Here the fill'd tablet check'd her hand, in vain
Thus writing, at the utmost edge the lines,
But stay'd. Her crime straightway she firmly press'd,
With her carv'd gem, and moisten'd it with tears:
Her tears of utterance robb'd her. Bashful then
She call'd a page, and blandishing in fear
Exclaim'd.—“Thou faithful boy, this billet bear—”
And hesitated long ere more she said,
Ere—“to my brother, bear it.”—As she gave
The tablet, from her trembling hand it fell;
The omen deep disturb'd her. Yet she sent.
A chosen hour the servant sought, went forth
And gave the secret message. Sudden rage
me youth Mæandrian petrify'd; and down
The half-read lines upon the ground he flung.
His hand scarce holding from the trembling face
Of the pale messenger. “Quick, fly!” he cry'd,
“Thou wicked pander of forbidden lust!
“Fly while thou may'st; and know, had not thy fate
“Involv'd our modest name, death hadst thou found.—”
He terrify'd escapes, and backward bears,
To his young mistress all fierce Caunus spoke.
Pale, thou, O Byblis! heardst the rough repulse;
Thy breast with frigid chills beset. But soon
Her spirits rally, and her furious love
Returns: scarce to the trembling air her tongue
Can utterance give in these indignant words;—
“Deserv'dly mourn I, who so rashly gave
“Him of my wounds the conscious tale to learn.
“Why trust so soon to words, what still might hid
“Remain, on tablets hastily compos'd?
“Why were not first the wishes of my soul
“Try'd in ambiguous hints? First, sure I ought
“Whence the wind blew have mark'd; nor loos'd my sails,
“Him flying, to pursue, and the wide main
“In all directions plough: now bellies out
“My canvas; not a single course explor'd.
“Hence am I borne against the rocks; hence 'whelm'd
“In the wide depth of ocean; nor my sails
“Know I to tack returning. Did not heaven
“Check the indulgence of my love, by marks
“Obvious to all? when from my hand down dropp'd
“The tablet, which the boy was bade to bear.
“Mark'd that my falling hopes not? More deferr'd
“Thy wishes, or the day should sure have been;
“Surely the day. For heaven itself me warn'd,
“And certain signs me gave; but those my mind
“Stupid neglected. Personal my words
“Should I have urg'd, nor trusted to the wax.
“In person should my love have been display'd.
“Then had my tears been seen; then had he view'd
“My raptur'd countenance; then had I spoke
“Far more than power of letters can convey.
“My arms around his neck I then had thrown
“Howe'er unwilling; and, had he been coy,
“In dying posture I his feet had clasp'd;
“And stretch'd before him life demanding, all
“Had I achiev'd. Perchance though, by the boy,
“My messenger commission'd, I have fail'd:
“Aptly perhaps he enter'd not; perhaps,
“And much I fear, improper hours he chose;
“Nor sought a vacant time, when nought his mind
“Disturb'd. This has, alas! my hopes destroy'd:
“For from a tiger Caunus sprung not; round
“His heart not solid steel, nor rigid flint,
“Nor adamant is girt; nor has he suck'd
“The lioness's milk. He shall be bent,
“And gain'd his heart shall be; nor will I brook
“The smallest bar to what I undertake,
“While now this spirit holds. My primal wish
“(If it were given I might revoke my deeds)
“Is, I had ne'er commenc'd: my second now
“Is, that I persevere in what's begun.
“For should I now my wishes not pursue,
“Still must he of those daring wishes think;
“And should I now desist, well might he judge
“Form'd lightly my desires: or plann'd to try
“His virtue, and involve in snares his fame:
“Or, (dreadful!) think me not by love o'ercome,
“(Who burns and rages fiercely in my breast)
“But by hot lust. For now conceal'd no more
“My guilty act can be; I've written once,
“Once have I ask'd; corrupted all my soul.
“Should further no depravity ensue,
“Guilty I must be call'd. What more remains,
“In crime is little, but in hope immense.”—
She said, and such the wavering of her breast,
That, whilst the trial grieves her which she made,
Farther to try she wishes; every bound
O'erpassing; and, with luckless fate, her suit
Still meets repulsion. He, when endless seem'd
Her pressing, fled his country, and the crime;
And in a foreign region rais'd new walls.
Then, daughter of Miletus, they report,
Forsook thee all thy senses; then in truth
Thou rent thy garments from thy breast; thy breast
Thy furious hands hard smote. Now to the world
Madly she raves; now to the world displays
Her wish'd-for love, deny'd: all hope—despair!
