Thy careful mother yet in health survives, And, to thy comfort, thy kind father lives.-- The virgin started at her father's name, And sighed profoundly, conscious of the shame; Nor yet the nurse her impious love divined, But yet surmised, that love disturbed her mind. Thus thinking, she pursued her point, and laid And lull'd within her lap the mourning maid; Then softly soothed her thus,--I guess your grief; You love, my child; your love shall find relief. My long experienced 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. 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 warned her with her hand To go; but she received not the command; Remaining still importunate to know. Then Myrrha thus; Or ask no more, or go; I pr'ythee go, or, staying, spare my shame; What thou wouldst hear, is impious even to name.-- 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 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 raised her head; but soon, oppressed } With shame, reclined it on her nurse's breast; } Bathed it with tears, and strove to have confessed: } Twice she began, and stopped; again she tried; The faultering tongue its office still denied; At last her veil before her face she spread, } And drew a long preluding sigh, and said, } O happy mother, in thy marriage bed!... } Then groaned, and ceased.--The good old woman shook, Stiff were her eyes, and ghastly was her look; Her hoary hair upright with horror stood, Made (to her grief) more knowing than she would; Much she reproached, and many things she said, To cure the madness of the unhappy maid: In vain; for Myrrha stood convict of ill; Her reason vanquished, but unchanged her will; Perverse of mind, unable to reply, She stood resolved or to possess, or die. At length the fondness of a nurse prevailed Against her better sense, and virtue failed: Enjoy, my child, since such is thy desire, Thy love, she said; she durst not say, thy sire. 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; Ranked in procession walk the pious train,