John Dryden - Delphi Poets Series
Page 93
’Twas now the mid of Night, when Slumbers close
Our Eyes, and sooth our Cares with soft Repose; 125
But no Repose cou’d wretched Myrrha find,
Her Body rouling, as she rould her Mind:
Mad with Desire, she ruminates her Sin,
And wishes all her Wishes o’er again:
Now she despairs, and now resolves to try; 130
Wou’d not, and wou’d again, she knows not why;
Stops and returns, makes and retracts the Vow;
Fain wou’d begin, but understands not how:
As when a Pine is hew’d upon the Plains,
And the last mortal Stroke alone remains, 135
Lab’ring in Pangs of Death, and threatning all,
This way, and that she nods, consid’ring where to fall:
So Myrrha’s Mind, impell’d on either Side,
Takes ev’ry Bent, but cannot long abide:
Irresolute on which she shou’d relie, 140
At last unfix’d in all, is only fix’d to die;
On that sad Thought she rests; resolv’d on Death,
She rises, and prepares to choak her Breath:
Then while about the Beam her Zone she ties,
Dear Cinyras, farewell, she softly cries; 145
For thee I die, and only wish to be
Not hated, when thou know’st I die for thee:
Pardon the Crime, in pity to the Cause:
This said, about her Neck the Noose she draws.
The Nurse, who lay without, her faithful Guard, 150
Though not the Words, the Murmurs overheard,
And Sighs, and hollow Sounds: Surpriz’d with Fright,
She starts, and leaves her Bed, and springs a Light;
Unlocks the Door, and entring out of Breath,
The Dying saw, and Instruments of Death; 155
She shrieks, she cuts the Zone, with trembling haste,
And in her Arms her fainting Charge embrac’d:
Next, (for she now had leisure for her Tears)
She weeping ask’d, in these her blooming Years,
What unforeseen Misfortune caus’d her Care, 160
To loath her Life, and languish in Despair!
The Maid, with down-cast Eyes, and mute with Grief,
For Death unfinish’d, and ill-tim’d Relief,
Stood sullen to her Suit: The Beldame press’d
The more to know, and bar’d her wither’d Breast; 165
Adjur’d her, by the kindly Food she drew
From those dry Founts, her secret Ill to shew.
Sad Myrrha sigh’d, and turn’d her Eyes aside:
The Nurse still urg’d, and wou’d not be deny’d:
Nor only promis’d Secresie; but pray’d 170
She might have leave to give her offer’d Aid.
Good-will, she said, my want of Strength supplies,
And Diligence shall give, what Age denies:
If strong Desires thy Mind to Fury move,
With Charms and Med’cines I can cure thy Love: 175
If Envious eyes their hurtful Rays have cast,
More pow’rful Verse shall free thee from the Blast:
If Heav’d offended sends thee this Disease,
Offended Heav’n with Pray’rs we can appease.
What then remains, that can these Cares procure? 180
Thy House is flourishing, thy Fortune sure:
Thy careful Mother yet in Health survives,
And, to thy Comfort, thy kind Father lives.
The Virgin started at her Father’s Name,
And sigh’d profoundly, conscious of the Shame: 185
Nor yet the Nurse her impious Love divin’d;
But yet surmis’d, that Love disturb’d her Mind:
Thus thinking, she pursu’d her Point, and laid
And lull’d within her Lap the mourning Maid;
Then softly sooth’d her thus, I guess your Grief: 190
You love, my Child; your Love shall find Relief.
My long-experienc’d Age shall be your Guide;
Rely on that, and lay Distrust aside:
No Breath of Air shall on the Secret blow,
Nor shall (what most you fear) your Father know. 195
Struck once again, as with a Thunder-clap,
The guilty Virgin bounded from her Lap,
And threw her Body prostrate on the Bed,
And, to conceal her Blushes, hid her Head:
There silent lay, and warn’d her with her Hand 200
To go: But she receiv’d not the Command;
Remaining still importunate to know:
Then Myrrha thus; Or ask no more, or go:
I prethee go, or staying spare my Shame;
What thou wou’dst hear, is impious ev’n to name. 205
At this, on high the Beldame holds her Hands,
And trembling, both with Age and Terrour, stands;
Adjures, and falling at her Feet intreats,
Sooths her with Blandishments, and frights with Threats,
To tell the Crime intended, or disclose 210
What Part of it she knew, if she no farther knows:
And last, if conscious to her Counsel made,
Confirms anew the Promise of her Aid.
