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From “The Earthly Paradise”
ATALANTA VICTORIOUS 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 | 5 |
| A golden circlet of renown he wore, | |
| And in his hand an olive garland bore. | |
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| 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, | 10 |
| 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. | |
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| She seemed all earthly matters to forget; | 15 |
| 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 | 20 |
| His anxious face with fierce desire that burned. | |
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| 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; | 25 |
| But silent did the thronging folk abide | |
| Until the turning-post was reached at last, | |
| And round about it still abreast they passed. | |
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| But when the people saw how close they ran, | |
| When half-way to the starting-point they were, | 30 |
| 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. | 35 |
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| 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 | 40 |
| Fleet as the wind, but scarcely saw her there | |
| Till on the goal she laid her fingers fair. | |
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| There stood she breathing like a little child | |
| Amid some warlike clamor laid asleep, | |
| For no victorious joy her red lips smiled, | 45 |
| 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. | |
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| But her late foe stopped short amidst his course, | 50 |
| 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 | 55 |
| He knelt before the bearer of the sword; | |
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| 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, | 60 |
| And he to hers upturned his sad white face; | |
| Nor did his eyes behold another sight | |
| Ere on his soul there fell eternal night. | |
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ATALANTA CONQUERED Now has the lingering month at last gone by, | |
| Again are all folk round the running place, | 65 |
| Nor other seems the dismal pageantry | |
| Than heretofore, but that another face | |
| Looks o’er the smooth course ready for the race; | |
| For now, beheld of all, Milanion | |
| Stands on the spot he twice has looked upon. | 70 |
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| But yet—what change is this that holds the maid? | |
| Does she indeed see in his glittering eye | |
| More than disdain of the sharp shearing blade, | |
| Some happy hope of help and victory? | |
| The others seemed to say, “We come to die, | 75 |
| Look down upon us for a little while, | |
| That dead, we may bethink us of thy smile.” | |
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| But he—what look of mastery was this | |
| He cast on her? why were his lips so red? | |
| Why was his face so flushed with happiness? | 80 |
| So looks not one who deems himself but dead, | |
| E’en if to death he bows a willing head; | |
| So rather looks a god well pleased to find | |
| Some earthly damsel fashioned to his mind. | |
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| Why must she drop her lids before his gaze, | 85 |
| And even as she casts adown her eyes | |
| Redden to note his eager glance of praise, | |
| And wish that she were clad in other guise? | |
| Why must the memory to her heart arise | |
| Of things unnoticed when they first were heard, | 90 |
| Some lover’s song, some answering maiden’s word? | |
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| What makes these longings, vague, without a name, | |
| And this vain pity never felt before, | |
| This sudden languor, this contempt of fame, | |
| This tender sorrow for the time past o’er, | 95 |
| These doubts that grow each minute more and more? | |
| Why does she tremble as the time grows near, | |
| And weak defeat and woful victory fear? | |
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| But while she seemed to hear her beating heart, | |
| Above their heads the trumpet blast rang out, | 100 |
| And forth they sprang; and she must play her part; | |
| Then flew her white feet, knowing not a doubt, | |
| Though slackening once, she turned her head about, | |
| But then she cried aloud and faster fled | |
| Than e’er before, and all men deemed him dead. | 105 |
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| But with no sound he raised aloft his hand, | |
| And thence what seemed a ray of light there flew | |
| And past the maid rolled on along the sand; | |
| Then trembling she her feet together drew, | |
| And in her heart a strong desire there grew | 110 |
| To have the toy; some god she thought had given | |
| That gift to her, to make of earth a heaven. | |
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| Then from the course with eager steps she ran | |
| And in her odorous bosom laid the gold. | |
| But when she turned again, the great-limbed man | 115 |
| Now well ahead she failed not to behold, | |
| And, mindful of her glory waxing cold, | |
| Sprang up and followed him in hot pursuit, | |
| Though with one hand she touched the golden fruit. | |
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| Note, too, the bow that she was wont to bear | 120 |
| She laid aside to grasp the glittering prize, | |
| And o’er her shoulder from the quiver fair | |
| Three arrows fell and lay before her eyes | |
| Unnoticed, as amidst the people’s cries | |
| She sprang to head the strong Milanion, | 125 |
| Who now the turning-post had wellnigh won. | |
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| But as he set his mighty hand on it, | |
| White fingers underneath his own were laid, | |
| And white limbs from his dazzled eyes did flit. | |
| Then he the second fruit cast by the maid; | 130 |
| But she ran on awhile, then as afraid | |
| Wavered and stopped, and turned and made no stay | |
| Until the globe with its bright fellow lay. | |
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| Then, as a troubled glance she cast around, | |
| Now far ahead the Argive could she see, | 135 |
| And in her garment’s hem one hand she wound | |
| To keep the double prize, and strenuously | |
| Sped o’er the course, and little doubt had she | |
| To win the day, though now but scanty space | |
| Was left betwixt him and the winning place. | 140 |
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| Short was the way unto such wingèd feet, | |
| Quickly she gained upon him till at last | |
| He turned about her eager eyes to meet, | |
| And from his hand the third fair apple cast. | |
| She wavered not, but turned and ran so fast | 145 |
| After the prize that should her bliss fulfil, | |
| That in her hand it lay ere it was still. | |
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| Nor did she rest, but turned about to win | |
| Once more an unblest, woful victory— | |
| And yet—and yet—why does her breath begin | 150 |
| To fail her, and her feet drag heavily? | |
| Why fails she now to see if far or nigh | |
| The goal is? Why do her gray eyes grow dim? | |
| Why do these tremors run through every limb? | |
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| She spreads her arms abroad some stay to find | 155 |
| Else must she fall, indeed, and findeth this, | |
| A strong man’s arms about her body twined. | |
| Nor may she shudder now to feel his kiss, | |
| So wrapped she is in new, unbroken bliss: | |
| Made happy that the foe the prize hath won, | 160 |
| She weeps glad tears for all her glory done. | |
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