Atalanta's Race
William Morris, 1868 |
1 Through thick Arcadian woods a hunter went, 2 Following the beasts upon a fresh spring day; 3 But since his horn-tipped bow but seldom bent, 4 Now at the noontide nought had happed to slay, 5 Within a vale he called his hounds away, 6 Hearkening the echoes of his lone voice cling 7 About the cliffs and through the beech-trees ring. 8 But when they ended, still awhile he stood, 9 And but the sweet familiar thrush could hear, 10 And all the day-long noises of the wood, 11 And o'er the dry leaves of the vanished year 12 His hounds' feet pattering as they drew anear, 13 And heavy breathing from their heads low hung, 14 To see the mighty corner bow unstrung. 15 Then smiling did he turn to leave the place, 16 But with his first step some new fleeting thought 17 A shadow cast across his sun-burnt face; 18 I think the golden net that April brought 19 From some warm world his wavering soul had caught; 20 For, sunk in vague sweet longing, did he go 21 Betwixt the trees with doubtful steps and slow. 22 Yet howsoever slow he went, at last 23 The trees grew sparser, and the wood was done; 24 Whereon one farewell backward look he cast, 25 Then, turning round to see what place was won, 26 With shaded eyes looked underneath the sun, 27 And o'er green meads and new-turned furrows brown 28 Beheld the gleaming of King Schœneus' town. 29 So thitherward he turned, and on each side 30 The folk were busy on the teeming land, 31 And man and maid from the brown furrows cried, 32 Or midst the newly blossomed vines did stand, 33 And as the rustic weapon pressed the hand 34 Thought of the nodding of the well-filled ear, 35 Or how the knife the heavy bunch should shear. 36 Merry it was: about him sung the birds, 37 The spring flowers bloomed along the firm dry road, 38 The sleek-skinned mothers of the sharp-horned herds 39 Now for the barefoot milking-maidens lowed; 40 While from the freshness of his blue abode, 41 Glad his death-bearing arrows to forget, 42 The broad sun blazed, nor scattered plagues as yet. 43 Through such fair things unto the gates he came, 44 And found them open, as though peace were there; 45 Wherethrough, unquestioned of his race or name, 46 He entered, and along the streets 'gan fare, 47 Which at the first of folk were well-nigh bare; 48 But pressing on, and going more hastily, 49 Men hurrying too he 'gan at last to see. 50 Following the last of these he still pressed on, 51 Until an open space he came unto, 52 Where wreaths of fame had oft been lost and won, 53 For feats of strength folks there were wont to do. 54 And now our hunter looked for something new, 55 Because the whole wide space was bare, and stilled 56 The high seats were, with eager people filled. 57 There with the others to a seat he gat, 58 Whence he beheld a broidered canopy, 59 'Neath which in fair array King Schœneus sat 60 Upon his throne with councillors thereby; 61 And underneath his well-wrought seat and high, 62 He saw a golden image of the sun, 63 A silver image of the Fleet-foot One. 64 A brazen altar stood beneath their feet 65 Whereon a thin flame flicker'd in the wind; 66 Nigh this a herald clad in raiment meet 67 Made ready even now his horn to wind, 68 By whom a huge man held a sword, entwin'd 69 With yellow flowers; these stood a little space 70 From off the altar, nigh the starting place. 71 And there two runners did the sign abide, 72 Foot set to foot,--a young man slim and fair, 73 Crisp-hair'd, well knit, with firm limbs often tried 74 In places where no man his strength may spare: 75 Dainty his thin coat was, and on his hair. 76 A golden circlet of renown he wore, 77 And in his hand an olive garland bore. 78 But on this day with whom shall he contend? 79 A maid stood by him like Diana clad 80 When in the woods she lists her bow to bend, 81 Too fair for one to look on and be glad, 82 Who scarcely yet has thirty summers had, 83 If he must still behold her from afar; 84 Too fair to let the world live free from war. 85 She seem'd all earthly matters to forget; 86 Of all tormenting lines her face was clear; 87 Her wide gray eyes upon the goal were set 88 Calm and unmov'd as though no soul were near. 89 But her foe trembled as a man in fear, 90 Nor from her loveliness one moment turn'd 91 His anxious face with fierce desire that burn'd. 92 Now through the hush there broke the trumpet's clang 93 Just as the setting sun made eventide. 94 Then from light feet a spurt of dust there sprang, 95 And swiftly were they running side by side; 96 But silent did the thronging folk abide 97 Until the turning-post was reach'd at last, 98 And round about it still abreast they passed. 