Io
IO and Jove were holding hands
One day beside a sylvan stream
And drawing hearts upon the sands—
Epitome of Love’s young dream!
Fair Io murmured, “On my life,
Why took you Juno for your wife?
The ox-eyed Juno! In good sooth
Peroxide would be nearer truth!”
“Tut-tut!” said Jove, “you should not speak
So slightingly of my good spouse;
She has been busy all this week
Up on Olympus cleaning house.
And while she sweeps, I’ve naught to do
But stay here making love to you!”
“She would do well,” the maid replies,
“To sweep the dust from out her eyes.”
Alas for Io! Juno heard
Her idle words within the hour;
Some gossip of a bee or bird
Repeated them from flower to flower,
Until ’twas whispered by the leaves
At Juno’s threshold—“Jove deceives!”
“Deceived again?” she cried in rage;
To see what happened, turn the page.
Or, if the printer can find room
To print another line on this,
I’ll state that Juno heard a boom
Of thunder—which is when gods kiss.
And hurried angrily to where
She thought to find the erring pair;
But reaching there she saw, I vow,
No maiden, but a heifer cow!
For Jove, grown wise in other years
In which he got his just deserts,
Was ever pricking up his ears
To hear the swish of Juno’s skirts.
So, when he heard her on his trail,
He made his hat a milking pail
And changed poor Io, trembling now,
Into the semblance of a cow.
But Juno was not quite a fool
And saw at once her husband’s trick,
And, though appearing calm and cool,
Resolved to make that heifer sick.
“A lovely cow!” cried she. “Divine!
I cannot rest ’till it is mine!”
Jove cleared his throat and smoothed his vest
But had to grant his wife’s request.
Alas for Io! Juno sent
A gad-fly which beset her sore,
And drove her—which was the intent—
From sea to sea and shore to shore.
To Egypt and the Barbadoes,
Perhaps to Iowa—who knows?
The gad-fly followed where she went
And stung her to his heart’s content.
And so it happens, even now,
Although she vainly tries to grab it,
The gad-fly stings the gentle cow—
He keeps it up from force of habit.