Now Myrrha rais’d her Head; but soon oppress’d
With Shame, reclin’d it on her Nurses Breast; 215
Bath’d it with Tears, and strove to have confess’d:
Twice she began and stopp’d; again she try’d;
The falt’ring Tongue its Office still deny’d:
At last her Veil before her Face she spread,
And drew a long preluding Sigh, and said, 220
O happy mother, in thy Marriage-bed!
Then groan’d and ceas’d; the good Old Woman shook,
Stiff were her Eyes, and ghastly was her Look:
Her hoary Hair upright with Horrour stood,
Made (to her Grief) more knowing than she wou’d: 225
Much she reproach’d and many Things she said,
To cure the Madness of th’ unhappy Maid:
In vain: For Myrrha stood convict of Ill;
Her Reason vanquish’d, but unchang’d her Will:
Perverse of Mind, unable to reply, 230
She stood resolv’d or to possess, or die.
At length the Fondness of a Nurse prevail’d
Against her better Sense, and Vertue fail’d:
Enjoy, my Child, since such is thy Desire,
Thy Love, she said; she durst not say, thy Sire. 235
Live, though unhappy, live on any Terms:
Then with a second Oath her Faith confirms.
The Solemn Feast of Ceres now was near,
When long white Linen Stoles the Matrons wear;
Rank’d in Procession walk the pious Train, 240
Off’ring First-fruits, and Spikes of yellow Grain:
For nine long Nights the Nuptial-bed they shun,
And, sanctifying Harvest, lie alone.
Mix’d with the Crowd, the Queen forsook her Lord,
And Ceres Pow’r with secret Rites ador’d: 245
The Royal Couch now vacant for a time,
The crafty Crone, officious in her Crime,
The curst Occasion took: The King she found
Easie with Wine, and deep in Pleasures drown’d,
Prepar’d for Love: The Beldame blew the Flame, 250
Confess’d the Passion, but conceal’d the Name.
Her Form she prais’d; the Monarch ask’d her Years,
And she reply’d, The same thy Myrrha bears.
Wine and commended Beauty fir’d his Thought;
Impatient, he commands her to be brought. 255
Pleas’d with her Charge perform’d, she hies her home,
And gratulates the Nymph, the Task was overcome.
Myrrha was joy’d the welcom News to hear;
But clogg’d with Guilt, the Joy was unsincere:
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br /> So various, so discordant is the Mind, 260
That in our Will, a diff’rent Will we find.
Ill she presag’d, and yet pursu’d her Lust;
For guilty Pleasures give a double Gust.
’Twas Depth of Night: Arctophylax had driv’n
His lazy Wain half round the Northern Heav’n, 265
When Myrrha hasten’d to the Crime desir’d;
The Moon beheld her first, and first retir’d:
The Stars amaz’d, ran backward from the Sight,
And (shrunk within their Sockets) lost their Light.
Icarius first withdraws his holy Flame: 270
The Virgin Sign, in Heav’n the second Name,
Slides down the Belt, and from her Station flies,
And Night with Sable Clouds involves the Skies.
Bold Myrrha still pursues her black Intent:
She stumbl’d thrice (an Omen of th’Event); 275
Thrice shriek’d the Fun’ral Owl, yet on she went,
Secure of Shame, because secure of Sight;
Ev’n bashful Sins are impudent by Night.
Link’d Hand in Hand, th’ Accomplice and the Dame,
Their Way exploring, to the Chamber came: 280
The Door was ope, they blindly grope their Way,
Where dark in Bed th’ expecting Monarch lay:
Thus far her Courage held, but here forsakes;
Her faint Knees knock at ev’ry Step she makes.
