THE ARGUMENT.
Macareus and Canace, fon and daughter to Æolus, God of the Winds, loved each other incestuously: Canace was delivered of a fon, and committed him to her nurse, to be fecretly conveyed away. The infant crying out, by that means was discovered to Æolus, who, inraged at the wickedness of his children, commanded the babe to be exposed to wild beafts on the mountains: and withal, Sent a fword to Canace, with this message, That her crimes would instruct her how to use it. With this Sword she flew herself: but before she died, she writ the following letter to her brother Macareus, who had taken Sanctuary in the temple of Apollo.
F streaming blood my fatal letter ftain,
Imagine, ere you read, the writer flain;
One hand the sword, and one the pen employs,
And in my lap the ready paper lies.
Think in this posture thou behold'st me write :
In this my cruel father would delight.
O! were he present, that his eyes and hands!
Might fee, and urge, the death which he commands:
Than all the raging winds more dreadful, he,
Unmov'd, without a tear, my wounds would fee.
Jove justly plac'd him on a stormy throne,
His people's temper is so like his own.
The North and South, and each contending blast,
Are underneath his wide dominion cast:
Those he can rule; but his tempestuous mind
Is, like his airy kingdom, unconfin'd.
Ah! what avail my kindred Gods above,
That in their number I can reckon Jove!
What help will all my heavenly friends afford,
When to my breast I lift the pointed sword?
That hour, which join'd us, came before its time:
In death we had been one without a crime.
Why did thy flames beyond a brother's move?
Why lov'd I thee with more than sister's love?
For I lov'd too; and knowing not my wound,
A fecret pleasure in thy kisses found :
My cheeks no longer did their colour boaft,
My food grew loathsome, and my strength I loft:
Still ere I spoke, a sigh would stop my tongue;
Short were my slumbers, and my nights were long.
I knew not from my love these griefs did grow,
Yet was, alas, the thing I did not know.
My wily nurse by long experience found,
And first discover'd to my soul its wound.
'Tis love, said the; and then my down-cast eyes,
And guilty dumbness, witness'd my surprize.
Forc'd at the last, my shameful pain I tell :
And, oh, what follow'd we both know too well!
" When half denying, more than half content,
"Embraces warm'd me to a full consent.
"Then with tumultuous joys my heart did beat,
"And guilt that made them anxious made them great."
But now my swelling womb heav'd up my breaft,
And rifing weight my finking limbs opprest.
What herbs, what plants, did not my nurse produce,
To make abortion by their pow'rful juice ?
What med'cines try'd we not, to thee unknown ?
Our first crime common; this was mine alone.
But the strong child, secure in his dark cell,
With nature's vigour did our arts repel.
And now the pale-fac'd empress of the night
Nine times had fill'd her orb with borrow'd light:
Not knowing 'twas my labour, I complain
Of sudden shootings, and of grinding pain:
My throes came thicker, and my cries increas'd,
Which with her hand the confcious nurse suppress'd.
To that unhappy fortune was I come,
Pain urg'd my clamours, but fear kept me dumb.
With inward struggling I restrain'd my cries,
And drunk the tears that trickled from my eyes.
Death was in fight, Lucina gave no aid;
And even my dyin had my guilt betray'd.
Thou cam'ft, and in thy count'nance fate despair;
Rent were thy garments all, and torn thy hair:
Yet feigning comfort, which thou couldst not give,
(Preft in thy arms, and whisp'ring me to live:)
For both our fakes, (saidst thou) preserve thy life;
Live, my dear sister, and my dearer wife.
Rais'd by that name with my last pangs I strove:
Such pow'r have words, when spoke by those we love.
The babe, as if he heard what thou hadst sworn,
With hafty joy sprung forward to be born.
What helps it to have weather'd out one storm?
Fear of our father does another form.
High in his hall, rock'd in a chair of state,
The king with his tempestuous council fate.
Thro' this large room our only passage lay,
By which we could the new-born babe convey.
Swath'd in her lap, the bold nurse bore him out,
With olive branches cover'd round about;
And, mutt'ring pray'rs, as holy rites the meant,
'Thro' the divided croud unquestion'd went.
Just at the door, th' unhappy infant cry'd:
The grandfire heard him, and the theft he spy'd.
Swift as a whirlwind to the nurse he flies,
And deafs his stormy subjects with his cries.
With one fierce puff he blows the leaves away:
Expos'd the self-discover'd infant lay.
The noise reach'd me, and my presaging mind
Too foon its own approaching woes divin'd.
Not ships at fea with winds are shaken more,
Nor feas themselves, when angry tempefts roar,
Than I, when my loud father's voice I hear:
The bed beneath me trembled with my fear.
He rush'd upon me, and divulg'd my stain;
Scarce from my murder could his hands refrain.
I only answer'd him with filent tears;
They flow'd: my tongue was frozen up with fears.
His little grand-child he commands away,
To mountain wolves and ev'ry bird of prey.
The babe cry'd out, as if he understood,
And begg'd his pardon with what voice he could.
By what expressions can my grief be shown?
(Yet you may guess my anguish by your own)
To fee my bowels, and, what yet was worse,
Your bowels too, condemn'd to such a curse!
Out went the king; my voice its freedom found,
My breasts I beat, my blubber'd cheeks I wound.
And now appear'd the messenger of death;
Sad were his looks, and scarce he drew his breath,
To fay, " Your father fends you"- (with that word
His trembling hands presented me a fword:)
" Your father fends you this; and lets you know,
"That your own crimes the use of it will show."
Too well I know the fenfe those words impart:
His present shall be treasur'd in my heart.
Are these the nuptial gifts a bride receives?
And this the fatal dow'r a father gives?
Thou God of Marriage, shun thy own disgrace,
And take thy torch from this detested place:
Inftead of that, let furies light their brands,
And fire my pile with their infernal hands.
With happier fortune may my fifters wed;
Warn'd by the dire example of the dead.
For thee, poor babe, what crime could they pretend?
How could thy infant innocence offend?
A guilt there was; but, oh, that guilt was mine!
Thou fuffer'st for a fin that was not thine.
Thy mother's grief and crime! but just enjoy'd,
Shewn to my fight, and born to be deftroy'd!
Unhappy offspring of my teeming womb!
Drag'd headlong from thy cradle to thy tomb!
Thy un-offending life I could not save,
Nor weeping could I follow to thy grave:
Nor on thy tomb could offer my fhorn hair;
Nor shew the grief which tender mothers bear.
Yet long thou shalt not from my arms be loft;
For foon I will o'ertake thy infant ghoft.
But thou, my love, and now my love's despair,
Perform his fun'rals with paternal care.
His scatter'd limbs with my dead body burn;
And once more join us in the pious urn.
If on my wounded breast thou dropp'ît a tear,
Think for whose fake my breast that wound did bear;
And faithfully my last desires fulfil,
As I perform my cruel father's will.
|