Myrrha :: :: University of Virginia Library

The year is almost spent, which I've consumed
With Euryclea in surmises vain;
And yet no trace whence Myrrha's sorrow springs
Can I discern!—Perhaps the gods themselves,
Envious of our prosperity, would snatch
From us so rare a daughter, the sole comfort,
Sole hope of both her parents. Oh ye gods,
'Twere better never to have given her to us!
Oh Venus! thou sublime divinity
Of this devoted isle, sacred to thee,
Perchance her too great beauty moves thy envy!
And hence perchance thou, equally with her,
Reducest me to this distracted state.
Ah! yes, thou wilt that I should thus atone
In tears of blood, for my inordinate,
Presumptuous transports of a partial mother.