s taught the art divine,
But this the haughty maid denied.

"Me taught," she cried, "by Pallas! Me
By Pallas! Let the goddess first
Accept my challenge. Then, should she
Surpass me, let her do her worst."

Vain, impious words! The goddess came
In likeness of an ancient crone,
With grizzled locks and tottering frame,
And spoke with warning in her tone.

"Though matchless in thine art," she cried,
"Though first of mortals, tempt not fate.
Age makes me wise. Thou hast defied
A goddess. It is not too late."

The unhappy maid, with madness blind,
Replied, and scarce restrain'd the blow.
"'Tis plain, old woman, that your mind
Is drivelling to address me so.

"Some daughter or some slave may want
Your counsel. Let her but appear,
This mighty Pallas whom you vaunt!"
The goddess answer'd, "She is here."

She spoke, and lo! that ancient crone
Was young and fair, and tall and proud:
--The nymphs fell prostrate. She alone--
Arachne--neither shrank nor bow'd.

One blush quick came and pass'd away,
Hovering as clouds, when night is done,
Grow rosy at the dawn of day,
Then whiten with the rising sun.

She did not shrink--she did not pause--
But headlong to destruction ran;
And thus the strife ordain'd to cause
Such dark calamity began.

Each for the contest takes her stand--
The goddess here, the mortal there--
And each proceeds with skilful hand
The means of victory to prepare.

The beam each loom supports full well,
And to the loom the warp is tied;
Nor will I now forget to tell
The reed that doth the warp divide.

The woof the shuttle in doth bring,
The nimble fingers guide its way;
And still from either work-frame ring
The blows inflicted by the slay.

Each to her bosom binds her vest:
The arms of each, quick moving, feel
No sense of toil, no need of rest,
For weariness is quench'd by zeal.

And all the gorgeous tints of Tyre
In varying shades are mingled there;
And every hue the sun's bright fire
Can kindle in the showery air,--

When the wide rainbow spans the sky;
The bow whose colours, in the end
So different, yet so like when nigh,
In harmony's own concord blend,--

And precious threads of glittering gold