" As he surveyed them he wished them all to be beaten, and
swelled with envy of any one that seemed at all likely to win.
While such were his thoughts, the virgin darted forward. As she
ran she looked more beautiful than ever. The breezes seemed to
give wings to her feet; her hair flew over her shoulders, and the
gay fringe of her garment fluttered behind her. A ruddy hue tinged
the whiteness of her skin, such as a crimson curtain casts on a
marble wall. All her competitors were distanced, and were put to
death without mercy. Hippomenes, not daunted by this result,
fixing his eyes on the virgin, said, "Why boast of beating those
laggards? I offer myself for the contest." Atalanta looked at him
with a pitying countenance, and hardly knew whether she would
rather conquer him or not. "What god can tempt one so young and
handsome to throw himself away? I pity him, not for his beauty
(yet he is beautiful), but for his youth. I wish he would give up
the race, or if he will be so mad, I hope he may outrun me." While
she hesitates, revolving these thoughts, the spectators grow
impatient for the race, and her father prompts her to prepare.
Then Hippomenes addressed a prayer to Venus: "Help me, Venus, for
you have led me on." Venus heard and was propitious.
In the garden of her temple, in her own island of Cyprus, is a
tree with yellow leaves and yellow branches and golden fruit.
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