99 But when the people saw how close they ran, 100 When half-way to the starting-point they were, 101 A cry of joy broke forth, whereat the man 102 Headed the white-foot runner, and drew near 103 Unto the very end of all his fear; 104 And scarce his straining feet the ground could feel, 105 And bliss unhop'd for o'er his heart 'gan steal. 106 But 'midst the loud victorious shouts he heard 107 Her footsteps drawing nearer, and the sound 108 Of fluttering raiment, and thereat afeard 109 His flush'd and eager face he turn'd around, 110 And even then he felt her past him bound 111 Fleet as the wind, but scarcely saw her there 112 Till on the goal she laid her fingers fair. 113 There stood she breathing like a little child 114 Amid some warlike clamour laid asleep, 115 For no victorious joy her red lips smil'd, 116 Her cheek its wonted freshness did but keep; 117 No glance lit up her clear gray eyes and deep, 118 Though some divine thought soften'd all her face 119 As once more rang the trumpet through the place. 120 But her late foe stopp'd short amidst his course, 121 One moment gaz'd upon her piteously. 122 Then with a groan his lingering feet did force 123 To leave the spot whence he her eyes could see; 124 And, changed like one who knows his time must be 125 But short and bitter, without any word 126 He knelt before the bearer of the sword; 127 Then high rose up the gleaming deadly blade, 128 Bar'd of its flowers, and through the crowded place 129 Was silence now, and midst of it the maid 130 Went by the poor wretch at a gentle pace, 131 And he to hers upturn'd his sad white face; 132 Nor did his eyes behold another sight 133 Ere on his soul there fell eternal light. 134 So was the pageant ended, and all folk 135 Talking of this and that familiar thing 136 In little groups from that sad concourse broke, 137 For now the shrill bats were upon the wing, 138 And soon dark night would slay the evening, 139 And in dark gardens sang the nightingale 140 Her little-heeded, oft-repeated tale. 141 And with the last of all the hunter went, 142 Who, wondering at the strange sight he had seen, 143 Prayed an old man to tell him what it meant, 144 Both why the vanquished man so slain had been, 145 And if the maiden were an earthly queen, 146 Or rather what much more she seemed to be, 147 No sharer in this world's mortality. 148 "Stranger," said he, "I pray she soon may die 149 Whose lovely youth has slain so many an one! 150 King Schœneus' daughter is she verily, 151 Who when her eyes first looked upon the sun 152 Was fain to end her life but new begun, 153 For he had vowed to leave but men alone 154 Sprung from his loins when he from earth was gone. 155 "Therefore he bade one leave her in the wood, 156 And let wild things deal with her as they might, 157 But this being done, some cruel god thought good 158 To save her beauty in the world's despite; 159 Folk say that her, so delicate and white 160 As now she is, a rough root-grubbing bear 161 Amidst her shapeless cubs at first did rear. 162 "In course of time the woodfolk slew her nurse, 163 And to their rude abode the youngling brought, 164 And reared her up to be a kingdom's curse; 165 Who grown a woman, of no kingdom thought, 166 But armed and swift, 'mid beasts destruction wrought, 167 Nor spared two shaggy centaur kings to slay 168 To whom her body seemed an easy prey. 169 "So to this city, led by fate, she came 170 Whom known by signs, whereof I cannot tell, 171 King Schœneus for his child at last did claim. 172 Nor otherwhere since that day doth she dwell 173 Sending too many a noble soul to hell-- 174 What! shine eyes glisten! what then, thinkest thou 175 Her shining head unto the yoke to bow? 176 "Listen, my son, and love some other maid 177 For she the saffron gown will never wear, 178 And on no flower-strewn couch shall she be laid, 179 Nor shall her voice make glad a lover's ear: 180 Yet if of Death thou hast not any fear, 181 Yea, rather, if thou lov'st her utterly, 182 Thou still may'st woo her ere thou com'st to die, 183 "Like him that on this day thou sawest lie dead; 184 For fearing as I deem the sea-born one; 185 The maid has vowed e'en such a man to wed 186 As in the course her swift feet can outrun, 187 But whoso fails herein, his days are done: 188 He came the nighest that was slain to-day, 189 Although with him I deem she did but play. 190 "Behold, such mercy Atalanta gives 191 To those that long to win her loveliness; 192 Be wise! be sure that many a maid there lives 193 Gentler than she, of beauty little less, 194 Whose swimming eyes thy loving words shall bless, 195 When in