Guests At
Satan’s Great Ball.
The
20-Year-Old Lad.
Posting #6.
“…Who gazes on him, and with wondering eyes
Beholds the new majestic figure rise…”
John Dryden. Europa’s Rape.
From Ovid’s Metamorphoses.
This connection between A. S. Pushkin and Europe has
given me the idea to take a fresh look at the legend of Europa’s seduction by
Jupiter, contained in Part II of Ovid’s Metamorphoses.
Europa’s Rape.
From Ovid’s Metamorphoses.
English Translation by John Dryden.
When now the God his fury had allayed,
And taken vengeance of the stubborn
maid,
From where the bright Athenian turrets rise
He mounts aloft, and re-ascends the
skies.
Jove saw him enter the sublime abodes,
And, as he mixed among the crowd of Gods,
Beckoned him out, and drew him from the rest,
And in soft whispers thus his will expressed.
"My trusty Hermes, by whose ready aid
Thy sire's commands are through the world conveyed.
Resume thy wings, exert their utmost force,
And to the walls of Sidon speed thy course;
There find a herd of heifers wandering o'er
The neighboring hill, and drive 'em to the shore.”
Thus spoke the God, concealing his intent.
The trusty Hermes, on his message went,
And found the herd of heifers wandering over
A neighboring hill, and drove ‘em to the
shore;
Where the king’s daughter, with a lovely train
Of fellow-nymphs, was sporting on the plain.
The dignity of empire laid aside,
(For love but ill agrees with kingly
pride)
The ruler of the skies, the thundering God,
Who shakes the world's foundations with
a nod,
Among a herd of lowing heifers ran,
Frisked in a bull, and bellowed o'er the plain.
Large rolls of fat about his shoulders
clung,
And from his neck the double dewlap
hung.
His skin was whiter than the snow that lies
Unsullied by the breath of southern skies;
Small shining horns on his curled
forehead stand,
As turned and polished by the work-man's
hand;
His eye-balls rolled, not formidably
bright,
But gazed and languished with a gentle
light.
His every look was peaceful, and expressed
The softness of the lover in the beast.
Agenor’s royal daughter, as she played
Among the fields, the milk-white bull surveyed,
And viewed his spotless body with
delight,
And at a distance kept him in her sight.
At length she plucked the rising flowers,
and fed
The gentle beast, and fondly stroked his
head.
He stood well-pleased to touch the
charming fair,
But hardly could confine his pleasure
there.
And now he wantons o'er the neighboring
strand,
Now rolls his body on the yellow sand;
And, now perceiving all her fears decayed,
Comes tossing forward to the royal maid;
Gives her his breast to stroke, and
downward turns
His grisly brow, and gently stoops his horns.
In flowery wreaths the royal virgin dressed
His bending horns, and kindly clapped
his breast.
Till now grown wanton and devoid of fear,
Not knowing that she pressed the
Thunderer,
She placed herself upon his back, and
rode
O'er fields and meadows, seated on the
God.
He gently marched along, and by degrees
Left the dry meadow, and approached the
seas;
Where now he dips his hoofs and wets his
thighs,
Now plunges in, and carries off the
prize.
The frightened nymph looks backward on the shore,
And hears the tumbling billows round her roar;
But still she holds him fast: one hand is born
Upon his back; the other grasps a horn:
Her train of ruffling garments flies behind,
Swells in the air, and hovers in the wind.
Through storms and tempests he the virgin bore,
And lands her safe on the Dictaean shore;
Where now, in his divinest form arrayed,
In his true shape he captivates the
maid;
Who gazes on him, and with wondering
eyes
Beholds the new majestic figure rise,
His glowing features, and celestial
light,
And all the God discovered to her sight.
The End.
***
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