She too forsook her country, and the roof
So hated; and the vagrant steps pursu'd
Her flying brother trode. As Thracia's dames
O, son of Semelé! thy Thyrsus shake
When celebrating thy triennial rites,
So did the Carian matrons, Byblis see
Fly o'er the wide-spread fields, with shrieks and howls:
These left behind, o'er Caria's plains she runs,
And through the warlike Leleges, and through
The Lycian realms. Now Cragos had she left,
And Lymiré, and Xanthus' waves behind;
With the high ridge Chimæra lifts, who burns
Central with flames; his breast and front fierce arm'd
A lion—tow'rd his tail a serpent form'd.
Now all the forests past; thou Byblis, faint
With long pursuit, fall'st flat; on the hard ground
Thy locks are spread; dumb now thou ly'st; thy face
Presses the fallen leaves. Oft in their arms
So delicate, the Lelegeïan nymphs
To raise thee up attempted. Oft they strove
To give advice that might thy love control,
And offer solace to thy deafen'd ear.
Still silent Byblis lies; and with her nails
Rends the green herbage; moistens all the grass
With rivulets of tears. And here, they say,
The Naiäd nymphs their bubbling art supply'd.
Ne'er drought to know: more to afford, their power
Sure could not. Straightway, as the pitchy drops
Flow from the fir's cleft bark; from solid earth
As stiff bitumen oozes; or as streams,
By cold congeal'd, thaw with the southern wind
And warming sun: Phœbean Byblis so
By her own tears exhausted, was transform'd,
A fount becoming; which still in that vale,
'Neath a dark ilex springing, keeps her name.
Now had the rumor of this wond'rous change
Spread rapid through the hundred towns of Crete,
But Crete had lately seen a wond'rous change
In her own clime, in Iphis' alter'd form.
There in the Phestian land, near Gnossus' realm
Was Lygdus born: a man of unknown fame,
But a plebeïan of unblemish'd worth:
Nor had he, more than noble stock, estate;
Yet unimpeach'd for honesty his life.
He thus the ears of his then pregnant spouse
Address'd, when near her bearing time approach'd:—
“Two things my wishes bound; first that thy pains
“May lightly press, next that a male thou bring'st:
“More burdensome are females; strength to them
“Nature denies. Then if by fate ordain'd
“To give a female birth, which I detest,
“Unwilling I command,—O piety!
“Excuse it,—let the babe to death be given.”—
He said, and tears profuse the cheeks bedew
Of him who bade, and her who heard his words.
Still Telethusa to the latest hour,
With vain petitions strives her spouse to move,
That thus he should not straighten so his hopes.
Firm to his purpose Lygdus stood. And now
Scarce could the heavy weight her womb sustain;
When in the silent space of night, in sleep
Entranc'd; or Isis stood before her bed,
Or seem'd to stand; surrounded by the pomp
To her belonging. On her forehead shone
The lunar horns, and yellow wheat them bound
In golden radiance, with a regal crown.
With her Anubis, barker came; and came
Bubastis holy; Apis various-mark'd;
He who the voice suppresses, and directs
To silence with his finger; timbrels loud;
Osiris never sought enough; and snakes
Of foreign lands full of somniferous gall.
To her the goddess thus, as rais'd from sleep
She seem'd, and manifest each object stood:—
“O vot'ry, Telethusa! fling aside
“Thy weighty cares; thy husband's mandates cheat;
“Nor waver, when Lucina helps thy pains:
“Save it whate'er it be. A goddess I,
“Assisting, still give aid when rightly claim'd:
“Nor will it e'er thee grieve to have ador'd
“An ingrate goddess.”—Thus as she advis'd,
She vanish'd from the bed. The Cretan dame
Rose from the couch o'erjoy'd; and raising high
To heaven her guiltless hands, pray'd that her dream
On truth was founded. Now her pains increas'd;
And now her burthen forc'd itself to air:
A daughter came, but to the sire unknown.
The mother bade them rear it as a boy,
And all a boy believ'd it; none the truth,
The nurse excepted, knew. Glad prayers the sire
Offers, and from its grandsire is it nam'd:
(Iphis, the grandsire's appellation.) Joy'd
The mother hears the name, which either sex
May claim; and none, in that at least, deceiv'd;
The lie lay hid beneath a pious fraud.
The robes were masculine, the face was such
As beauteous boy, or beauteous girl might own.
And now three annual suns the tenth had pass'd,
Thy father, Iphis, had to thee betroth'd
Iänthé, yellow-hair'd; nymph most admir'd
'Mongst all the Phestians, for her beauteous charms:
Telestes of Dictæa was her sire.
