s father calls him on one
side; and, not owning the cause of his love, he says, "My son, the
trusty minister of my commands, banish delay, and swiftly descend with
thy usual speed, and repair to the region which looks towards thy
{Constellation} mother on the left side, (the natives call it
Sidonis[90] by name) and drive towards the sea-shore, the herd belonging
to the king, which thou seest feeding afar upon the grass of the
mountain."

{Thus} he spoke; and already were the bullocks, driven from the
mountain, making for the shore named, where the daughter of the great
king, attended by Tyrian virgins, was wont to amuse herself. Majesty and
love but ill accord, nor can they continue in the same abode. The father
and the ruler of the Gods, whose right hand is armed with the
three-forked flames, who shakes the world with his nod, laying aside the
dignity of empire, assumes the appearance of a bull; and mixing with the
oxen, he lows, and, in all his beauty, walks about upon the shooting
grass. For his color is that of snow, which neither the soles of hard
feet have trodden upon, nor the watery South wind melted. His neck
swells with muscles; dewlaps hang from {between} his shoulders. His
horns are small indeed, but such as you might maintain were made with
the hand, and more transparent than a bright gem. There is nothing
threatening in his forehead; nor is his eye formidable; his countenance
expresses peace.

The daughter of Agenor is surprised that he is so beautiful, and that he
threatens no attack; but although so gentle, she is at first afraid to
touch him. By and by she approaches him, and holds out flowers to his
white mouth. The lover rejoices, and till his hoped-for pleasure comes,
he gives kisses to her hands; scarcely, oh, scarcely, does he defer the
rest. And now he plays with her, and skips upon the green grass; {and}
now he lays his snow-white side upon the yellow sand. And, her fear
{now} removed by degrees, at one moment he gives his breast to be patted
by the hand of the virgin; at another, his horns to be wreathed with
new-made garlands. The virgin of royal birth even ventured to sit down
upon the back of the bull, not knowing upon whom she was pressing. Then
the God, by degrees {moving} from the land, and from the dry shore,
places the fictitious hoofs of his feet in the waves near the brink.
Then he goes still further, and carries his prize over the expanse of
the midst of the ocean. She is affrighted