Aeneid 5.225–243

225And now only Cloanthus remains, at the very end: him he pursues, and presses hard, straining with all his strength. 227Then indeed the shouting redoubles, and all urge on the pursuer with their cheers, and the sky echoes with the din. 229These are indignant at the thought of not keeping the glory that is theirs and the honour already won, and would barter life for renown; 231those success nourishes: they can because they think they can. 232And perhaps they would have taken the prize with beaks level, had not Cloanthus, stretching both his palms towards the sea, poured out prayers and called the gods to hear his vows: 'Gods who hold sway over the sea, whose waters I race over, gladly will I set before your altars on this shore a white bull, bound by my vow, and cast its entrails into the salt waves and pour flowing wine.' 239He spoke, and beneath the depths of the waves the whole band of the Nereids and of Phorcus heard him, and the maiden Panopea, and father Portunus himself with his great hand pushed him on his way; 242the ship flies to land faster than the South Wind or a winged arrow, and hid herself in the deep harbour.