Equal in age, and equal in fair form;
The self-same masters taught the early arts,
Suiting their years. Their unsuspecting minds
Were both by love thus touch'd, in both was fix'd
An equal wound: but far unlike their hopes.
Iänthé, for a spouse impatient looks,
With nuptial torches. Whom a man she thinks,
That spouse she hopes will be. Iphis too loves,
Despairing what she loves e'er to enjoy:
This still the more her love augments, and burns
A virgin for a virgin. Scarce from tears
Refraining;—“What,”—she cries,—“for me remains?
“What will the issue be? What cure for this
“New love, unknown to all, who prodigies
“Possess in this desire? If the high gods
“Me wish to spare, straight should they me destroy.
“Yet would they me destroy, they should have given
“A curse more natural; a more usual fate.
“Love for an heifer ne'er an heifer moves;
“Nor burns the mare for mares: rams follow ewes;
“The stag pursues his female; birds thus join:
“Nor animal creation female shews
“With love of female seiz'd. Would none were I!
“But lest all monstrous loves Crete might not shew;
“Sol's daughter chose a bull; even that was male
“With female. Yet, if candidly I speak,
“My passion wilder far than hers appears.
“She hop'd-for love pursu'd; by fraud enjoy'd;
“Beneath an heifer's form, th' adulterous spark
“Deceiving. Be from every part of earth
“Assembled here the skill: let Dædalus
“Hither, on waxen wings rebend his flight,
“What could all aid? Could all their learned art
“Change me from maid to youth? or alter thee
“Iänthé? But why resolute, thy mind
“Not fix? Why Iphis thus thyself forget,
“These stupid wishes driving hence, and thoughts
“So unavailing? Lo! what thou wast born,
“(Save thou would'st also thine own breast deceive)
“What is allow'd behold, and as a maid
“May love, love only. Hope, first snatch'd by love,
“Love feeds on still. From thee all hope is borne.
“No guardians thee debar the dear embrace;
“Nor watchful husband's care; no sire severe;
“Nor she herself denies thy pressing prayers,
“Yet art thou still forbid, though all agree;
“To reap the bliss, though gods and men unite.
“Behold, too, all my votive prayers succeed:
“The favoring gods whate'er I pray'd have given.
“My sire and hers, and even herself comply,
“But nature far more strong denies, alone
“Me irking with refusal. Lo! arrives
“The wish'd-for hour; the matrimonial light
“Approaches; when Iänthé will be mine;
“And yet far from me. In the midst of waves
“For thirst I perish. Nuptial Juno, why
“Com'st thou, or Hymen to these rites; where none
“Leads to the altar, but where both are led?”—
Here staid her speech; nor less the other nymph
Burn'd; and O, Hymen, pray'd thy quick approach.
But what she wishes Telethusa dreads,
And searches for delays; feign'd sickness oft
Prolongs the time; oft omens dire, and dreams.
Now all her artful fictions are consum'd;
And now the long protracted period came,
For nuptial rites; and, but one day remain'd.
She from her own and daughter's head unbinds
The fillets; and with locks dishevell'd, clasps
The altar, crying;—“Isis, thou who dwell'st
“In Parætonium; Mareotis' fields;
“In Pharos; and the sev'nfold mouths of Nile.
“Help me I pray! relieve my trembling dread.
“Thee, goddess, once I saw; and with thee all
“Those images beheld; them all I know:
“Thy train, thy torches, and thy timbrels loud.
“And with a mindful soul thy words I mark'd.
“That she enjoys the light, that I myself,
“Not sinful suffer, to thy counsels, we,
“And admonitions owe. Pity us both;
“Grant us thy helping aid.”—Tears follow'd words.
Straight seem'd the goddess' altars all to shake;
(And shake they did) trembled the temple's doors;
The lunar horns blaz'd bright; the timbrels rung.
Forth goes the mother, of the omen glad,
Yet not in faith secure. Iphis pursues
His mother with a step more large than wont:
The snow-like whiteness quits his face; his strength
Increases; fiercer frowns his forehead wears:
Shorten'd his uncomb'd locks: more vigor now
Than as a nymph he felt. For thou, a boy
Now art—so late a female! Bear thy gifts
Straight to the temple; and in faith rejoice.
Straight to the temple they their offerings bore,
And on them this short poem was inscrib'd.—
“Iphis a boy, the offerings pays, which maid,
“Iphis had vow'd.”—The following sun illum'd
The wide world with his rays; when Venus came,
Juno, and Hymen, to the genial fires;
And the boy Iphis his Iänthé clasp'd.