TO ATALANTA.
Ah, Atalanta! timely wise,
When the disdain within your eyes
That wondrous vision daunted,
The golden apples, they whose spell
Both gods and mortals knew right well,
Eternally enchanted,
You instantly the race forbore,
You made your choice for evermore
And gathered up the burden!
The ancient spell had conquered you,
The distant goal you did not rue,
You won a dearer guerdon!
Oh, modern Atalanta, stay,
When with Hippomenes to-day
You arduously grapple!
An instant ponder on your case
If you should ever lose the race,
And likewise lose the apple!