The nearer to her Crime, the more within 285
She feels Remorse, and Horrour of her Sin;
Repents too late her criminal Desire,
And wishes, that unknown she cou’d retire.
Her, lingring thus, the Nurse (who fear’d Delay
The fatal Secret might at length betray) 290
Pull’d forward, to compleat the Work begun,
And said to Cinyras, Receive thy own:
Thus saying, she deliver’d Kind to Kind,
Accurs’d, and their devoted Bodies join’d.
The Sire, unknowing of the Crime, admits 295
His Bowels, and profanes the hallow’d Sheets.
He found she trembl’d, but believ’d she strove,
With Maiden-Modesty, against her Love,
And sought with flatt’ring Words vain Fancies to remove.
Perhaps he said, My Daughter, cease thy Fears, 300
(Because the Title suited with her Years;)
And, Father, she might whisper him agen,
That Names might not be wanting to the Sin.
Full of her Sire, she left th’ incestuous Bed,
And carry’d in her Womb the Crime she bred: 305
Another, and another Night she came;
For frequent Sin had left no Sense of Shame:
Till Cinyras desir’d to see her Face,
Whose Body he had held in close Embrace,
And brought a Taper; the Revealer, Light, 310
Expos’d both Crime, and Criminal to Sight:
Grief, Rage, Amazement, cou’d no Speech afford,
But from the Sheath he drew th’ avenging Sword;
The Guilty fled: The Benefit of Night,
That favour’d first the Sin, secur’d the Flight. 315
Long wandring through the spacious Fields, she bent
Her Voyage to th’ Arabian Continent;
Then pass’d the Region which Panchæa join’d,
And flying, left the Palmy Plains behind.
Nine times the Moon had mew’d her Horns; at length 320
With Travel weary, unsupply’d with Strength,
And with the Burden of her Womb oppress’d,
Sabæan Fields afford her needful Rest:
There, loathing Life, and yet of Death afraid.
In Anguish of her Spirit, thus she pray’d. 325
Ye Pow’rs, if any so propitious are
T’ accept my Penitence, and hear my Pray’r,
Your Judgments, I confess, are justly sent;
Great Sins deserve as great a Punishment:
Yet since my Life the Living will profane, 330
And since my Death the happy Dead will stain,
A middle State your Mercy may bestow,
Betwixt the Realms above, and those below:
Some other Form to wretched Myrrha give,
Nor let her wholly die, nor wholly live. 335
The Pray’rs of Penitents are never vain;
At least, she did her last Request obtain;
For while she spoke, the Ground began to rise,
And gather’d round her Feet, her Leggs, and Thighs;
Her Toes in Roots descend, and spreading wide, 340
A firm Foundation for the Trunk provide:
Her solid Bones convert to solid Wood,
To Pith her Marrow, and to Sap her Blood:
Her Arms are Boughs, her Fingers change their Kind,
Her tender Skin is harden’d into Rind. 345
And now the rising Tree her Womb invests,
Now, shooting upwards still, invades her Breasts,
And shades the Neck; when, weary with Delay,
She sunk her Head within, and met it half the Way.
And though with outward Shape she lost her Sense, 350
With bitter Tears she wept her last Offence;
And still she weeps, nor sheds her Tears in vain;
For still the precious Drops her Name retain.
Meantime the mis-begotten Infant grows,
And, ripe for Birth, distends with deadly Throws 355
The swelling Rind, with unavailing Strife,
To leave the wooden Womb, and pushes into Life.
The Mother-Tree, as if oppress’d with Pain,
Writhes here and there, to break the Bark, in vain;
And, like a Lab’ring Woman, wou’d have pray’d, 360
But wants a Voice to call Lucina’s Aid:
The bending Bole sends out a hollow Sound,
And trickling Tears fall thicker on the Ground.
The mild Lucina came uncall’d, and stood
Beside the struggling Boughs, and heard the groaning Wood: 365
Then reach’d her Midwife-Hand, to speed the Throws,
And spoke the pow’rful Spells that Babes to Birth disclose.
