Classic Poem

Let owl's repeated hoot, portent of ill,
And teeming hound the wicked's path pursue,
And tawny wolf from off Lanuvian hill,
And fox with litter new.

To stop their journey when begun, let snake,
Like arrow shot across the road, appear,
Startling the ponies. I, when for the sake
Of friend mischance I fear.

Or e'er the raven can his fen regain,
From eastward with skilled augur's prayer will bring
That bird, the prophet else of coming rain,
A lucky note to sing.

Fair be your lot, where'er you choose to go,
And, Galatea, think sometimes of me.
May nor pie from the left, nor restless crow
Forbid your passage free.

But yet you see Orion downward race
In storm to set. I the black moods have known
Of Hadria's gulf, and proved Iapyx' face,
When bright, to treachery prone.

Let our foes' wives and children feel the shocks
Of rising Auster's fitful gusts, the roar
Of blackening main, the tremor of the rocks
On the surf-beaten shore.

Even so Europa on the wily bull
Laid trustful her fair side, and all around
The trap fast closed, of sea with monsters full,
Pale-cheeked, though brave, she found.

A moment since flowers in the mead she sought,
To fashion for the Nymphs a votive wreath:
In dusky night she saw before her nought
But stars and waves beneath.

When on the isle of hundred towns, great Crete,
Dry land she touched, ‘Father’, she cried, ‘O name
Thy child may speak no more! O duty sweet
Vanquished by passion's flame!

‘Whence, whither have I come? When maidens fall,
One death atones not. Am I, as I seem,
Awake, foul sin to rue, or free from all
Offence, the sport of dream,

‘That idle fancy, through the ivory gate
Escaping, brings? O'er billows long and dull
To travel, was it then a joy more great
Than fresh blown flowers to cull?

‘If but that wicked bull led hither stood
To meet my wrath, the horns I loved but now
I'd stab and break with all the force I could
Upon the monster's brow.

‘Shameless I was to leave my native home.
Shameless from death I flinch. If to my prayers
Some god would hearken, O that I might roam
Naked through lions' lairs!

‘Ere foul decay, my cheeks invading, dims
Their beauty's charm, and from the soft flesh draws
The sap, I'd give, while comely yet, my limbs
A prey for tigers' maws.

‘“Worthless Europa,” from afar ne'er fails
My father's taunt, “why death delay? Your sash,
So aptly brought, to break your neck avails,
Set swinging from yon ash.

‘“If cliff and deadly spikes of rock to use
More please you, go, in the swift tempest find
Your doom—unless, a concubine, you choose
Your mistress' wool to wind,

‘“You, a king's daughter, to the mercy flung
Of alien queen!”’ Venus, while thus she cried,
Came archly smiling, and with bow unstrung
Her boy was at her side.

Anon, when she had laughed her fill, she said:
‘From words of anger and hot railing cease.
The hated bull to you shall bow his head,
To stab at your caprice.

‘You know not that of Jove omnipotent
You are the wife. Sob no more: learn to wear
Great fortune well. From you a continent
“Europe” for name shall bear.’