"Stranger," said he, "I pray she soon may die Whose lovely youth has slain so many an one! King Schoeneus' daughter is she verily, 150 Who when her eyes first looked upon the sun Was fain to end her life but new begun, For he had vowed to leave but men alone Sprung from his loins when he from earth was gone. "Therefore he bade one leave her in the wood, 155 And let wild things deal with her as they might, But this being done, some cruel god thought good To save her beauty in the world's despite: Folk say that her, so delicate and white As now she is, a rough, root-grubbing bear 160 Amidst her shapeless cubs at first did rear. "In course of time the woodfolk slew her nurse, And to their rude abode the youngling brought, And reared her up to be a kingdom's curse, Who grown a woman, of no kingdom thought, 165 But armed and swift, 'mid beasts destruction wrought, Nor spared two shaggy centaur kings to slay, To whom her body seemed an easy prey. "So to this city, led by fate, she came Whom known by signs, whereof I cannot tell, 170 King Schoeneus for his child at last did claim, Nor otherwise since that day doth she dwell, Sending too many a noble soul to hell.-- What! thine eyes glisten! what then, thinkest thou Her shining head unto the yoke to bow? 175 "Listen, my son, and love some other maid, For she the saffron gown[296] will never wear, And on no flower-strewn couch shall she be laid, Nor shall her voice make glad a lover's ear: Yet if of Death thou hast not any fear, 180 Yea, rather, if thou lovest him utterly, Thou still may'st woo her ere thou comest to die, "Like him that on this day thou sawest lie dead; For, fearing as I deem the sea-born one,[297] The maid has vowed e'en such a man to wed 185 As in the course her swift feet can outrun, But whoso fails herein, his days are done: He came the nighest that was slain to-day, Although with him I deem she did but play. "Behold, such mercy Atalanta gives 190 To those that long to win her loveliness; Be wise! be sure that many a maid there lives Gentler than she, of beauty little less, Whose swimming eyes thy loving words shall bless, When in some garden, knee set close to knee, 195 Thou sing'st the song that love may teach to thee."