Hence she gathered three golden apples, and, unseen by any one
else, gave them to Hippomenes, and told him how to use them. The
signal is given; each starts from the goal and skims over the
sand. So light their tread, you would almost have thought they
might run over the river surface or over the waving grain without
sinking. The cries of the spectators cheered Hippomenes,--"Now,
now, do your best! haste, haste! you gain on her! relax not! one
more effort!" It was doubtful whether the youth or the maiden
heard these cries with the greater pleasure. But his breath began
to fail him, his throat was dry, the goal yet far off. At that
moment he threw down one of the golden apples. The virgin was all
amazement. She stopped to pick it up. Hippomenes shot ahead.
Shouts burst forth from all sides. She redoubled her efforts, and
soon overtook him. Again he threw an apple. She stopped again, but
again came up with him. The goal was near; one chance only
remained. "Now, goddess," said he, "prosper your gift!" and threw
the last apple off at one side. She looked at it, and hesitated;
Venus impelled her to turn aside for it. She did so, and was
vanquished. The youth carried off his prize.
But the lovers were so full of their own happiness that they
forgot to pay due honor to Venus; and the goddess was provoked at
their ingratitude.
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