Idyll VIII (Lang)

Leaving his torch and his arrows, a wallet strung on his back,
One day came the mischievous Love-god to follow the plough-share’s
track:
And he chose him a staff for his driving, and yoked him a sturdy
steer,
And sowed in the furrows the grain to the Mother of Earth most dear.
Then he said, looking up to the sky: ‘Father Zeus, to my harvest be
good,
Lest I yoke that bull to my plough that Europa once rode through the
flood!’