some garden, knee set close to knee, 196 Thou sing'st the song that love may teach to thee." 197 So to the hunter spake that ancient man, 198 And left him for his own home presently: 199 But he turned round, and through the moonlight wan 200 Reached the thick wood, and there 'twixt tree and tree 201 Distraught he passed the long night feverishly, 202 'Twixt sleep and waking, and at dawn arose 203 To wage hot war against his speechless foes. 204 There to the hart's flank seemed his shaft to grow, 205 As panting down the broad green glades he flew, 206 There by his horn the Dryads well might know 207 His thrust against the bear's heart had been true, 208 And there Adonis' bane his javelin slew, 209 But still in vain through rough and smooth he went, 210 For none the more his restlessness was spent. 211 So wandering, he to Argive cities came, 212 And in the lists with valiant men he stood, 213 And by great deeds he won him praise and fame, 214 And heaps of wealth for little-valued blood; 215 But none of all these things, or life, seemed good 216 Unto his heart, where still unsatisfied 217 A ravenous longing warred with fear and pride. 218 Therefore it happed when but a month had gone 219 Since he had left King Schœneus' city old, 220 In hunting-gear again, again alone 221 The forest-bordered meads did he behold, 222 Where still mid thoughts of August's quivering gold 223 Folk hoed the wheat, and clipped the vine in trust 224 Of faint October's purple-foaming must. 225 And once again he passed the peaceful gate, 226 While to his beating heart his lips did lie, 227 That owning not victorious love and fate, 228 Said, half aloud, "And here too must I try, 229 To win of alien men the mastery, 230 And gather for my head fresh meed of fame 231 And cast new glory on my father's name." 232 In spite of that, how beat his heart, when first 233 Folk said to him, "And art thou come to see 234 That which still makes our city's name accurst 235 Among all mothers for its cruelty? 236 Then know indeed that fate is good to thee 237 Because to-morrow a new luckless one 238 Against the white-foot maid is pledged to run." 239 So on the morrow with no curious eyes 240 As once he did, that piteous sight he saw, 241 Nor did that wonder in his heart arise 242 As toward the goal the conquering maid 'gan draw, 243 Nor did he gaze upon her eyes with awe, 244 Too full the pain of longing filled his heart 245 For fear or wonder there to have a part. 246 But O, how long the night was ere it went! 247 How long it was before the dawn begun 248 Showed to the wakening birds the sun's intent 249 That not in darkness should the world be done! 250 And then, and then, how long before the sun 251 Bade silently the toilers of the earth 252 Get forth to fruitless cares or empty mirth! 253 And long it seemed that in the market-place 254 He stood and saw the chaffering folk go by, 255 Ere from the ivory throne King Schœneus' face 256 Looked down upon the murmur royally, 257 But then came trembling that the time was nigh 258 When he midst pitying looks his love must claim, 259 And jeering voices must salute his name. 260 But as the throng he pierced to gain the throne, 261 His alien face distraught and anxious told 262 What hopeless errand he was bound upon, 263 And, each to each, folk whispered to behold 264 His godlike limbs; nay, and one woman old 265 As he went by must pluck him by the sleeve 266 And pray him yet that wretched love to leave. 267 For sidling up she said, "Canst thou live twice, 268 Fair son? canst thou have joyful youth again, 269 That thus thou goest to the sacrifice 270 Thyself the victim? nay then, all in vain 271 Thy mother bore her longing and her pain, 272 And one more maiden on the earth must dwell 273 Hopeless of joy, nor fearing death and hell. 274 "O, fool, thou knowest not the compact then 275 That with the three-formed goddess she has made 276 To keep her from the loving lips of men, 277 And in no saffron gown to be arrayed, 278 And therewithal with glory to be paid, 279 And love of her the moonlit river sees 280 White 'gainst the shadow of the formless trees. 281 "Come back, and I myself will pray for thee 282 Unto the sea-born framer of delights, 283 To give thee her who on the earth may be 284 The fairest stirrer up to death and fights, 285 To quench with hopeful days and joyous nights 286 The flame that doth thy youthful heart consume: 287 Come back, nor give thy beauty to the tomb." 288 How should he listen to her earnest speech? 289 Words, such as he not once or twice had said 290 Unto himself, whose meaning scarce could reach 291 The firm abode of that sad hardihead-- 292 He turned about, and through the marketstead 293 Swiftly he passed, until before the throne 294 In the cleared space he stood at last alone. 