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 much nearer to be tied.
The forms of decency let age debate,
And virtue’s rules by their cold morals state;
Their ebbing joys give leisure to inquire,
And blame those noble flights our youth inspire:
O pardon and oblige a blushing maid,
Whose rage the pride of her vain sex betray’d,
Nor let my tomb thus mournfully complain—
Here Byblis lies, by her loved Caunus slain.”
Forced here to end, she with a falling tear
Temper’d the pliant wax which did the signet bear
The curious cipher was impress’d by art,
But love had stamp’d one deeper in her heart.
Her page, a youth of confidence and skill
(Secret as night), stood waiting on her will;
Sighing, she cried, “Bear this, thou faithful boy,
To my sweet partner in eternal joy.”
Here a long pause her secret guilt confess’d;
And when, at length, she would have spoken the rest,
Half the dear name lay buried in her breast.
Thus, as he list’ned to her vain command,
Down fell the letter from her trembling hand.
The omen shock’d her soul. “Yet go,” she cried.
“Can a request from Byblis be denied?”
To the Maeandrian youth this message’s borne;
The half-read lines by his fierce rage were torn.
“Hence,” he exclaim’d, “thou vile accomplice, hence;
Enjoy the triumph of thy great offence.
Thy instant death will but divulge her shame,
Or thy life’s blood should quench the guilty flame.”
Frighted, from threat’ning Caunus he withdrew,
And with the dreadful news to his lost mistress flew.
The sad repulse so struck the wounded fair,
Her sense was buried in her wild despair:
Pale was her visage, as the ghastly dead,
And her scared soul from the sweet mansion fled;
Yet with her life renew’d, her love returns,
And faintly thus her cruel fate she mourns:
“ ’Tis just, ye gods! was my false reason blind
To write a secret of this tender kind?
With female craft, I should at first have strove,
By dubious hints to sound his distant love,
And tried those useful, though dissembled, arts,
Which women practise on disdainful hearts.
I should have watch’d whence the black storm might rise,
Ere I had trusted the unfaithful skies.
Now on the rolling billows I am toss’d,
And with extended sails on the blind shelves am lost.
Did not indulgent heaven my deem foretell,
When from my hand the fatal letter fell?
What madness seized my soul, and urged me on,
To take the only course to be undone?
I could myself have told the moving tale,
With such alluring grace as must prevail;
Then had his eyes beheld my blushing fears,
My rising sighs, and my descending tears.
Round his dear neck these arms I then had spread,
And, if rejected, at his feet been dead:
If singly these had not his thoughts inclined,
Yet all united would have shock’d his mind.
Perhaps my careless page might be in fault,
And, in a luckless hour, the fatal message brought;
Business and worldly thoughts might fill his breast,
Sometimes ev’n love itself may be an irksome guest;
He could not else have treated me with scorn,
For Caunus was not of a tigress born,
Nor steel, nor adamant, has fenced his heart;
Like mine, ’tis naked to the burning dart.
“Away, false fears! he must, he shall be mine,
In death alone I will my claim resign:
’Tis vain to wish my written crime unknown,
And for my guilt much vainer to atone.”
Repulsed and baffled, fiercer still she burns,
And Caunus, with disdain, her impious love returns.
He saw no end of her injurious flame,
And fled his country to avoid the shame.
Forsaken Byblis, who had hopes no more,
Burst out in rage, and her loose robes she tore;
With her fair hands she smote her tender breast,
And to the wond’ring world her love confess’d.
O’er hills and dales, o’er rocks and streams she flew,
But still in vain did her wild love pursue.
Wearied, at length, on the cold earth she fell,
And now in tears alone could her sad story tell.
Relenting gods in pity fix’d her there,
And to a fountain turn’d the weeping fair.