The goal marks were far away still, but Atalanta
was nearing them. He took the last of the golden apples into his
hand. Perhaps she was now so far that the strength of his throw
would not be great enough to bring the apple before her.
But with all the strength he could put into his hand he flung the
apple. It struck the course before her feet and then went
bounding wide. Atalanta swerved in her race and followed where
the apple went. Hippomenes marvelled that he had been able to
fling it so far. He saw Atalanta stoop to pick up the apple, and
he bounded on. And then, although his strength was failing, he
saw the goal marks near him. He set his feet between them and
then fell down on the ground.
The attendants raised him up and put the victor's wreath upon his
head. The concourse of people shouted with joy to see him victor.
But he looked around for Atalanta and he saw her standing there
with the golden apples in her hands. "He has won," he heard her
say, "and I have not to hate myself for bringing a doom upon him.
Gladly, gladly do I give up the race, and glad am I that it is
this youth who has won the victory from me."
She took his hand and brought him before the king. Then
Schoeneus, in the sight of all the rejoicing people, gave
Atalanta to Hippomenes for his bride, and he bestowed upon him
also a great gift of horses. With his dear and hard-won bride,
Hippomenes went to his own country, and the apples that she
brought with her, the golden apples of Aphrodite, were reverenced
by the people.
Pages:
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93