295 Then said the King, "Stranger, what dost thou here? 296 Have any of my folk done ill to thee? 297 Or art thou of the forest men in fear? 298 Or art thou of the sad fraternity 299 Who still will strive my daughter's mates to be, 300 Staking their lives to win an earthly bliss, 301 The lonely maid, the friend of Artemis?" 302 "O King," he said, "thou sayest the word indeed; 303 Nor will I quit the strife till I have won 304 My sweet delight, or death to end my need. 305 And know that I am called Milanion, 306 Of King Amphidamas the well-loved son: 307 So fear not that to thy old name, O King, 308 Much loss or shame my victory will bring." 309 "Nay, Prince," said Schœneus, "welcome to this land 310 Thou wert indeed, if thou wert here to try 311 Thy strength 'gainst some one mighty of his hand; 312 Nor would we grudge thee well-won mastery. 313 But now, why wilt thou come to me to die, 314 And at my door lay down thy luckless head, 315 Swelling the band of the unhappy dead, 316 "Whose curses even now my heart doth fear? 317 Lo, I am old, and know what life can be, 318 And what a bitter thing is death anear. 319 O, Son! be wise, and harken unto me, 320 And if no other can be dear to thee, 321 At least as now, yet is the world full wide, 322 And bliss in seeming hopeless hearts may hide: 323 "But if thou losest life, then all is lost." 324 "Nay, King," Milanion said, "thy words are vain. 325 Doubt not that I have counted well the cost. 326 But say, on what day wilt thou that I gain 327 Fulfilled delight, or death to end my pain. 328 Right glad were I if it could be to-day, 329 And all my doubts at rest for ever lay." 330 "Nay," said King Schœneus, "thus it shall not be, 331 But rather shalt thou let a month go by, 332 And weary with thy prayers for victory 333 What god thou know'st the kindest and most nigh. 334 So doing, still perchance thou shalt not die: 335 And with my goodwill wouldst thou have the maid, 336 For of the equal gods I grow afraid. 337 "And until then, O Prince, be thou my guest, . 338 And all these troublous things awhile forget." 339 "Nay," said he, "couldst thou give my soul good rest, 340 And on mine head a sleepy garland set, 341 Then had I 'scaped the meshes of the net, 342 Nor should thou hear from me another word; 343 But now, make sharp thy fearful heading-sword. 344 "Yet will I do what son of man may do, 345 And promise all the gods may most desire, 346 That to myself I may at least be true; 347 And on that day my heart and limbs so tire, 348 With utmost strain and measureless desire, 349 That, at the worst, I may but fall asleep 350 When in the sunlight round that sword shall sweep. " 351 He went therewith, nor anywhere would bide, 352 But unto Argos restlessly did wend; 353 And there, as one who lays all hope aside, 354 Because the leech has said his life must end, 355 Silent farewell he bade to foe and friend, 356 And took his way unto the restless sea, 357 For there he deemed his rest and help might be. 358 Upon the shore of Argolis there stands 359 A temple to the goddess that he sought, 360 That, turned unto the lion-bearing lands, 361 Fenced from the east, of cold winds hath no thought, 362 Though to no homestead there the sheaves are brought, 363 No groaning press torments the close-clipped murk, 364 Lonely the fane stands, far from all men's work. 365 Pass through a close, set thick with myrtle-trees, 366 Through the brass doors that guard the holy place, 367 And entering, hear the washing of the seas 368 That twice a-day rise high above the base, 369 And with the south-west urging them, embrace 370 The marble feet of her that standeth there 371 That shrink not, naked though they be and fair. 372 Small is the fane through which the sea-wind sings 373 About Queen Venus' well-wrought image white, 374 But hung around are many precious things, 375 The gifts of those who, longing for delight, 376 Have hung them there within the goddess' sight, 377 And in return have taken at her hands 378 The living treasures of the Grecian lands. 379 And thither now has come Milanion, 380 And showed unto the priests' wide open eyes 381 Gifts fairer than all those that there have shone, 382 Silk cloths, inwrought with Indian fantasies, 383 And bowls inscribed with sayings of the wise 384 Above the deeds of foolish living things; 385 And mirrors fit to be the gifts of kings. 