An ancient forest in Thessalia grows, Which Tempe’s pleasing valley does enclose: Through this the rapid Peneus takes his course, From Pindus rolling with impetuous force: Mists from the river’s mighty fall arise, And deadly damps enclose the cloudy skies; Perpetual fogs are hanging o’er the wood; And sounds of waters deaf the neighbourhood. Deep in a rocky cave he makes abode (A mansion proper for a mourning god). Here he gives audience; issuing out decrees To rivers, his dependant deities. On this occasion hither they resort, To pay their homage, and to make their court; All doubtful whether to congratulate His daughter’s honour, or lament her fate. Sperchaeus, crown’d with poplar, first appears; Then old Apidanus came crown’d with years: Enipeus turbulent; Amphrysos tame; And Aeas last, with lagging waters came; Then of his kindred brooks a numerous throng Condole his loss, and bring their urns along: Not one was wanting of the watery train That fill’d his flood, or mingled with the main,
Her, just returning from her father’s brook, Jove had beheld, with a desiring look: “And, O fair daughter of the flood,” he said, “Worthy alone of Jove’s imperial bed; Happy whoever shall those charms possess; The king of gods (nor is thy lover less) Invites thee to yon cooler shades, to shun The scorching rays of the meridian sun: Nor shalt thou tempt the dangers of the grove Alone, without a guide; thy guide is Jove: No puny power, but he whose high command Is unconfined, who rules the seas and land, And tempers thunder in his awful hand. O fly not:” for she fled from his embrace, O’er Lerna’s pastures: he pursued the chase Along the shades of the Lyrcaean plain. At length the god, who never asks in vain, Involved with vapours, imitating night, Both air and earth; and then suppress’d her flight. Meantime the jealous Juno, from on high, Survey’d the fruitful fields of Arcady, And wonder’d that the mist should overrun The face of daylight, and obscure the sun. No natural cause she found, from brooks, or bogs,
Or marshy lowlands, to produce the fogs: Then round the skies she sought for Jupiter, Her faithless husband; but no Jove was there. Suspecting now the worst: “Or I,” she said, “Am much mistaken, or am much betray’d.” With fury she precipitates her flight; Dispels the shadows of dissembled night, And to the day restores his native light. The almighty culprit, careful to prevent The consequence, foreseeing her descent, Transforms his mistress in a trice; and now In Io’s place appears a lovely cow. So sleek her skin, so faultless was her make, Ev’n Juno did unwilling pleasure take To see so fair a rival of her love; And what she was, and whence, inquired of Jove; Of what fair herd, and from what pedigree? The god, half caught, was forced upon a lie, And said she sprung from earth. She took the word, And begg’d the beauteous heifer of her lord. What should he do? ’twas equal shame to Jove Or to relinquish or betray his love; Yet to refuse so slight a gift would be But more to increase his consort’s jealousy:
Thus fear and love, by turns, his heart assail’d; And stronger love had sure, at length, prevail’d: But some faint hope remain’d, his jealous queen Had not the mistress through the heifer seen. The cautious goddess, of her gift possess’d, Yet harbour’d anxious thoughts within her breast; As she who knew the falsehood of her Jove, And justly fear’d some new relapse of love; Which to prevent, and to secure her care, To trusty Argus she commits the fair.