Prevod
When Atlas’s grandson had exacted this punishment for her words and impious thoughts, he left the land named after Pallas and, beating his wings, rose into the sky. His father called him aside and, concealing his love as the reason, said, “My son, faithful servant of my commands, make no delay: glide swiftly down with your accustomed speed, and seek the land that looks up at your mother’s star from the left—the natives call it Sidon— and drive the royal herd you see grazing far away on the mountain grass down to the shore.”
He spoke, and already the cattle, driven from the mountain, were making for the appointed shore, where the great king’s daughter used to play, attended by the maidens of Tyre. Majesty and love are ill matched and cannot share one dwelling: laying aside the solemn dignity of his sceptre, the father and ruler of the gods, whose right hand is armed with three-forked fire, whose nod shakes the world, assumed the shape of a bull and, mingling with the cattle, lowed and wandered in his beauty through the tender grass.
His colour was that of snow no hard foot has trampled, nor the rain-laden south wind melted. His neck swelled with muscle, his dewlap hung from his shoulders; his horns were small, but so perfect you might think them fashioned by hand, more translucent than a flawless jewel. There was no threat in his brow, no terror in his eyes; his face was all peace. Agenor’s daughter marvelled that he was so beautiful, that he threatened no violence.
Yet, gentle as he was, at first she feared to touch him; soon she approached and held flowers to his snowy mouth. The lover rejoiced and, awaiting the pleasure he hoped for, kissed her hands; scarcely, scarcely could he now defer the rest. Now he played beside her, leaping on the green grass, now laid his snowy flank upon the tawny sand; and as her fear gradually faded, he offered now his breast for her maiden hand to pat, now his horns to be entwined with fresh garlands. The royal maiden even dared, not knowing whose back she pressed, to sit upon the bull, and then the god, edging away from the land and the dry shore, set his deceptive hooves in the shallow waves.
Then he ventured farther, and over the open sea carried his prize. Terrified, she looked back at the shore she was leaving behind, her right hand gripping a horn, the other resting on his back; her fluttering robes billowed in the breeze.
