Agenor’s royal daughter, as she play’d Among the fields, the milk-white bull survey’d, And view’d his spotless body with delight, And at a distance kept him in her sight. At length she pluck’d 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 pleasures there. And now he wantons o’er the neighb’ring strand, Now rolls his body on the yellow sand; And, now perceiving all her fears decay’d, 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 dress’d His bending horns, and kindly clapp’d his breast; Till now grown wanton and devoid of fear, Not knowing that she press’d the Thunderer, She placed herself upon his back, and rode O’er fields and meadows, seated on the god.