Odes: Impios Parrae,
Translated by John Conington
So to the bull Europa gave
Her beauteous form, and when she saw
The monstrous deep, the yawning grave,
Grew pale with awe.
That morn of meadow-flowers she thought,
Weaving a crown the nymphs to please:
That gloomy night she look'd on nought
But stars and seas.
Then, as in hundred-citied Crete
She landed,--"O my sire!" she said,
"O childly duty! passion's heat
Has struck thee dead.
Whence came I? death, for maiden's shame,
Were little. Do I wake to weep
My sin? or am I pure of blame,
And is it sleep
From dreamland brings a form to trick
My senses? Which was best? to go
Over the long, long waves, or pick
The flowers in blow?
To the end of the world
Saintly and criminal
Hugo, In a
grand parliament of intelligence
Soon shall the whole world admire thy Psyche
Reference address : https://www.ellopos.net/elpenor/greeks-us/horace-zeus-europa.asp?pg=2