RGED on by Juno, Io sped

On her four feet to where there fed
The bleating sheep, and lowing ox,
And leaping goat that loves the rocks,
Until where Argus might be seen

Keeping his watch for heaven's dread queen,
She lowed to see his starry crown,
More awful than her father's frown;
For round his head his hundred eyes
Seemed turned upon her in surprise.
When Juno left her in his care
Her plaintive lowrings filled the air;
For well she knew she could not stray
Beyond his keeping night or day.
By day he let her roam in view,
And pasture where sweet violets grew,
To comfort with their balmy breath

The maid whose fate was worse than death.
And yet of troubled streams she drank,
From which her dainty palate shrank;
At night he tied her to the shed,
The sky her roof, the ground her bed;
Kept all his eyes but two awake,
The rest in turn repose must take,
Nor e'er exceed, for Juno's sake.
Often did Io try to tell

The grief that made her bosom swell,
And lift her hands in prayer that he
Would give her rest and liberty:

But no white hands were left to raise,

And from the mouth that learned to graze,
Would only come a lowing sound,
Which made her, startled, gaze around,

As if it was another's throat
That uttered the unwelcome note.
It chanced that once, all unaware,
She came to Lerna's pastures fair,
And speedily her cleft hoofs prest
The very banks she loved the best.
The past seemed like a troubled dream:
This was her own dear father's stream;
How would he welcome her again,
And charm away her grief and pain!

Oh, home sweet home! who'd care to roam
Too far away from home, sweet home?
Musing she bent towards the stream
To catch her soft eyes' bright'ning beam,
But with it the long horns she bore,
And form that never maiden wore.
She turned, as from herself to run,
The Io in her all undone :

Her, in this guise, how should he know,
Or how translate her cry of woe?
Oh, "Moo, moo, moo," what could she do?
To linger must the pain renew.
Back to her keeper she had sped,
But 'ere she turned her milky head,
Beheld her father at his door,
And maidens on the grass before,
With whom erewhile her lot was cast,
The bright friends of her happy past.
She paused; and impulses of flight
Were all arrested at the sight.
Towards the group her steps she bent,
And in large tears her grief found vent ;
Her dumb affection soon expresses

Itself in tenderest caresses :

;

She rubs her head, broad and uncouth,
Against a cheek and brow more smooth
And no one feared the strange embrace ;
All of them stroked her gentle face,
And said, "How lovely of its kind!
A fairer heifer who could find?
And, see, the creature knows no fear;
The heaving breast and gathering tear
Are for the hand that reared and fed,
And loved to pat her snowy head.
She's strayed, poor thing, and lost her way,
Till she is asked for, let her stay."
Then Inachus, her father, plucked

Field blossoms, that the bee had sucked,
With fresh green grasses, and his hand
Held out to her with mild command.
She came and eat them from his palm,
Then licked it, and his outward calm
Forsook him, as her tearful eyes
Met his, with look too human-wise.
What made him turn so pale? Alack!
They brought the thought of Io back:
And now the creature moves away,
And in the sand, as clear as day,
Writes Io with her foot, that he
May in the brute his daughter see.
He threw his arms around her neck,
Weeping as if his heart would break:
"Oh! darling Io, Daphne's shrine
Is less to be deplored than thine;
I thought pale Death had unaware
Withdrawn thee from our tender care;
Or that my treasure and my pride,
Was stolen for a bandit's bride;
But little did I think with kine

Must henceforth lodge that soul divine.

Oh, Death! that thou wouldst end the strife

And loose her from this lower life :
For me, I mourn the most that I,
Heartbroken, childless, cannot die.
For who would be a god to crave
In vain the refuge mortals have,
When Death puts aching eyes to sleep,
Which only wake to watch and weep ?"
And Io answered to his grief.

