Shall give Callirhoe’s race a youthful bloom.
Arms nor ambition can this power obtain;
Quell your desires; ev’n me the Fates restrain.
Could I their will control, no rolling years
Had Aeacus bent down with silver hairs;
Then Rhadamanthus still had youth possess’d,
And Minos with eternal bloom been bless’d.”
Jove’s words the synod moved; the powers give o’er,
And urge in vain unjust complaint no more.
Since Rhadamanthus’ veins now slowly flow’d,
And Aeacus and Minos bore the load;
Minos, who in the flower of youth and fame
Made mighty nations tremble at his name,
Infirm with age, the proud Miletus fears,
Vain of his birth, and in the strength of years;
And now regarding all his realms as lost,
He durst not force him from his native coast.
But you by choice, Miletus, fled his reign,
And thy swift vessel plough’d the Aegean main;
On Asiatic shores a town you frame,
Which still is honour’d with the founder’s name.
Here you Cyanee knew, the beauteous maid,
As on her father’s7 winding banks she stray’d:
Caunus and Byblis hence their lineage trace,
The double offspring of your warm embrace.
Passion of Byblis
Byblis falls passionately in love with her brother Caunus, who rejects her advances with horror—The nymph becomes frantic with despair, and is converted into a fountain by the indulgent deities.
Let the sad fate of wretched Byblis prove
A dismal warning to unlawful love:
One birth gave being to the hapless pair,
But more was Caunus than a sister’s care;
Unknown she loved, for yet the gentle fire
Rose not in flames, nor kindled to desire.
’Twas thought no sin to wonder at his charms,
Hang on his neck, and languish in his arms.
Thus wing’d with joy fled the soft hours away,
And all the fatal guilt on harmless Nature lay.
But love (too soon from piety declined)
Insensibly depraved her yielding mind.
Dress’d she appears, with nicest art adorn’d,
And every youth, but her loved brother, scorn’d;
For him alone she labour’d to be fair,
And cursed all charms that might with hers compare.
’Twas she, and only she, must Caunus please,
Sick at her heart, yet knew not her disease:
She call’d him lord, for brother was a name
Too cold and dull for her aspiring flame;
And, when he spoke, if sister he replied,
“For Byblis change that frozen word,” she cried.
Yet waking still she watch’d her struggling breast,
And love’s approaches were in vain address’d,
Till gentle sleep an easy conquest made,
And by her side the conqueror was laid.
“Ah me!” she cried, “how monstrous do I seem!
Why these vile thoughts, and this ill-omen’d dream?
Envy herself (’tis true) must own his charms,
But what is beauty in a sister’s arms?
Oh! were I not that despicable she,
How bless’d, how pleased, how happy, should I be!
But unregarded now must bear my pain,
And but in dreams my wishes can obtain.
Oh! gentle Caunus, quit thy hated line,
Or let thy parents be no longer mine:
Oh! that in common all things were enjoy’d,
But those alone who have our hopes destroy’d.
Were I a princess, thou an humble swain,
The proudest kings should rival thee in vain.
It cannot be: alas! the dreadful ill
Is fix’d by fate, and he’s my brother still.
Hear me, ye gods! I must have friends in heaven,
For Jove himself was to a sister given:
But what are their prerogatives above,
To the short liberties of human love?
Fantastic thoughts! down, down, forbidden fires,
Or instant death extinguish my desires.
Strict virtue, then, with thy malicious leave
Without a crime, I may a kiss receive.
But say, should I in spite of laws comply,
Yet cruel Caunus might himself deny.
Yet why should youth, and charms like mine, despair?
Such fears ne’er startled the Aetolian pair;
No ties of blood could their full hopes destroy,
They broke through all for the prevailing joy;
And who can tell but Caunus too may be
Rack’d and tormented in his breast for me?
Like me, to the extremest anguish drove;
Like me, just waking from a dream of love?
But stay, O whither would my fury run?
What arguments I urge to be undone!
Away! fond Byblis, quench these guilty flames,
Caunus thy love but as a brother claims;
Yet had he first been touch’d with love of me,
The charming youth could I despairing see?
Oppress’d with grief, and dying by disdain?
Ah! no; too sure I should have eased his pain:
Since, then, if Caunus ask’d me, it were done,
Asking myself, what dangers can I run?
But canst thou ask, and see that right betray’d,
From Pyrrha down to thy whole sex convey’d?
That self-denying gift we all enjoy,
Of wishing to be won, yet seeming to be coy.
Well, then, for once, let a fond mistress woo,
The force of love no custom can subdue;
This frantic passion he by words shall know,
Soft as the melting heart from whence they flow.”
The pencil then in her fair hand she held,
By fear discouraged, but by love compell’d;
She writes, then blots, writes on, and blots again,
Likes it as fit, then razes it as vain;
Shame and assurance in her face appear,
And a faint hope just yielding to despair.
Sister was wrote and blotted, as a word
Which she, and Caunus too (she hoped) abhorr’d;
But now resolved to be no more controll’d,
By scrup’lous virtue, thus her grief she told:
“Thy lover, gentle Caunus, wishes thee
That health, which thou alone canst give to me.
O charming youth! the gift I ask bestow,
Ere thou the name of the fond writer know;
To thee without a name I would be known,
Since, knowing that, my frailty I must own.
Yet why should I my wretched name conceal,
When thousand instances my flames reveal?
Wan looks and weeping eyes have spoke my pain,
And sighs discharged from my heaved heart in vain:
Had I not wish’d my passion might be seen,
What could such fondness and embraces mean?
Yet (though extremest rage has rack’d my soul,
And raging fires in my parch’d bosom roll)
Be witness gods! how piously I strove
To rid my thoughts of this enchanting love.
But who could ’scape so fierce and sure a dart,
Aim’d at a tender, a defenceless heart?
Alas! what maid could suffer I have borne,
Ere the dire secret from my breast was torn;
To thee, a helpless, vanquish’d wretch I come;
’Tis you alone can save, or give my doom:
My life or death this moment you may choose,
Yet think, O think, no hated stranger sues,
No foe; but one, alas! too near allied,
And wishing still
