From Ovid's "Metamorphoses", Book VIII:

....But, as you see,
There lies one island in the distance, look,
There in the distance, one that's dear to me,
Named Perimele by the mariners.
She was my loved one and to me she lost
Her maidenhead. Hippodamas, her father,
In outrage hurled his daughter to the doom
From a high cliff. I caught her; as she swam
I held her up and prayed: "O thou whose lot
Won the world's second share, the wandering waves,
God of the Trident, thou to whom at last
All we pure holy rivers make our way,
Neptune, be present now and hear my prayer.
Her whom I hold, I wronged. Hippodamas,
If he were fair, if he were fatherlike,
If he were less unloving, less a brute,
He ought to pity her and pardon me.
Since from the land her father's savagery
Has sundered her, grant her to have a place,
Or be herself a place, that I'll embrace!"
The ruler of the ocean gave assent
And every wave was shaken by his nod.
The nymph was terrified, but still she swam,
And as she swam I touched her trembling breasts,
Quivering in fear and, as I fondled her,
Her body all grew hard beneath my hand
And she lay buried by the rising land.