Atalanta's Race.

THROUGH thick Arcadian woods a hunter went, Following the beasts up, on a fresh spring day; But since his horn-tipped bow, but seldom bent, Now at the noon-tide naught had happed to slay, Within a vale he called his hounds away, Hearkening the echoes of his lone voice cling About the cliffs and through the beech-trees ring.

But when they ended, still awhile he stood, And but the sweet familiar thrush could hear, And all the day-long noises of the wood, And o'er the dry leaves of the vanished year His hounds' feet pattering as they drew anear, And heavy breathing from their heads low hung, To see the mighty cornel bow unstrung.

Then smiling did he turn to leave the place, But with his first step some new fleeting thought

A shadow cast across his sunburnt face;

I think the golden net that April brought

So thitherward he turned, and on each side The folk were busy on the teeming land, And man and maid from the brown furrows cried, Or midst the newly blossomed vines did stand, And as the rustic weapon pressed the hand Thought of the nodding of the well-filled ear, Or how the knife the heavy bunch should shear.

Merry it was: about him sung the birds, The spring flowers bloomed along the firm dry road,

The sleek-skinned mothers of the sharp-horned

herds

Now for the barefoot milking-maidens lowed;
While from the freshness of his blue abode,
Glad his death-bearing arrows to forget,
The broad sun blazed, nor scattered plagues as yet.

Through such fair things unto the gates he

came,

And found them open, as though peace were there;

caught;

For, sunk in vague sweet longing, did he go Betwixt the trees with doubtful steps and slow.

Yet howsoever slow he went, at last The trees grew sparser, and the wood was done; Whereon one farewell, backward look he cast, Then, turning round to see what place was won, With shaded eyes looked underneath the sun, And o'er green meads and new-turned furrows brown

Beheld the gleaming of King Schoneus' town.

He entered, and along the streets 'gan fare,
Which at the first of folk were wellnigh bare;
But pressing on, and going more hastily,
Men hurrying too he 'gan at last to see.

Following the last of these, he still pressed on,
Until an open space he came unto,
Where wreaths of fame had oft been lost and won,
For feats of strength folk there were wont to do.
And now our hunter looked for something new,
Because the whole wide space was bare, and stilled
The high seats were, with eager people filled.

There with the others to a seat he gat, Whence he beheld a broidered canopy, 'Neath which in fair array King Schoneus sat Upon his throne with councillors thereby; And underneath this well-wrought seat and high, He saw a golden image of the sun,

A silver image of the Fleet-foot One.

A brazen altar stood beneath their feet Whereon a thin flame flickered in the wind; Nigh this a herald clad in raiment meet Made ready even now his horn to wind, By whom a huge man held a sword, intwined With yellow flowers; these stood a little space From off the altar, nigh the starting-place.

And there two runners did the sign abide
Foot set to foot,-a young man slim and fair,
Crisp-haired, well-knit, with firm limbs often
tried

In places where no man his strength may spare ;
Dainty his thin coat was, and on his hair
A golden circlet of renown he wore,
And in his hand an olive garland bore.

But on this day with whom shall he contend?

A maid stood by him like Diana clad

When in the woods she lists her bow to bend,
Too fair for one to look on and be glad,
Who scarcely yet has thirty summers had,
If he must still behold her from afar;
Too fair to let the world live free from war.

She seemed all earthly matters to forget; Of all tormenting lines her face was clear, Her wide gray eyes upon the goal were set Calm and unmoved as though no soul were near, But her foe trembled as a man in fear, Nor from her loveliness one moment turned His anxious face with fierce desire that burned.

Now through the hush there broke the trumpet's clang

Just as the setting sun made eventide.

Then from light feet a spurt of dust there sprang,
And swiftly were they running side by side;
But silent did the thronging folk abide
Until the turning-post was reached at last,
And round about it still abreast they passed.

But when the people saw how close they ran, When half-way to the starting-point they were, A cry of joy broke forth, whereat the man Headed the white-foot runner, and drew near Unto the very end of all his fear;

And scarce his straining feet the ground could feel,

And bliss unhoped for o'er his heart 'gan steal.

But midst the loud victorious shouts he heard Her footsteps drawing nearer, and the sound Of fluttering raiment, and thereat afeard His flushed and eager face he turned around, And even then he felt her past him bound Fleet as the wind, but scarcely saw her there Till on the goal she laid her fingers fair.

There stood she breathing like a little child Amid some warlike clamor laid asleep, For no victorious joy her red lips smiled, Her cheek its wonted freshness did but keep; No glance lit up her clear gray eyes and deep, Though some divine thought softened all her face As once more rang the trumpet through the place.

But her late foe stopped short amidst his course, One moment gazed upon her piteously, Then with a groan his lingering feet did force To leave the spot whence he her eyes could see; And, changed like one who knows his time must be But short and bitter, without any word He knelt before the bearer of the sword;

Then high rose up the gleaming deadly blade, Bared of its flowers, and through the crowded place

Was silence now, and midst of it the maid
Went by the poor wretch at a gentle pace,
And he to hers upturned his sad white face;
Nor did his eyes behold another sight
Ere on his soul there fell eternal night.

So was the pageant ended, and all folk Talking of this and that familiar thing In little groups from that sad concourse broke, For now the shrill bats were upon the wing, And soon dark night would slay the evening, And in dark gardens sang the nightingale Her little-heeded, oft-repeated tale.

