He leaves Sergestus, who implores in vain His aid, still toiling from the rocks to clear And headway with his shattered oars to gain.
Soon huge Chimaera, left with none to steer, Drops off astern, and labours in the rear.
Alone remains Cloanthus, but the race Well-nigh is ended, and the goal is near; Him Mnestheus seeks; his crew, with quickened pace And utmost stretch of oars, press forward in the chase.
XXXI.

Now, now the noise redoubles; cheers and cries Urge on the follower, and the wild acclaim Rolls up, and wakes the echoes of the skies.
These scorn to lose their vantage, stung with shame, And life is wagered willingly for fame.
Success inspires the hindmost; as they dare, They do; the thought of winning wins the game.
With equal honours Chance had crowned the pair, But thus, with outspread hands, Cloanthus breathed a prayer: XXXII.

"Great Gods of Ocean! on whose waves I ride, A milk-white bull upon the shore I vow, And with its entrails will I strew the tide, And on your altars make the wine outflow." Fair Panopea hears him from below, The Nereids hear, and old Portunus plies His own great hand, to push them as they go.
Swifter than arrow to the shore she flies, Swifter than Southern gale, and in the harbour lies.
XXXIII.

All summoned now, the herald's voice declares Cloanthus conqueror, and with verdant bay AEneas crowns him.

To each crew he shares Three steers and wine, and, to recall the day, A silver talent bids them bear away.
Choice honours to the captains next are told, A scarf he gives the victor, rich and gay, Twice-fringed with purple, glorious to behold, Whose Melibaean dye meanders round the gold.
XXXIV.