Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Mythology Description An account of the resource Women’s sports in Greek heroic myths. Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Source Type Physical type of source Literary source Translation Perhaps you may have heard of a swift maid, who ran much faster than swift-footed men contesting in the race. What they have told is not an idle tale.—She did excel them all—and you could not have said whether her swift speed or her beauty was more worthy of your praise. When this maid once consulted with an oracle, of her fate after marriage, the god answered her: “You, Atalanta, never will have need of husband, who will only be your harm. For your best good you should avoid the tie; but surely you will not avoid your harm; and while yet living you will lose yourself.” She was so frightened by the oracle, she lived unwedded in far shaded woods; and with harsh terms repulsed insistent throngs of suitors. “I will not be won,” she said, “Till I am conquered first in speed. Contest the race with me. A wife and couch shall both be given to reward the swift, but death must recompense the one who lags behind. This must be the condition of a race.” Indeed she was that pitiless, but such the power of beauty, a rash multitude agreed to her harsh terms. Hippomenes had come, a stranger, to the cruel race, with condemnation in his heart against the racing young men for their headstrong love; and said, “Why seek a wife at such a risk?” But when he saw her face, and perfect form disrobed for perfect running, such a form as mine, Adonis, or as yours—if you were woman—he was so astonished he raised up his hands and said, “Oh pardon me brave men whom I was blaming, I could not then realize the value of the prize you strove for.” And as he is praising her, his own heart leaping with love's fire, he hopes no young man may outstrip her in the race; and, full of envy, fears for the result. “But why,” he cries, “is my chance in the race untried? Divinity helps those who dare.” But while the hero weighed it in his mind the virgin flew as if her feet had wings. Although she seemed to him in flight as swift as any Scythian arrow, he admired her beauty more; and her swift speed appeared in her most beautiful. The breeze bore back the streamers on her flying ankles, while her hair was tossed back over her white shoulders; the bright trimmed ribbons at her knees were fluttering, and over her white girlish body came a pink flush, just as when a purple awning across a marble hall gives it a wealth of borrowed hues. And while Hippomenes in wonder gazed at her, the goal was reached; and Atalanta crowned victorious with festal wreath.—But all the vanquished youths paid the death-penalty with sighs and groans, according to the stipulated bond. Not frightened by the fate of those young men, he stood up boldly in the midst of all; and fixing his strong eyes upon the maiden, said: “Where is the glory in an easy victory over such weaklings? Try your fate with me! If fortune fail to favor you, how could it shame you to be conquered by a man? Megareus of Onchestus is my father, his grandsire, Neptune, god of all the seas. I am descendant of the King of Waves: and add to this, my name for manly worth has not disgraced the fame of my descent. If you should prove victorious against this combination, you will have achieved a great enduring name—the only one who ever bested great Hippomenes.” While he was speaking, Atalanta's gaze grew softer, in her vacillating hopes to conquer and be conquered; till at last, her heart, unbalanced, argued in this way: “It must be some god envious of youth, wishing to spoil this one prompts him to seek wedlock with me and risk his own dear life. I am not worth the price, if I may judge. His beauty does not touch me—but I could be moved by it—I must consider he is but a boy. It is not he himself who moves me, but his youth. Sufficient cause for thought are his great courage and his soul fearless of death. What of his high descent;— great grandson of the King of all the seas? What of his love for me that has such great importance, he would perish if his fate denied my marriage to him? O strange boy, go from me while you can; abandon hope of this alliance stained with blood—A match with me is fatal. Other maids will not refuse to wed you, and a wiser girl will gladly seek your love.—But what concern is it of mine, when I but think of those who have already perished! Let him look to it himself; and let him die. Since he is not warned by his knowledge of the fate of many other suitors, he declares quite plainly, he is weary of his life.— “Shall he then die, because it must be his one hope to live with me? And suffer death though undeserved, for me because he loves? My victory will not ward off the hate, the odium of the deed! But it is not a fault of mine.—Oh fond, fond man, I would that you had never seen me! But you are so madly set upon it, I could wish you may prove much the swifter! Oh how dear how lovable is his young girlish face!