386 And now before the Sea-born One he stands, 387 By the sweet veiling smoke made dim and soft, 388 And while the incense trickles from his hands, 389 And while the odorous smoke-wreaths hang aloft, 390 Thus doth he pray to her: "O Thou, who oft 391 Hast holpen man and maid in their distress 392 Despise me not for this my wretchedness! 393 "O goddess, among us who dwelt below, 394 Kings and great men, great for a little while, 395 Have pity on the lowly heads that bow, 396 Nor hate the hearts that love them without guile; 397 Wilt thou be worse than these, and is thy smile 398 A vain device of him who set thee here, 399 An empty dream of some artificer? 400 "O great one, some men love, and are ashamed; 401 Some men are weary of the bonds of love; 402 Yea, and by some men lightly art thou blamed, 403 That from thy toils their lives they cannot move, 404 And 'mid the ranks of men their manhood prove. 405 Alas! O goddess, if thou slayest me, 406 What new immortal can I serve but thee? 407 "Think then, will it bring honour to thy head 408 If folk say, 'Everything aside he cast 409 And to all fame and honour was he dead, 410 And to his one hope now is dead at last, 411 Since all unholpen he is gone and past; 412 Ah, the gods love not man, for certainly, 413 He to his helper did not cease to cry.' 414 "Nay, but thou wilt help; they who died before 415 Not single-hearted as I deem came here, 416 Therefore unthanked they laid their gifts before 417 Thy stainless feet, still shivering with their fear, 418 Lest in their eyes their true thought might appear, 419 Who sought to be the lords of that fair town, 420 Dreaded of men and winners of renown. 421 "O Queen, thou knowest I pray not for this: 422 O set us down together in some place 423 Where not a voice can break our heaven of bliss, 424 Where nought but rocks and I can see her face, 425 Softening beneath the marvel of thy grace, 426 Where not a foot our vanished steps can track-- 427 The golden age, the golden age come back! 428 "O fairest, hear me now who do thy will, 429 Plead for thy rebel that she be not slain, 430 But live and love and be thy servant still; 431 Ah, give her joy and take away my pain, 432 And thus two long-enduring servants gain. 433 An easy thing this is to do for me, 434 What need of my vain words to weary thee. 435 "But none the less, this place will I not leave 436 Until I needs must go my death to meet, 437 Or at thy hands some happy sign receive 438 That in great joy we twain may one day greet 439 Thy presence here and kiss thy silver feet, 440 Such as we deem thee, fair beyond all words, 441 Victorious o'er our servants and our lords." 442 Then from the altar back a space he drew, 443 But from the Queen turned not his face away, 444 But 'gainst a pillar leaned, until the blue 445 That arched the sky, at ending of the day, 446 Was turned to ruddy gold and changing gray, 447 And clear, but low, the nigh-ebbed windless sea 448 In the still evening murmured ceaselessly. 449 And there he stood when all the sun was down, 450 Nor had he moved, when the dim golden light, 451 Like the fair lustre of a godlike town, 452 Had left the world to seeming hopeless night, 453 Nor would he move the more when wan moonlight 454 Streamed through the pillows for a little while, 455 And lighted up the white Queen's changeless smile. 456 Nought noted he the shallow-flowing sea 457 As step by step it set the wrack a-swim; 458 The yellow torchlight nothing noted he 459 Wherein with fluttering gown and half-bared limb 460 The temple damsels sung their midnight hymn; 461 And nought the doubled stillness of the fane 462 When they were gone and all was hushed again. 463 But when the waves had touched the marble base, 464 And steps the fish swim over twice a-day, 465 The dawn beheld him sunken in his place 466 Upon the floor; and sleeping there he lay, 467 Not heeding aught the little jets of spray 468 The roughened sea brought nigh, across him cast, 469 For as one dead all thought from him had passed. 470 Yet long before the sun had showed his head, 471 Long ere the varied hangings on the wall 472 Had gained once more their blue and green and red, 473 He rose as one some well-known sign doth call 474 When war upon the city's gates doth fall, 475 And scarce like one fresh risen out of sleep, 476 He 'gan again his broken watch to keep. 477 Then he turned round; not for the sea-gull's cry 478 That wheeled above the temple in his flight, 479 Not for the fresh south wind that lovingly 480 Breathed on the new-born day and dying night, 481 But some strange hope 'twixt fear and great delight 482 Drew round his face, now flushed, now pale and wan, 483 And still constrained his eyes the sea to scan. 484 Now a faint light lit up the southern sky, 485 Not sun or moon, for all the world was gray, 486 But this a bright cloud seemed, that drew anigh, 487 Lighting the dull waves that beneath it lay 488 As toward the temple still it took its way, 489 And still grew greater, till Milanion 490 Saw nought for dazzling light that round him shone. 