Echo was then a Maid, of Speech bereft,
Of wonted Speech; for tho' her Voice was left,
Juno a Curse did on her Tongue impose,
To sport with ev'ry Sentence in the Close.
Full often when the Goddess might have caught
Jove and her Rivals in the very Fault,
This Nymph with subtle Stories would delay
Her Coming, 'till the Lovers slip'd away.
The Goddess found out the Deceit in Time,
And then she cry'd, "That Tongue, for this thy Crime,
"Which could so many subtle Tales produce,
"Shall be hereafter but of little use.
Hence 'tis she prattles in a fainter Tone,
With mimick Sounds, and Accents not her own.
This Love-sick Virgin, over-joy'd to find
The Boy alone, still follow'd him behind;
When glowing warmly at her near Approach,
As Sulphur blazes at the Taper's Touch,
She long'd her hidden Passion to reveal,
And tell her Pains, but had not Words to tell:
She can't begin, but waits for the Rebound,
To catch his Voice, and to return the Sound.
The Nymph, when nothing could Narcissus move,
Still dash'd with Blushes for her slighted Love,
Liv'd in the shady Covert of the Woods,
In solitary Caves and dark Abodes;
Where pining wander'd the rejected Fair,
'Till harrass'd out, and worn away with Care,
The sounding Skeleton, of Blood bereft,
Besides her Bones and Voice had nothing left.
Her Bones are petrify'd, her Voice is found
In Vaults, where still it doubles ev'ry Sound.
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