Page:Ovid's Metamorphoses (Vol. 2) - tr Garth, Dryden, et. al. (1727).djvu/118

106 The Signal sounding by the King's Command, Both start at once, and sweep th' unprinted Sand. So swiftly move their Feet, they might with Ease, Scarce moisten'd, skim along the glassie Seas; Or with a wondrous Levity be born O'er yellow Harvests of unbending Corn. Now fav'ring Peals resound from ev'ry Part, Spirit the Youth, and fire his fainting Heart. Hippomenes! (they cry'd) thy Life preserve, Intensely labour, and stretch ev'ry Nerve. Base Fear alone can baffle thy Design, Shoot boldly onward, and the Goal is thine. 'Tis doubtful whether Shouts, like these, convey'd More Pleasures to the Youth, or to the Maid. When a long Distance oft she could have gain'd, She check'd her Swiftness, and her Feet restrain'd: She sigh'd, and dwelt, and languish'd on his Face, Then with unwilling Speed pursu'd the Race. O'er-spent with Heat, his Breath he faintly drew, Parch'd was his Mouth, nor yet the Goal in view, And the first Apple on the Plain he threw. The Nymph stop'd sudden at th' unusual Sight, Struck with the Fruit so beautifully bright. Aside she starts, the Wonder to behold, And eager stoops to catch the rouling Gold. Th' observant Youth past by, and scour'd along, While Peals of Joy rung from th' applauding Throng. Unkindly she corrects the short Delay, And to redeem the Time fleets swift away, Swift, as the Lightning, or the Northern Wind, And far she leaves the panting Youth behind. Again he strives the flying Nymph to hold With the Temptation of the second Gold: The bright Temptation fruitlesly was tost, So soon, alas! she won the Distance lost. Now