491 But as he staggered with his arms outspread, 492 Delicious unnamed odours breathed around, 493 For languid happiness he bowed his head, 494 And with wet eyes sank down upon the ground, 495 Nor wished for aught, nor any dream he found 496 To give him reason for that happiness, 497 Or make him ask more knowledge of his bliss. 498 At last his eyes were cleared, and he could see 499 Through happy tears the goddess face to face 500 With that faint image of Divinity, 501 Whose well-wrought smile and dainty changeless grace 502 Until that morn so gladdened all the place; 503 Then, he unwitting cried aloud her name 504 And covered up his eyes for fear and shame. 505 But through the stillness he her voice could hear 506 Piercing his heart with joy scarce bearable, 507 That said, "Milanion, wherefore dost thou fear, 508 I am not hard to those who love me well; 509 List to what I a second time will tell, 510 And thou mayest hear perchance, and live to save 511 The cruel maiden from a loveless grave. 512 "See, by my feet three golden apples lie-- 513 Such fruit among the heavy roses falls, 514 Such fruit my watchful damsels carefully 515 Store up within the best loved of my walls, 516 Ancient Damascus, where the lover calls 517 Above my unseen head, and faint and light 518 The rose-leaves flutter round me in the night. 519 "And note, that these are not alone most fair 520 With heavenly gold, but longing strange they bring 521 Unto the hearts of men, who will not care 522 Beholding these, for any once-loved thing 523 Till round the shining sides their fingers cling. 524 And thou shalt see thy well-girt swift-foot maid 525 By sight of these amidst her glory stayed. 526 "For bearing these within a scrip with thee, 527 When first she heads thee from the starting-place 528 Cast down the first one for her eyes to see, 529 And when she turns aside make on apace, 530 And if again she heads thee in the race 531 Spare not the other two to cast aside 532 If she not long enough behind will bide. 533 "Farewell, and when has come the happy time 534 That she Diana's raiment must unbind 535 And all the world seems blessed with Saturn's clime, 536 And thou with eager arms about her twined 537 Beholdest first her gray eyes growing kind, 538 Surely, O trembler, thou shalt scarcely then 539 Forget the Helper of unhappy men." 540 Milanion raised his head at this last word 541 For now so soft and kind she seemed to be 542 No longer of her Godhead was he feared; 543 Too late he looked; for nothing could he see 544 But the white image glimmering doubtfully 545 In the departing twilight cold and gray, 546 And those three apples on the step that lay. 547 These then he caught up quivering with delight, 548 Yet fearful lest it all might be a dream; 549 And though aweary with the watchful night, 550 And sleepless nights of longing, still did deem 551 He could not sleep; but yet the first sunbeam 552 That smote the fane across the heaving deep 553 Shone on him laid in calm, untroubled sleep. 554 But little ere the noontide did he rise, 555 And why he felt so happy scarce could tell 556 Until the gleaming apples met his eyes. 557 Then leaving the fair place where this befell 558 Oft he looked back as one who loved it well, 559 Then homeward to the haunts of men, 'gan wend 560 To bring all things unto a happy end. 561 Now has the lingering month at last gone by, 562 Again are all folk round the running place, 563 Nor other seems the dismal pageantry 564 Than heretofore, but that another face 565 Looks o'er the smooth course ready for the race, 566 For now, beheld of all, Milanion 567 Stands on the spot he twice has looked upon. 568 But yet--what change is this that holds the maid? 569 Does she indeed see in his glittering eye 570 More than disdain of the sharp shearing blade, 571 Some happy hope of help and victory? 572 The others seem'd to say, "We come to die; 573 Look down upon us for a little while, 574 That, dead, we may bethink us of thy smile." 575 But he--what look of mastery was this 576 He cast on her? why were his lips so red; 577 Why was his face so flush'd with happiness? 578 So looks not one who deems himself but dead, 579 E'en if to death he bows a willing head; 580 So rather looks a god well pleas'd to find 581 Some earthly damsel fashion'd to his mind, 582 Why must she drop her lids before his gaze, 583 And even as she casts adown her eyes 584 Redden to note his eager glance of praise, 585 And wish that she were clad in other guise? 