The Story Of Europa. By Profesor Sylvester. Hor. Od. III. xxvii. 25. ’Mid teeming ocean’s monster brood, Stretched snow-white on the crafty steer, At unmasked perils of the flood The bold Europa paled with fear. She who at noon culled meadow flowers And for the nymphs vowed garlands wove, Sees nought in twilight’s dusky hours Save billows round and stars above. So when to Crete’s steep isle she came, With five-score cities peopled, cries ‘ Oh ! father, duty ! daughter’s name ! To passion fallen a sacrifice. ‘ Whence come and where ? mere death were gain Lost maiden honour to redeem ; Wake I and weep th’ inexpiable stain Or mocks me guiltless a vain dream ‘ Sleep though the ivory portal leads ? Ah ! which should happier living prove, Fresh flowers to gather in the meads Or o’er long trailing seas to rove ! ‘ That ill-famed steer would some power give Back to these wrathful hands again, Into the brute this steel I’d drive And tear those fondled horns in twain. ‘ A shameless fugitive from home, Hear me some god and grant my prayer ; Too shamed to live, oh ! let me roam Naked where lions make their lair. ‘Ere from my form the juices drain, Or foul decay this fair cheek soil, Let tigers hunt me o’er the plain, But beauteous still devour their spoil.’ Cries ‘ vile Europa, why delay ? ’ My far-off sire. ‘ On yon ash nigh, Noosed with thy zone, well snatched away, Wanton ! go wrench thy neck and die. ‘ Or launched on the eddying storm-wind’s breath, If rocks and reefs more charm thy soul, Dash on these ledges lined with death— Else take the shame of carding wool, ‘ Handmaid to some barbarian dame, Harlot of royal pedigree ! ’ With unstrung bow child Love now came, And Venus smiling roguishly : Who when enough she had jeered the fair— ‘ Hush, hush these brawls, no more complain, The hateful bull to meet thy prayer Yields thee his horns to rend in twain. ‘ Of sovereign and all-conquering Jove Know thyself consort—sobs disclaim. Learn worthy thy proud state to prove— The world’s cloven orb shall boast thy name.’