overs her blushing
face with her garments, and says, 'O, mother, happy in thy husband!'
Thus much {she says}; and {then} she sighs. A trembling shoots through
the chilled limbs and the bones of her nurse, for she understands her;
and her white hoariness stands bristling with stiff hair all over her
head; and she adds many a word to drive away a passion so dreadful, if
{only} she can. But the maiden is well aware that she is not advised to
a false step; still she is resolved to die, if she does not enjoy him
whom she loves. 'Live {then},' says {the nurse}, 'thou shalt enjoy
thy----' and, not daring to say 'parent,' she is silent; and {then} she
confirms her promise with an oath.

"The pious matrons were {now} celebrating the annual festival of
Ceres,[48] on which, having their bodies clothed with snow-white robes,
they offer garlands made of ears of corn, as the first fruits of the
harvest; and for nine nights they reckon embraces, and the contact of a
husband, among the things forbidden. Cenchreis, the king's wife, is
absent in that company, and attends the mysterious rites. Therefore,
while his bed is without his lawful wife, the nurse, wickedly
industrious, having found Cinyras overcome with wine, discloses to him a
real passion, {but} under a feigned name, and praises the beauty {of the
damsel}. On his enquiring the age of the maiden, she says, 'She is of
the same age as Myrrha.' After she is commanded to bring her, and as
soon as she has returned home, she says, 'Rejoice, my fosterling, we
have prevailed.' The unhappy maid does not feel joy throughout her
entire body, and her boding breast is sad. And still she does rejoice:
so great is the discord in her mind.

"'Twas the time when all things are silent, and Bootes had turned his
wain with the pole obliquely directed among the Triones.[49] She
approaches to {perpetrate} her enormity. The golden moon flies from the
heavens; black clouds conceal the hiding stars; the night is deprived of
its fires. Thou, Icarus, dost conceal thy rising countenance; and
{thou}, Erigone, raised to the heavens through thy affectionate love for
thy father. Three times was she recalled by the presage of her foot
stumbling; thrice did the funereal owl give an omen by its dismal cry.
Yet {onward} she goes, and the gloom and the dark night lessen her
shame. In her left hand she holds that of her nurse, the other, by
groping, explores the secret road. {And} now she is arrived at the door
of