But ah! the time of love was brief :
For Argus hastening on her track
Soon drove the wandering heifer back;
He bore her to a rocky height,
And sat and watched her all the night.
Then Jove, beholding her despair,
Felt that her pain he could not bear.
He sent for Hermes, swift and bright,
And bade him take immediate flight
Where watchful Argus kept his charge,
And let the heifer roam at large,

By closing to the day's sweet light
The
eyes that shone like stars at night.
Hermes, no sooner heard than he
Flew to the vale of Arcadie;
But, lighting on the ground, he tore
Both wings off; and the wand he bore
Changed to a simple shepherd's crook,
And wore a bashful peasant's look:
For know the wand gave him the power
To summon sleep, to rule the hour;
Till even a god was fain to nod,
If he but waved the magic rod :
Yet it might send, with more ado,
A hundred eyes to sleep than two.
Next being much inclined to theft,
He stole the goats some goatherd left,
To wander at their own sweet will,
And drove them slowly round the hill,
Where Argus would be sure to see
And hear him singing merrily.
Touch'd with the sweetness of his note,
Which on the warm air seemed to float
Like a charmed swan upon a lake,
Argus entreated he would take
A rest beside him, and would play
His reeds to charm the time away.
Obliging Hermes climbed the hill,
Played sleepy airs, told stories, till
He saw that Argus scarce could keep
His eyes on Io and his sheep :
He told of Syrinx changed to reeds,
Of strange deceits, heroic deeds,
All in a drowsy monotone,

Until two sentries watched alone.
Patience! e'en these begin to blink,
Argus will soon in slumber sink.
The magic wand who can resist?
He let him struggle as he list.
But when the hundred eyes were hid,
Each one beneath its leaden lid,
He drew his falchion from its sheath,
And setting hard his ivory teeth,
At one stroke cut off Argus' head
And sent him to the shadowy dead.
As the strange head rolled down the rock,
The eyes all opened with the shock;
Beautiful eyes, like jewels bright,

Yet nevermore to see the light.

The Queen of Heaven beheld, and grieved, As of a cherished friend bereaved,

And then resolved, those starry eyes
Should not be left the victor's prize,
She put them in her peacock's train
To make the showy bird more vain ;
While all her wrath was spent upon
Io, the unoffending one.

Ah, me! what sorrows now betide!
The gad-fly in her snow-white hide ;
She ran now forward and now back,
Scared by the Furies in her track.
Tired, and almost fit to drop,
Nor fly, nor Fury lets her stop:

All round the world she seemed to race;
All round, they seemed to keep the chase;
Until upon the banks of Nile,
Spent, jaded, worn, she paused awhile.
"Twas not to take a moment's ease,
She fell upon her rounded knees;
Her face she turned to the blue sky,
The large tears shining in each eye,
And "Moo, moo, moo!" was all her cry.
But "Moo, moo," was a prayer to Jove,
Who cursed her with unmeaning love,
To kill her quickly as he could,
For life so bitter! death was good!
No more could Jove resist her prayer;
"That thing's distress I cannot bear,"
He said to Juno, pointing down

To where she kneeled 'mid rushes brown.
Then like a gentleman confessed-
If she had cursed, he had not blessed :
"Twas true a maiden dwelt within
That bestial form and hairy skin;
But would she let him use his power,
Restore her to her youth's fair flower,
He'd promise now, on honour bright,
He would no more his Juno slight;
But let the fair earth-maidens go,
Nor even speak to poor Io.

A sweet smile broke o'er Juno's face,
Her pride all melted to the grace

Of gentle pity, as she said

66

Enough for I am comforted:

Io has had enough to bear;

Let her her natural beauty wear,

And I will further vengeance spare."

And now the hairy skin grows smooth;

The oppress'd heart feels the joy of youth;

The large eyes grow more small and bright;

The fore-hoofs, lifted in delight,

Have changed to dainty little hands,-
And Io as a maiden stands.

The waves of Nile reflect long hair

That wanders o'er her shoulders fair;

The horns are gone, and accents true

Flow from the lips that said "Moo, moo!"
A stranger in a foreign land,

Her beauty did her fate command:
Telegonus, the Egyptian king,
Whom poets, as Osiris, sing,

Loved her, but not in foolish sport,