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old Amyclae: nor Ulysses' sire: Ancaeus of Parrhasia: Mopsus sage: Amphiareus, then by his false spouse's guile Betray'd not. With them Atalanta came, The grace and glory of Arcadia's woods. A shining buckle from the ground confin'd Her garment's border: simply bound, her hair One knot confin'd: her ivory quiver, slung O'er her left shoulder, sounded as she stepp'd: Her hand sustain'd a bow: and thus array'd Appear'd her form. Her lineaments disclos'd, What scarce might feminine in boys appear; Or hardly boyish in a virgin's face. The chief of Calydon the maid beheld,-- Beheld, and lov'd: while heaven his love oppos'd. The secret flames inhaling deep, he cry'd,-- "O, blessed youth! if youth to gain thy hand "Worthy were deem'd!"--Nor bashful shame, nor time Would more allow; a mightier deed now claim'd Their utmost efforts for the furious war. Darken'd with trees thick-growing, rose a wood; From earliest ages there the biting axe Had never sounded; in the plain it rear'd Facing the sloping fields. The youths arriv'd; Some spread the knotted toils; some loose the hounds; Some strive the foot-prints of the boar to trace, Their danger anxious seeking. Low beneath A hollow vale extended, where the floods Fresh showery torrents gather'd, lazy laid. The flexile willow, and the waving reed; The fenny bulrush, osier, and the cane Diminutive, the stagnant depth conceal'd. Arous'd from hence, the boar impetuous rush'd Amidst his host of foes; so lightenings dart When clouds concussive clash. His rapid force Levels the grove, the crackling trees resound Where'er he pushes: loud the joyful youth Exclaim, each grasping with a nervous hand His weapon brandish'd, while its broad head shakes. Forward he darts, the dogs he scatters wide, And each opposing power; his strokes oblique Their baying drives to distance. Echion's arm Hurl'd the first dart, but hurl'd the dart in vain; Lightly a maple's trunk the weapon graz'd. The next, but over-urg'd the force that sent, Had pierc'd the rough back of the wish'd-for prey; Jason's the steel,--it whizz'd beyond him far. Then Mopsus pray'd,--"O Phoebus! if thy rites "I e'er perform'd, if still I thee adore, "Grant my sure weapon what I wish to touch." The god consented, what he could he gave,-- The boar was struck, but struck without a wound: Diana from the flying weapon snat
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