IV.

My goblet was exceeding beautiful. For Jove was there transformed into the Bull Bearing forlorn Europa through the waves, Leaving behind a track of ruffled foam; Powerless with fear she held him by the horns, Her golden tresses streaming on the winds; In curvéd shells, young Cupids sported near, While sea gods glanced from out their weedy caves, And on the shore were maids with waving scarfs, And hinds a-coming to the rescue--late! But I have broken my divinest cup, And trod its fragments in the dust of Earth!