marry. But as many men wanted to marry her, a law was passed that any one
who desired to win her must run a race with her. If he could beat her in
running, then she promised to marry him, but if he lost the race, he was
to be killed. Some say that the man was allowed to run first, and that the
girl followed with a spear in her hand and killed him when she overtook
him. There are different accounts of the contest. Many suitors lost the
race and were killed. But finally young man called Hippomenes obtained
from the Goddess of Love three golden apples, and he was told that if he
dropped these apples while running, the girl would stop to pick them up,
and that in this way he might be able to win the race. So he ran, and when
he found himself about to be beaten, he dropped one apple. She stopped to
pick it up and thus he gained a little. In this way he won the race and
married Atalanta. Greek mythology says that afterwards she and her husband
were turned into lions because they offended the gods; however, that need
not concern us here. There is a very beautiful moral in the old Greek
story, and the merit of the American composition is that its author,
Maurice Thompson, perceived this moral and used it to illustrate a great
philosophical truth.

When Spring grows old, and sleepy winds
Set from the South with odours sweet,
I see my love, in green, cool groves,
Speed down dusk aisles on shining feet.
She throws a kiss and bids me run,
In whispers sweet as roses' breath;
I know I cannot win the race,
And at the end, I know, is death.

But joyfully I bare my limbs,
Anoint me with the tropic breeze,