From the port they dash With cheers.

The waves hiss, as the strong arms keep In time, drawn up to finish with a flash; And three-toothed prow and oars, with measured sweep, Tear up the yawning furrows of the deep, Less swiftly, to the chariot yoked atwain, The bounding racers from the base outleap, Less keen the driver, as they scour the plain, Leans o'er the whistling lash, and slacks the streaming rein.
XXI.

Shouts, cheers and plaudits wake the woods around, Their clamours roll along the land-locked shore, And, echoing, from the beaten hills rebound.
First Gyas comes, amid the rout and roar; Cloanthus second,--better with the oar His crew, but heavier is the load of pine.
Next Shark and Centaur struggle to the fore, Now Shark ahead, now Centaur, now in line The long keels, urged abreast, together plough the brine.
XXII.

Near lay the rock, the goal was close in sight, When Gyas, first o'er half a length of tide Shouts to his helmsman: "Whither to the right?
Hug close the cliff, and graze the leftward side.
Let others hold the deep." In vain he cried.
Menoetes feared the hidden reefs, and bore To seaward.

"Whither from thy course so wide?
What; swerving still ?" the captain shouts once more, "Keep to the shore, I say, Menoetes, to the shore." XXIII.