A Book of Myths, by Jean Lang - Umnet

through the branches and thick undergrowth of the wood, and the
hounds followed in hot pursuit. But she drew her breath sharply, and
her eyes opened wide in amazed gladness, when she looked on the
perfect beauty of the fleet-footed hunter, who was only a little less swift
than the shining spear that sped from his hand with the sureness of a
bolt from the hand of Zeus. And she knew that this must be none other
than Adonis, son of the king of Paphos, of whose matchless beauty she
had heard not only the dwellers on earth, but the Olympians themselves
speak in wonder. While gods and men were ready to pay homage to his
marvellous loveliness, to Adonis himself it counted for nothing. But in
the vigour of his perfect frame he rejoiced; in his fleetness of foot, in
the power of that arm that Michael Angelo has modelled, in the
quickness and sureness of his aim, for the boy was a mighty hunter
with a passion for the chase.
Aphrodite felt that her heart was no longer her own, and knew that the
wound that the arrow of Eros had dealt would never heal until she knew
that Adonis loved her. No longer was she to be found by the Cytherian
shores or in those places once held by her most dear, and the other gods
smiled when they beheld her vying with Diana in the chase and
following Adonis as he pursued the roe, the wolf, and the wild boar
through the dark forest and up the mountain side. The pride of the
goddess of love must often have hung its head. For her love was a thing
that Adonis could not understand. He held her "Something better than
his dog, a little dearer than his horse," and wondered at her whim to
follow his hounds through brake and marsh and lonely forest. His
reckless courage was her pride and her torture. Because he was to her
so infinitely dear, his path seemed ever bestrewn with dangers. But
when she spoke to him with anxious warning and begged him to
beware of the fierce beasts that might one day turn on him and bring
him death, the boy laughed mockingly and with scorn.
There came at last a day when she asked him what he did on the
morrow, and Adonis told her with sparkling eyes that had no heed for
her beauty, that he had word of a wild boar, larger, older, more fierce
than any he had ever slain, and which, before the chariot of Diana next
passed over the land of Cyprus, would be lying dead with a