PYRAMUS AND THISBE.
Pyramus and Thisbe were two young Thebans, who, being greatly enamoured of one another, had their union opposed by their friends, between the families of whom there had been a variance for many years.
"But to prevent their wandering in the dark,
They both agree to fix upon a mark;
A mark that could not their designs expose:
The tomb of Venus was the mark they chose;
There they might rest secure beneath the shade,
Which boughs, with snowy fruit encumbered, made.
A wide spread mulberry tree its rise had took
Just in the margin of a gurgling brook."
Ovid.
They determined, however, if possible, to elude the vigilance of their persecutors, and agreed to meet outside the walls of the city, under the mulberry tree which grew there, and then to celebrate
their union. Thisbe was the first who arrived at the place appointed, when the sudden arrival of a lioness so frightened her, that she fled away, dropping her veil in her flight. This the lioness smeared with blood, and then disappeared, leaving it under the trysting tree.
In a short time Pyramus arrived, but found that she, for whom he looked, was absent: the bloody veil alone met his anxious gaze, which he instantly recognized, and concluded that she had been torn to pieces by wild beasts. In his despair he drew his sword and killed himself.
When the fears of Thisbe were passed away, she returned to the mulberry tree, but found only the lifeless remains of her lover. In the agony which overcame her, she fell upon the weapon with which Pyramus had destroyed himself, and joined him in his endless rest.
"But when her view the bleeding love confessed,
She shrieked, she tore her hair, she beat her breast,
She raised the body, and embraced it round,
And bathed with tears unfeigned, the gaping wound,
Then her warm lips to the cold face applied—
'And is it thus, ah! thus we meet,' she cried
My Pyramus, whence sprang thy cruel fate?
My Pyramus; ah! speak, ere 'tis too late:
I, thy own Thisbe; but one word implore,
One word thy Thisbe never asked before!
Fate, though it conquers, shall no triumph gain,
Fate, that divides us, still divides in vain.
Now, both our cruel parents, hear my prayer,
My prayer to offer for us both I dare,
O see our ashes in one urn confined,
Whom love at first, and fate at last, has joined.
Thou tree, where now one lifeless lump is laid,
Ere long o'er two shall cast a friendly shade,
Still let our loves from thee be understood,
Still witness, in thy purple fruit our blood—
She spoke, and in her bosom plunged the sword
All warm, and reeking from its slaughtered Lord."
Ovid.