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 fruitlessly was toss’d So soon, alas! she won the distance lost. Now but a little interval of space Remain’d for the decision of the race. ‘Fair author of the precious gift,’ he said, ‘Be thou, oh goddess, author of my aid!’ Then of the shining fruit the last he drew, And with his full-collected vigour threw; The virgin still the longer to detain, Threw not directly, but across the plain. She seem’d a while perplex’d in dubious thought, If the far distant apple should be sought: I lured her backward mind to seize the bait, And to the massy gold gave double weight: My favour to my votary was show’d; Her speed I lessen’d, and increased her load. But lest, though long, the rapid race he run, Before my longer, tedious tale is done, The youth the gaol, and so the virgin, won.