Chapter_14

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Hippodameia, the glorious daughter

Of the Lord of Pisa, a prize for him

Who could win her. Alone by the surf-white water

Of the sea he stood in the darkness dim.

To the Thunder-voiced he cried o’er the wave,

To the Lord of the Trident mighty to save:

And lo, at his side did the God appear.

And “O Poseidon,” he spake imploring,

“If the gifts of the Cyprian Queen’s outpouring

To thy spirit, O King, be in any wise dear,

His bronze lance let not Oenomaus lift

To mine hurt, but cause me to Elis to ride

On a god-given chariot passing swift:

There throne thou me by victory’s side.

For lovers by that spear merciless-slaying

Have died thirteen, and he still is delaying

To bestow his child as a bride.