Though Myrrha knew that she was truly warned,
she was resolved to die, unless she could
obtain the object of her wicked love.
The nurse gave way at last as in defeat,
and said, “Live and enjoy—” but did not dare
to say, “your father”, did not finish, though,
she promised and confirmed it with an oath.
It was the time when matrons celebrate
the annual festival of Ceres. Then,
all robed in decent garments of snow-white,
they bring garlands of precious wheat, which are
first fruits of worship; and for nine nights they
must count forbidden every act of love,
and shun the touch of man. And in that throng,
Cenchreis, the king's wife, with constant care
attended every secret rite: and so
while the king's bed was lacking his true wife,
one of those nights,—King Cinyras was drunk
with too much wine,—the scheming nurse informed
him of a girl most beautiful, whose love
for him was passionate; in a false tale
she pictured a true passion. — When he asked
the maiden's age, she answered, “Just the same
as Myrrha's.” Bidden by the king to go
and fetch her, the officious old nurse, when
she found the girl, cried out; “Rejoice, my dear,
we have contrived it!” The unhappy girl
could not feel genuine joy in her amazed
and startled body. Her dazed mind was filled
with strange forebodings; but she did believe
her heart was joyful.—Great excitement filled
her wrecked heart with such inconsistencies.
Now was the time when nature is at rest;
between the Bears, Bootes turned his wain
down to the west, and the guilty Myrrha turns
to her enormity. The golden moon
flies from the heaven, and black clouds cover
the hiding stars and Night has lost her fires.
The first to hide were stars of Icarus
and of Erigone, in hallowed love
devoted to her father. Myrrha thrice
was warned by omen of her stumbling foot;
the funeral screech-owl also warned her thrice,
with dismal cry; yet Myrrha onward goes.
It seems to her the black night lessens shame.
She holds fast to her nurse with her left hand,
and with the other hand gropes through the dark.
And now they go until she finds the door.
Now at the threshold of her father's room,
she softly pushes back the door, her nurse
takes her within. The girl's knees trembling sink
beneath her. Her drawn bloodless face has lost
its color, and while she moves to the crime,
bad courage goes from her until afraid
of her bold effort, she would gladly turn
unrecognized. But as she hesitates,
the aged crone still holds her by the hand;
and leading her up to the high bed there
delivering Myrrha, says, “Now Cinyras,
you take her, she is yours;” and leaves the pair
doomed in their crime — the father to pollute
his own flesh in his own bed; where he tries
first to encourage her from maiden fears,
by gently talking to the timid girl.
He chanced to call her “daughter,” as a name
best suited to her age; and she in turn,
endearing, called him “father”, so no names
might be omitted to complete their guilt.
She staggered from his chamber with the crime
of her own father hidden in her womb,
and their guilt was repeated many nights;
till Cinyras — determined he must know
his mistress, after many meetings, brought
a light and knew his crime had harmed his daughter.
Speechless in shame he drew forth his bright sword
out from the scabbard where it hung near by.—
but frightened Myrrha fled, and so escaped
death in the shadows of dark night. Groping
her pathless way at random through the fields,
she left Arabia, famed for spreading palms,
and wandered through Panchaean lands. Until
after nine months of aimless wandering days,
she rested in Sabaea, for she could
not hold the burden she had borne so long.
Not knowing what to pray for, moved alike
by fear of death and weariness of life,
her wishes were expressed in prayer: “O Gods,
if you will listen to my prayer, I do
not shun a dreadful punishment deserved;
but now because my life offends the living,
and dying I offend the dead, drive me
from both conditions; change me, and refuse
my flesh both life and death!”
Some god did listen
to her unnatural prayer; her last petition
had answering gods.
For even as she prayed,
the earth closed over her legs; roots grew out
and, stretching forth obliquely from her nails,
gave strong support to her up-growing trunk;
her bones got harder, and her marrow still
unchanged, kept to the center, as her blood
was changed to sap, as her outstretching arms
became long branches and her fingers twigs;
and as her soft skin hardened into bark:
and the fast-growing tree had closely bound
her womb, still heavy, and had covered her
soft bosom; and was spreading quickly up
to her neck.—She can not endure the strain,
and sinking down into the rising wood,
her whole face soon was hidden in the bark.
Although all sense of human life was gone,
as quickly as she lost her human form,
her weeping was continued, and warm drops
distilled from her (the tree) cease not to fall.
There is a virtue even in her tears—
the valued myrrh distilling from the trunk,
keeps to her name, by which she still is known,
and cannot be forgot of aging time.
The guilt-begotten child had growth while wood
was growing, and endeavored now to find
a way of safe birth. The tree-trunk was swelling
and tightened against Myrrha, who, unable
to express her torture, could not call upon
Lucina in the usual words of travail.
But then just like a woman in great pain,
the tree bends down and, while it groans, bedews
itself with falling tears. Lucina stood
in pity near the groaning branches, laid
her hands on them, and uttered charms to aid
the hindered birth. The tree cracked open then,
the bark was rent asunder, and it gave forth
its living weight, a wailing baby-boy.
The Naiads laid him on soft leaves, and they
anointed him with his own mother's tears.
Even Envy would not fail to praise the child,
as beautiful as naked cupids seen
in chosen paintings. Only give to him
a polished quiver, or take theirs from them,
and no keen eye could choose him from their midst.
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