlong he fell, and, struggling in the main,
      Cried out for helping hands, but cried in vain.
      The victor daemon mounts obscure in air,
      While the ship sails without the pilots care.
      On Neptunes faith the floating fleet relies;
      But what the man forsook, the god supplies,
      And oer the dangrous deep secure the navy flies;
      Glides by the Sirens cliffs, a shelfy coast,
      Long infamous for ships and sailors lost,
      And white with bones. Th impetuous ocean roars,
      And rocks rebellow from the sounding shores.
      The watchful hero felt the knocks, and found
      The tossing vessel saild on shoaly ground.
      Sure of his pilots loss, he takes himself
      The helm, and steers aloof, and shuns the shelf.
      Inly he grievd, and, groaning from the breast,
      Deplord his death; and thus his pain expressd:
      For faith reposd on seas, and on the flattring sky,
      Thy naked corpse is doomd on shores unknown to lie.