586 Why must the memory to her heart arise 587 Of things unnoticed when they first were heard, 588 Some lover's song, some answering maiden's word? 589 What makes these longings, vague--without a name, 590 And this vain pity never felt before, 591 This sudden languor, this contempt of fame, 592 This tender sorrow for the time past o'er, 593 These doubts that grow each minute more and more? 594 Why does she tremble as the time grows near, 595 And weak defeat and woeful victory fear? 596 But while she seem'd to hear her beating heart, 597 Above their heads the trumpet blast rang out 598 And forth they sprang, and she must play her part; 599 Then flew her white feet, knowing not a doubt, 600 Though, slackening once, she turn'd her head about, 601 But then she cried aloud and faster fled 602 Than e'er before, and all men deemed him dead. 603 But with no sound he raised aloft his hand, 604 And thence what seemed a ray of light there flew 605 And past the maid rolled on along the sand; 606 Then trembling she her feet together drew 607 And in her heart a strong desire there grew 608 To have the toy, some god she thought had given 609 That gift to her, to make of earth a heaven. 610 Then from the course with eager steps she ran, 611 And in her odorous bosom laid the gold. 612 But when she turned again, the great-limbed man, 613 Now well ahead she failed not to behold, 614 And mindful of her glory waxing cold, 615 Sprang up and followed him in hot pursuit, 616 Though with one hand she touched the golden fruit. 617 Note, too, the bow that she was wont to bear 618 She laid aside to grasp the glittering prize, 619 And o'er her shoulder from the quiver fair 620 Three arrows fell and lay before her eyes 621 Unnoticed, as amidst the people's cries 622 She sprang to head the strong Milanion, 623 Who now the turning-post had well-nigh won. 624 But as he set his mighty hand on it 625 White fingers underneath his own were laid, 626 And white limbs from his dazzled eyes did flit, 627 Then he the second fruit cast by the maid: 628 She ran awhile, and then as one afraid 629 Wavered and stopped, and turned and made no stay, 630 Until the globe with its bright fellow lay. 631 Then, as a troubled glance she cast around, 632 Now far ahead the Argive could she see, 633 And in her garment's hem one hand she wound 634 To keep the double prize, and strenuously 635 Sped o'er the course, and little doubt had she 636 To win the day, though now but scanty space 637 Was left betwixt him and the winning place. 638 Short was the way unto such wingèd feet, 639 Quickly she gained upon him till at last 640 He turned about her eager eyes to meet 641 And from his hand the third fair apple cast. 642 She wavered not, but turned and ran so fast 643 After the prize that should her bliss fulfil, 644 That in her hand it lay ere it was still. 645 Nor did she rest, but turned about to win 646 Once more, an unblest woeful victory-- 647 And yet--and yet--why does her breath begin 648 To fail her, and her feet drag heavily? 649 Why fails she now to see if far or nigh 650 The goal is? why do her gray eyes grow dim? 651 Why do these tremors run through every limb? 652 She spreads her arms abroad some stay to find 653 Else must she fall, indeed, and findeth this, 654 A strong man's arms about her body twined. 655 Nor may she shudder now to feel his kiss, 656 So wrapped she is in new unbroken bliss: 657 Made happy that the foe the prize hath won, 658 She weeps glad tears for all her glory done. 659 Shatter the trumpet, hew adown the posts! 660 Upon the brazen altar break the sword, 661 And scatter incense to appease the ghosts 662 Of those who died here by their own award. 663 Bring forth the image of the mighty Lord, 664 And her who unseen o'er the runners hung, 665 And did a deed for ever to be sung. 666 Here are the gathered folk; make no delay, 667 Open King Schœneus' well-filled treasury, 668 Bring out the gifts long hid from light of day, 669 The golden bowls o'erwrought with imagery, 670 Gold chains, and unguents brought from over sea, 671 The saffron gown the old Phœnician brought, 672 Within the temple of the Goddess wrought. 673 O ye, O damsels, who shall never see 674 Her, that Love's servant bringeth now to you, 675 Returning from another victory, 676 In some cool bower do all that now is due! 677 Since she in token of her service new 678 Shall give to Venus offerings rich enow, 679 Her maiden zone, her arrows and her bow. 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