O that I had been born in such a clime, Not here, where 'tis the country makes the crime!... But whither would my impious fancy stray? Hence hopes, and ye forbidden thoughts, away! His worth deserves to kindle my desires, But with the love that daughters bear to sires. Then had not Cinyras my father been, What hindered Myrrha's hopes to be his queen? But the perverseness of my fate is such, That he's not mine, because he's mine too much: Our kindred-blood debars a better tie; He might be nearer, were he not so nigh. Eyes and their objects never must unite, Some distance is required to help the sight. Fain would I travel to some foreign shore, } Never to see my native country more, } So might I to myself myself restore; } So might my mind these impious thoughts remove, And, ceasing to behold, might cease to love. But stay I must, to feed my famished sight, To talk, to kiss; and more, if more I might:... More, impious maid! What more canst thou design? } To make a monstrous mixture in thy line, } And break all statutes human and divine? } Canst thou be called (to save thy wretched life) Thy mother's rival, and thy father's wife? Confound so many sacred names in one, Thy brother's mother! sister to thy son! And fear'st thou not to see the infernal bands, Their heads with snakes, with torches armed their hands, Full at thy face the avenging brands to bear, And shake the serpents from their hissing hair? But thou in time the increasing ill controul, Nor first debauch the body by the soul; Secure the sacred quiet of thy mind, And keep the sanctions nature has designed. Suppose I should attempt, the attempt were vain; No thoughts like mine his sinless soul profane, Observant of the right; and O, that he Could cure my madness, or be mad like me!-- Thus she; but Cinyras, who daily sees A crowd of noble suitors at his knees, Among so many, knew not whom to choose, Irresolute to grant, or to refuse; But, having told their names, inquired of her, Who pleased her best, and whom she would prefer? The blushing maid stood silent with surprise, And on her father fixed her ardent eyes, And, looking, sighed; and, as she sighed, began Round tears to shed, that scalded as they ran. The tender sire, who saw her blush, and cry, Ascribed it all to maiden-modesty; And dried the falling drops, and, yet more kind, He stroked her cheeks, and holy kisses joined: She felt a secret venom fire her blood, And found more pleasure than a daughter should; And, asked again, what lover of the crew She liked the best? she answered, one like you. Mistaking what she meant, her pious will He praised, and bade her so continue still: