Yet thought at first the danger slight; but found
The dart too faithful, and too deep the wound.
Fired with a mortal beauty, she disdains
To haunt the Idalian mount or Phrygian plains:
She seeks not Cnidos, nor her Paphian shrines
Nor Amathus, that teems with brazen mines:
Ev’n heaven itself, with all its sweets unsought,
Adonis far a sweeter heaven is thought:
On him she hangs, and fonds with ev’ry art,
And never, never knows from him to part.
She whose soft limbs had only been display’d
On rosy beds, beneath the myrtle shade,
Whose pleasing care was to improve each grace,
And add more charms to an unrivall’d face,
Now buskin’d, like the virgin huntress, goes
Through woods, and pathless wilds, and mountain snows:
With her own tuneful voice she joys to cheer
The panting hounds, that chase the flying deer:
She runs the labyrinth of fearful hares;
But fearless beasts and dangerous prey forbears;
Hunts not the grinning wolf or foamy boar,
And trembles at the lion’s hungry roar.
Thee too, Adonis, with a lover’s care,
She warns, if warn’d, thou wouldst avoid the snare:
“To furious animals advance not nigh;
Ply those that follow, follow those that fly;
’Tis chance alone must the survivors save,
Whene’er brave spirits will attempt the brave.
Oh, lovely youth! in harmless sports delight;
Provoke not beasts, which, arm’d by nature, fight:
For me, if not thyself, vouchsafe to fear;
Let not thy thirst of glory cost me dear.
Boars know not how to spare a blooming age,
No sparkling eyes can soothe the lion’s rage:
Nor all thy charms a savage breast can move,
Which have so deeply touch’d the queen of love.
When bristled boars from beaten thickets spring,
In grinded tusks a thunderbolt they bring:
The daring hunters lions roused devour;
Vast is their fury, and as vast their power:
Cursed be their tawny race: if thou wouldst hear
What kindled thus my hate, then lend an ear;
The wondrous tale I will to thee unfold,
How the fell monsters rose from crimes of old:
But by long toils I faint. See! wide display’d,
A grateful poplar courts us with a shade;
The grassy turf, beneath, so verdant shows,
We may secure delightfully repose:
“Perhaps thou mayst have heard a virgin’s name,
Who still in swiftness swiftest youths o’ercame.
Wondrous, that female weakness should outdo
A manly strength; the wonder yet is true
’Twas doubtful if her triumphs in the field
Did to her form’s triumphant glories yield;
Whether her face could with more ease decoy
A crowd of lovers, or her feet destroy:
For once Apollo she implored to show
If courteous fates a consort would allow.
‘A consort brings thy ruin,’ he replied:
‘Oh learn to want the pleasures of a bride!
Nor shalt thou want them to thy wretched cost,
And Atalanta living shall be lost.’
With such a rueful fate the affrighted maid
Sought green recesses in the woodland glade;
Nor signing suitors her resolves could move;
She bade them show their speed, to show their love.
He only who could conquer in the race
Might hope the conquer’d virgin to embrace;
While he whose tardy feet had lagg’d behind,
Was doom’d the sad reward of death to find.
Though great the prize, yet rigid the decree;
But blind with beauty, who can rigour see?
Ev’n on these laws the fair they rashly sought,
And danger in excess of love forgot.
“There sat Hippomenes, prepared to blame
In lovers such extravagance of flame.
‘And must,’ he said, ‘the blessings of a wife
Be dearly purchased by a risk of life?’
But when he saw the wonders of her face,
And her limbs naked, springing to the race,
Her limbs, as exquisitely turned as mine,
Or, if a woman thou, might vie with thine,
With lifted hands, he cried, ‘Forgive the tongue
Which durst, ye youths, your well-timed courage wrong:
I knew not that the nymph for whom you strove
Deserved the unbounded transports of your love.’
He saw, admired, and thus her spotless frame
He praised, and praising, kindled his own flame.
A rival now to all the youths who run,
Envious, he fears they should not be undone.
‘But why,’ reflects he, ‘idly thus is shown
The fate of others, yet untried my own?
The coward must not on love’s aid depend;
The god was ever to the bold a friend.’
Meantime the virgin flies, or seems to fly,
Swift as a Scythian arrow cleaves the sky:
Still more and more the youth her charms admires:
The race itself to exalt her charms conspires.
The golden pinions, which her feet adorn,
In wanton flutterings by the winds are borne:
Down from her head the long fair tresses flow,
And sport with lovely negligence below:
The waving ribbons, which her buskins tie,
Her snowy skin with waving purple die;
As crimson veils in palaces display’d,
To the white marble lend a blushing shade.
Nor long he gazed, yet while he gazed, she gain’d
The goal, and the victorious wreath obtain’d.
The vanquish’d sigh, and, as the law decreed,
Pay the dire forfeit, and prepare to bleed.
“Then rose Hippomenes, not yet afraid,
And fix’d his eyes full on the beauteous maid.
‘Where is,’ he cried, ‘the mighty conquest won,
To distance those who want the nerves to run?
Here prove superior strength; nor shall it be
Thy loss of glory, if excell’d by me.
High my descent; near Neptune I aspire,
For Neptune was grand parent to my sire:
From that great god the fourth myself I trace,
Nor sink my virtues yet beneath my race.
Thou from Hippomenes, o’ercome, mayst claim
An envied triumph, and a deathless fame.’
“While thus the youth the virgin power defies,
Silent she views him still with softer eyes:
Thoughts in her breast a doubtful strife begin:
If ’tis not happier now to lose than win.
‘What god, a foe to beauty, would destroy
The promised ripeness of this blooming boy?
With his life’s danger does he seek my bed?
Scarce am I half so greatly worth,’ she said.
‘Nor has his beauty moved my breast to love;
And yet, I own, such beauty well might move;
’Tis not his charms, ’tis pity would engage
My soul to spare the greenness of his age.
What, that heroic courage fires his breast,
And shines through brave disdain of fate confess’d?
What, that his patronage by close degrees
Springs from the imperial ruler of the seas?
Then add the love, which bids him undertake
The race, and dare to perish for my sake.
Of bloody nuptials, heedless youth, beware!
Fly, timely fly, from a too barb’rous fair.
At pleasure choose: thy love will be repaid
By a less foolish and more beauteous maid.
But why this tenderness, before unknown?
Why beats and pants my