The Bark divides, the living Load to free,
And safe delivers the Convulsive Tree.
The ready Nymphs receive the crying Child, 370
And wash him in the Tears the Parent-Plant distill’d.
They swath’d him with their Scarfs; beneath him spread
The Ground with Herbs; with Roses rais’d his Head.
The lovely Babe was born with ev’ry Grace:
Ev’n Envy must have prais’d so fair a Face: 375
Such was his Form, as Painters when they show
Their utmost Art, on naked Loves bestow:
And that their Arms no Diff’rence might betray,
Give him a Bow, or his from Cupid take away.
Time glides along, with undiscover’d haste, 380
The Future but a Length behind the past:
So swift are Years: The Babe, whom just before
His Grandsire got, and whom his Sister bore;
The Drop, the Thing which late the Tree inclos’d,
And late the yawning Bark to Life expos’d; 385
A Babe, a Boy, a beauteous Youth appears;
And lovelier than himself at riper Years.
Now to the Queen of Love he gave Desires,
And, with her Pains, reveng’d his Mother’s Fires.
Ceyx and Alcyone, Out of the Eleventh Book of Ovid’s Metamorphoses
Connexion of This Fable with the Former
Ceyx, the Son of Lucifer, (the Morning Star) and King of Trachin in Thessaly, was married to Alcyone, Daughter to Æolus, God of the Winds. Both the Husband and the Wife lov’d each other with an entire Affection. Dædalion, the Elder Brother of Ceyx (whom he succeeded) having been turn’d into a
Falcon by Apollo, and Chione, Dædalion’s Daughter, slain by Diana, Ceyx prepares a Ship to sail to Claros, there to consult the Oracle of Apollo, and (as Ovid seems to intimate) to enquire how the Anger of the Gods might be atton’d.
THESE Prodigies affect the pious Prince,
But more perplex’d with those that happen’d since,
He purposes to seek the Clarian God,
Avoiding Delphos, his more fam’d Abode;
Since Phlegyan Robbers made unsafe the Road. 5
Yet cou’d not he from her he lov’d so well,
The fatal Voyage, he resolv’d, conceal:
But when she saw her Lord prepar’d to part,
A deadly Cold ran shiv’ring to her Heart:
Her faded Cheeks are chang’d to Boxen Hue, 10
And in her Eyes the Tears are ever new:
She thrice assay’d to Speak; her Accents hung,
And faltring dy’d unfinish’d on her Tongue,
Or vanish’d into Sighs: With long delay
Her Voice return’d; and found the wonted way. 15
Tell me, my Lord, she said, what Fault unknown
Thy once belov’d Alcyone has done?
Whether, ah whether is thy Kindness gone!
Can Ceyx then sustain to leave his Wife,
And unconcern’d forsake the Sweets of Life? 20
What can thy Mind to this long Journey move,
Or need’st thou absence to renew thy Love?
Yet, if thou go’st by Land, tho’ Grief possess
My Soul ev’n then, my Fears will be the less.
But ah! be warn’d to shun the Watry Way, 25
The Face is frightful of the stormy Sea.
For late I saw a-drift disjointed Planks,
And empty Tombs erected on the Banks.
Nor let false Hopes to trust betray thy Mind,
Because my Sire in Caves constrains the Wind, 30
Can with a Breath their clam’rous Rage appease,
They fear his Whistle, and forsake the Seas;
Not so, for, once indulg’d, they sweep the Main,
Deaf to the Call, or, hearing hear in vain;
But bent on Mischief bear the Waves before, 35
And not content with Seas insult the Shoar,
When Ocean, Air, and Earth, at once ingage,
And rooted Forrests fly before their Rage:
At once the clashing Clouds to Battle move,
And Lightnings run across the Fields above: 40
I know them well, and mark’d their rude Comport,
While yet a Child, within my Father’s Court:
In times of Tempest they command alone,
And he but sits precarious on the Throne:
The more I know, the more my Fears augment, 45
And Fears are oft prophetick of th’ Event.
But if not Fears, or Reasons will prevail,