THE fame of this, perhaps, through Crete had flown;
But Crete had newer wonders of her own,
In Iphis changed; for near the Gnossian bounds,
As loud report the miracle resounds,
At Phæstus dwelt a man of honest blood,
But meanly born, and not so rich as good,
Esteemed and loved by all the neighbourhood;
Who to his wife, before the time assigned
For child-birth came, thus bluntly spoke his mind :-
If heaven, said Lygdus, will vouchsafe to hear,
I have but two petitions to prefer;
Short pains for thee, for me a son and heir.
Girls cost as many throes in bringing forth;
Beside, when born, the tits are little worth;
Weak puling things, unable to sustain
Their share of labour, and their bread to gain.
If, therefore, thou a creature shalt produce,
Of so great charges, and so little use,
Bear witness, heaven, with what reluctancy,
Her hapless innocence I doom to die.-
He said, and tears the common grief display,
Of him who bade, and her who must obey.
Yet Telethusa still persists, to find
Fit arguments to move a father's mind;
To extend his wishes to a larger scope,
And in one vessel not confine his hope.
Lygdus continues hard; her time drew near,
And she her heavy load could scarcely bear;
When slumbering, in the latter shades of night,
Before the approaches of returning light,
She saw, or thought she saw, before her bed,
A glorious train, and Isis at their head;
Her moony horns were on her forehead placed,
And yellow sheaves her shining temples graced;
A mitre, for a crown, she wore on high;
The dog, and dappled bull, were waiting by;
Osiris, sought along the banks of Nile;
The silent god; the sacred Crocodile ;
And, last, a long procession moving on,
With timbrels, that assist the labouring moon.
Her slumbers seemed dispelled, and, broad awakę,
She heard a voice, that thus distinctly spake :-
My votary, thy babe from death defend,
Nor fear to save whate'er the gods will send;
Delude with art thy husband's dire decree;
When danger calls, repose thy trust on me;
And know, thou hast not served a thankless deity.
This promise made, with night the goddess fled;
With joy the woman wakes, and leaves her bed;
Devoutly lifts her spotless hands on high,
And prays the powers their gift to ratify.
Now grinding pains proceed to bearing throes,
Till its own weight the burden did disclose.
'Twas of the beauteous kind, and brought to light
With secrecy, to shun the father's sight.
The indulgent mother did her care employ,
And passed it on her husband for a boy.
The nurse was conscious of the fact alone;
The father paid his vows as for a son;
And called him Iphis, by a common name,
Which either sex with equal right may claim.
Iphis his grandsire was; the wife was pleased,
Of half the fraud by fortune's favour eased;
The doubtful name was used without deceit,
And truth was covered with a pious cheat.
The habit showed a boy, the beauteous face
With manly fierceness mingled female grace.
Now thirteen years of age were swiftly run,
When the fond father thought the time drew on
Of settling in the world his only son.
Ianthe was his choice; so wondrous fair,
Her form alone with Iphis could compare ;
A neighbour's daughter of his own degree,
And not more blessed with Fortune's goods than he.
They soon espoused; for they with ease were joined,
Who were before contracted in the mind.
Their age the same, their inclinations too,
And bred together in one school, they grew.
Thus, fatally disposed to mutual fires,
They felt, before they knew, the same desires.
Equal their flame, unequal was their care;
One loved with hope, one languished in despair.
The maid accused the lingering days alone;
For whom she thought a man, she thought her own.
But Iphis bends beneath a greater grief;
As fiercely burns, but hopes for no relief.
E'en her despair adds fuel to her fire;
A maid with madness does a maid desire,
And, scarce refraining tears, Alas, said she,
What issue of my love remains for me!
How wild a passion works within my breast!
With what prodigious flames am I possest!
Could I the care of Providence deserve,
Heaven must destroy me, if it would preserve.
And that's my fate, or sure it would have sent
Some usual evil for my punishment;
Not this unkindly curse; to rage and burn,
Where nature shews no prospect of return.
Nor cows for cows consume with fruitless fire;
Nor mares, when hot, their fellow-mares desire;
The father of the fold supplies his ewes ;
The stag through secret woods his hind pursues; And birds for mates the males of their own species choose.
Her females nature guards from female flame,
And joins two sexes to preserve the game;
Would I were nothing, or not what I am!
Crete, famed for monsters, wanted of her store,
Till my new love produced one monster more..
The daughter of the Sun a bull desired;
And yet e'en then a male a female fired ;
Her passion was extravagantly new;
But mine is much the madder of the two.
To things impossible she was not bent,
But found the means to compass her intent.
To cheat his eyes she took a different shape;
Yet still she gained a lover, and a leap.
Should all the wit of all the world conspire,
Should Dædalus assist my wild desire,
What art can make me able to enjoy,
Or what can change Ianthe to a boy?
Extinguish then thy passion, hopeless maid,
And recollect thy reason for thy aid.
Know what thou art, and love as maidens ought,
And drive these golden wishes from thy thought.
Thou canst not hope thy fond desires to gain;
Where hope is wanting, wishes are in vain.
And yet no guards against our joys conspire;
No jealous husband hinders our desire
My parents are propitious to my wish,
And she herself consenting to the bliss.
All things concur to prosper our design;
All things to prosper any love but mine.
And yet I never can enjoy the fair;
'Tis past the power of heaven to grant my prayer.
Heaven has been kind, as far as heaven can be;
Our parents with our own desires agree ;
But nature, stronger than the gods above,
Refuses her assistance to my love:
She sets the bar that causes all my pain;
One gift refused makes all their bounty vain.
And now the happy day is just at hand,
To bind our hearts in Hymen's holy band;
Our hearts, but not our bodies; thus accursed,
In midst of water I complain of thirst.
Why comest thou, Juno, to these barren rites,
To bless a bed defrauded of delights?
And why should Hymen lift his torch on high,
To see two brides in cold embraces lie ?-
Thus love-sick Iphis her vain passion mourns; With equal ardour fair Ianthe burns; Invoking Hymen's name, and Juno's power, To speed the work, and haste the happy hour. She hopes, while Telethusa fears the day, And strives to interpose some new delay; Now feigns a sickness, now is in a fright For this bad omen, or that boding sight. But having done whate'er she could devise, And emptied all her magazine of lies,
|