— ah, doomed Hippomenes, I only wish mischance had never let you see me! You are truly worthy of a life on earth. If I had been more fortunate, and not denied a happy marriage day; I would not share my bed with any man but you.” All this the virgin Atalanta said; and knowing nothing of the power of love, she is so ignorant of what she does, she loves and does not know she is in love. Meanwhile her father and the people, all loudly demanded the accustomed race. A suppliant, the young Hippomenes invoked me with his anxious voice, “I pray to you, O Venus, Queen of Love, be near and help my daring—smile upon the love you have inspired!” The breeze, not envious, wafted this prayer to me; and I confess, it was so tender it did move my heart— I had but little time to give him aid. There is a field there which the natives call the Field Tamasus—the most prized of all the fertile lands of Cyprus. This rich field, in ancient days, was set apart for me, by chosen elders who decreed it should enrich my temples yearly. In this field there grows a tree, with gleaming golden leaves, and all its branches crackle with bright gold. Since I was coming from there, by some chance, I had three golden apples in my hand, which I had plucked. With them I planned to aid Hippomenes. While quite invisible to all but him, I taught him how to use those golden apples for his benefit. Text Any textual data included in the document Forsitan audieris aliquam certamine cursus veloces superasse viros. Non fabula rumor ille fuit: superabat enim; nec dicere posses, laude pedum formaene bono praestantior esset. Scitanti deus huic de coniuge “coniuge” dixit “nil opus est, Atalanta, tibi: fuge coniugis usum! nec tamen effugies teque ipsa viva carebis.” Territa sorte dei per opacas innuba silvas vivit et instantem turbam violenta procorum condicione fugat, nec “sum potienda, nisi” inquit “victa prius cursu. Pedibus contendite mecum: praemia veloci coniunx thalamique dabuntur, mors pretium tardis. Ea lex certaminis esto.” Illa quidem inmitis: sed (tanta potentia formae est) venit ad hanc legem temeraria turba procorum. Sederat Hippomenes cursus spectator iniqui et “petitur cuiquam per tanta pericula coniunx?” dixerat ac nimios iuvenum damnarat amores. Ut faciem et posito corpus velamine vidit, quale meum, vel quale tuum, si femina fias, obstipuit tollensque manus “ignoscite,” dixit “quos modo culpavi. Nondum mihi praemia nota, quae peteretis, erant.” Laudando concipit ignes et, ne quis iuvenum currat velocius, optat invidiaque timet. “Sed cur certaminis huius intemptata mihi fortuna relinquitur?” inquit “audentes deus ipse iuvat.” Dum talia secum exigit Hippomenes, passu volat alite virgo. Quae quamquam Scythica non setius ire sagitta Aonio visa est iuveni, tamen ille decorem miratur magis; et cursus facit ipse decorem. Aura refert ablata citis talaria plantis, tergaque iactantur crines per eburnea, quaeque poplitibus suberant picto genualia limbo; inque puellari corpus candore ruborem traxerat, haud aliter, quam cum super atria velum candida purpureum simulatas inficit umbras. Dum notat haec hospes, decursa novissima meta est et tegitur festa victrix Atalanta corona. Dant gemitum victi penduntque ex foedere poenas. Non tamen eventu iuvenis deterritus horum constitit in medio, vultuque in virgine fixo “quid facilem titulum superando quaeris inertes? mecum confer!” ait. “Seu me fortuna potentem fecerit, a tanto non indignabere vinci: namque mihi genitor Megareus Onchestius, illi est Neptunus avus, pronepos ego regis aquarum, nec virtus citra genus est; seu vincar, habebis Hippomene victo magnum et memorabile nomen.” Talia dicentem molli Schoeneia vultu adspicit et dubitat, superari an vincere malit. Atque ita “quis deus hunc formosis” inquit “iniquus perdere vult caraeque iubet discrimine vitae coniugium petere hoc? Non sum, me iudice, tanti. — Nec forma tangor (poteram tamen hac quoque tangi), sed quod adhuc puer est: non me movet ipse, sed aetas. Quid quod inest virtus et mens interrita leti? Quid quod ab aequorea numeratur origine quartus? Quid quod amat tantique putat conubia nostra, ut pereat, si me fors illi dura negarit? Dum licet, hospes, abi thalamosque relinque cruentos: coniugium crudele meum est. Tibi nubere nulla nolet, et optari potes a sapiente puella. — Cur tamen est mihi cura tui tot iam ante peremptis? Viderit! Intereat, quoniam tot caede procorum admonitus non est agiturque in taedia vitae. — Occidet hic igitur, voluit quia vivere mecum, indignamque necem pretium patietur amoris? Non erit invidiae victoria nostra ferendae. Sed non culpa mea est. Utinam desistere velles, aut, quoniam es demens, utinam velocior esses! A! quam virgineus puerili vultus in ore est! A! miser Hippomene, nollem tibi visa fuissem! Vivere dignus eras. Quod si felicior essem, nec mihi coniugium fata importuna negarent, unus eras, cum quo sociare cubilia vellem.” Dixerat; utque rudis primoque Cupidine tacta, quid facit ignorans, amat et non sentit amorem. Iam solitos poscunt cursus populusque paterque, cum me sollicita proles Neptunia voce invocat Hippomenes “Cytherea” que “comprecor, ausis adsit” ait “nostris et quos dedit adiuvet ignes.” Detulit aura preces ad me non invida blandas; motaque sum, fateor. Nec opis mora longa dabatur. Est ager, indigenae Tamasenum nomine dicunt, telluris Cypriae pars optima, quam mihi prisci sacravere senes templisque accedere dotem hanc iussere meis. Medio nitet arbor in arvo, fulva comas, fulvo ramis crepitantibus auro. Hinc tria forte mea veniens decerpta ferebam aurea poma manu: nullique videnda nisi ipsi Hippomenen adii docuique, quis usus in illis. Edition used Hugo Magnus (ed.), Die Metamorphosen des P. Ovidius Naso, vol. 1–3, Gotha 1892–1919. Translation used Brookes More, Ovid, Metamorphoses, Boston 1922. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Ovidius, Metamorphoses 10. 560–651: the race of Atalanta and Hippomenes/Melanion Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Ovidius Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 47 BCE - 17 CE Type The nature or genre of the resource Poetry Atalanta Hippomenes race