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Page 31 text:
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DRAWING ROOM
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Page 32 text:
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The Boat Race BY Z. GRACE FISHER 11 Called Aeneas to the people, On that morning bright and shining On the ninth day from the death-date Of Anchises brave and warlike. “Hail, ye people! First to struggle For the honors given to victors Are the Trojan ships, already Rescued from much real disaster.” Then the galleys took their places Took their fate-allotted places, Brave Mnestheus in the Pristis, Source of all the race of Memmius, All the Memmian race of Romans. Gyas drove the great Chimsera Massive as a floating city With its triple rows of oarsman. In the Centaur sailed Sergistus, Propagator of the Sergians, And Cloanthus drove the Scylla, Drove the dark, the sea blue Scylla. As a goal a rock is chosen, Far out from the sandy main-land, Lashed by waves when wind is blowing, Sought by birds when sun is shining. Now the oarsmen take their places, Crowns of leaves around their temples. Shoulders bare, and bare arms gleaming With the oil they’ve poured upon them. To the oars their arms are stretching! Forward now their heads are bending! For the signal, ears are listening! With excitement hearts are beating. Then the signal giving trumpet Gives the sound all are awaiting: From their places slip the galleys, Gliding o’er the deep-green waters. Foams the sea behind their passage: Roars the crowd along the shore line: Pull the oarsmen at their stations For the glory of their crewsmen. All in line they skim the waters: All together they are striving, Then, amid the crowds great clamor, Slowly, surely, Gyas forges Straight ahead the other vessels, Past his striving Trojan rivals Then the Pristis follows after, Then the Centaur, then the Scylla. They approach the foaming rock-goal: “Not so far to sea, Menoetes! Go in nearer to the island, Lose no time by foolish caution!” Thus does Gyas urge his pilot But Menoetes never heeding, Fearing hidden rocks beneath him Turns the ship away from landward. “Seek, oh seek the rocks, Menoetes! Hug the shores: The sea to others Must be left if we be victors. ” But Menoetes all too cautious Seeks the open sea to leeward, While brave Gyas looking backward. Sees Cloanthus gaining on them, Sees the Scylla close behind them In between the ships of Gyas And the rocks, swift rows the Scylla: Gyas then, no longer thinking Of his own, or comrades’ safety, Pitches Menoetes, the slothful. Overboard into the waters: On the rocks he so much dreaded, Feared more than he cared for honor. Now the Pristis and the Centaur Seem to surely be o’er taking The Chimsera, now the second, Close behind the leading Scylla. Then Mnestheus, to his sailors: “Save us from disgrace so shameful As to end the last in order, When we led in the beginning. Then the Centaur speeding onward Seeks to round the rock-bound turning Without loss of time or headway: Close into the shore Sergestus Guides the boat. There is a quiver Then a crash as on the rock-bed Strikes the Centaur then sinks downward. Sinks—and with her takes her sailors Now Mnestheus urges gladly That his men must bend their efforts To their oars, to beach the Scylla Pilotless, now so retarded. Like a dove when it is frightened From its home, swift seeks the heavens, So the Pristis cuts the waters, Swift, but without sound of motion. Now they passed the wreck-ed Centaur, And they leave behind the Scylla; Now they strive to reach the leader Gyas, in the great Chimsera, Now along the shore the people Clamor loud to show their favor, Echoes rising in the forest Loud resound among the mountains. But their human strength is useless, And Cloanthus looking seaward Cries unto Poseidon, listening With his bands of nymphs and maidens: “Oh, thou seagods, urge my ship on, And to thee there shall be offered Gleaming white upon the seashore, Sleek and fat a snow-white bullock.” On the rocks the Centaur struggles; The Chimsera has no helmsman; But the Scylla, god-directed, Seeks the Pristis, speeding onward To their oars the men are bending: Eagerly their strengths they summon; On and on they pull their galleys. Keel to keel they struggle onward. Faces blanch the end is nearing: Muscles strain the palm approaches: Pilots urge the men are striving: Oars are bent the crowd is breathless. Now they near the place of starting, Now they make their last great effort; Straight ahead a vessel surges, And a victor, stands—Cloanthus.
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