And with the last of all the hunter went, Who, wondering at the strange sight he had seen, Prayed an old man to tell him what it meant, Both why the vanquished man so slain had been, And if the maiden were an earthly queen, Or rather what much more she seemed to be, No sharer in the world's mortality.

"Stranger," said he, "I pray she soon may die, Whose lovely youth has slain so many an one! King Schoneus' daughter is she verily,

Who when her eyes first looked upon the sun
Was fain to end her life but new begun,
For he had vowed to leave but men alone
Sprung from his loins when he from earth was
gone.

"Therefore he bade one leave her in the wood, And let wild things deal with her as they might, But this being done, some cruel god thought good To save her beauty in the world's despite : Folk say that her, so delicate and white As now she is, a rough, root-grubbing bear Amidst her shapeless cubs at first did rear.

"In course of time the woodfolk slew her nurse, And to their rude abode the youngling brought, And reared her up to be a kingdom's curse, Who grown a woman, of no kingdom thought, But armed and swift, 'mid beasts destruction wrought,

Nor spared two shaggy centaur kings to slay,
To whom her body seemed an easy prey.

"So to this city, led by fate, she came Whom known by signs, whereof I cannot tell, King Schoeneus for his child at last did claim, Nor otherwhere since that day doth she dwell, Sending too many a noble soul to hell. What! thine eyes glisten! what then, thinkest thou

Her shining head unto the yoke to bow?

"Listen, my son, and love some other maid, For she the saffron gown will never wear, And on no flower-strewn couch shall she be laid, Nor shall her voice make glad a lover's ear: Yet if of Death thou hast not any fear, Yea, rather, if thou lovest him utterly,

Thou still may'st woo her ere thou comest to die,

189

"Like him that on this day thou sawest lie dead; For, fearing as I deem the sea-born one, The maid has vowed e'en such a man to wed As in the course her swift feet can outrun, But whoso fails herein, his days are done: He came the nighest that was slain to-day, Although with him I deem she did but play.

"Behold, such mercy Atalanta gives To those that long to win her loveliness; Be wise! be sure that many a maid there lives Gentler than she, of beauty little less, Whose swimming eyes thy loving words shall bless,

When in some garden, knee set close to knee, Thou sing'st the song that love may teach to thee."

So to the hunter spake that ancient man, And left him for his own home presently: But he turned round, and through the moonlight wan Reached the thick wood, and there'twixt tree and tree Distraught he passed the long night feverishly, "Twixt sleep and waking, and at dawn arose To wage hot war against his speechless foes.

There to the hart's flank seemed his shaft to grow, As panting down the broad green glades he flew, There by his horn the Dryads well might know His thrust against the bear's heart had been true, And there Adonis' bane his javelin slew, But still in vain through rough and smooth he went, For none the more his restlessness was spent.

So wandering, he to Argive cities came, And in the lists with valiant men he stood, And by great deeds he won him praise and fame, And heaps of wealth for little-valued blood; But none of all these things, or life, seemed good Unto his heart, where still unsatisfied

A ravenous longing warred with fear and pride.

Therefore it happed when but a month had gone Since he had left King Schoneus' city old, In hunting-gear again, again alone

The forest-bordered meads did he behold, Where still mid thoughts of August's quivering gold

Folk hoed the wheat, and clipped the vine in trust Of faint October's purple-foaming must.

Nor did he gaze upon her eyes with awe, Too full the pain of longing filled his heart For fear or wonder there to have a part.

But O, how long the night was ere it went! How long it was before the dawn begun Showed to the wakening birds the sun's intent That not in darkness should the world be done! And then, and then, how long before the sun Bade silently the toilers of the earth Get forth to fruitless cares or empty mirth!

And long it seemed that in the market-place He stood and saw the chaffering folk go by, Ere from the ivory throne King Schoeneus' face Looked down upon the murmur royally, But then came trembling that the time was nigh When he midst pitying looks his love must claim,

And jeering voices must salute his name.

But as the throng he pierced to gain the throne,

His alien face distraught and anxious told
What hopeless errand he was bound upon,
And, each to each, folk whispered to behold
His godlike limbs; nay, and one woman old
As he went by must pluck him by the sleeve
And pray him yet that wretched love to leave.

To quench with hopeful days and joyous nights The flame that doth thy youthful heart con

sume:

Come back, nor give thy beauty to the tomb."

How should he listen to her earnest speech? Words, such as he not once or twice had said Unto himself, whose meaning scarce could reach The firm abode of that sad hardiheadHe turned about, and through the marketstead Swiftly he passed, until before the throne In the cleared space he stood at last alone.

Then said the King, "Stranger, what dost thou here?

Have any of my folk done ill to thee?

Or art thou of the forest men in fear?
Or art thou of the sad fraternity

Who still will strive my daughter's mates to be,
Staking their lives to win to earthly bliss
The lonely maid, the friend of Artemis?"

"O King," he said, “thou sayest the word indeed:

Nor will I quit the strife till I have won
My sweet delight, or death to end my need.
And know that 1 am called Milanion,
Of King Amphidamas the well-loved son:
So fear not that to thy old name, O King,
Much loss or shame my victory will bring."