head!" At the name of Thisbe Pyramus opened his eyes, then closed
them again. She saw her veil stained with blood and the scabbard
empty of its sword. "Thy own hand has slain thee, and for my
sake," she said. "I too can be brave for once, and my love is as
strong as thine. I will follow thee in death, for I have been the
cause; and death which alone could part us shall not prevent my
joining thee. And ye, unhappy parents of us both, deny us not our
united request. As love and death have joined us, let one tomb
contain us. And thou, tree, retain the marks of slaughter. Let thy
berries still serve for memorials of our blood." So saying she
plunged the sword into her breast. Her parents ratified her wish,
the gods also ratified it. The two bodies were buried in one
sepulchre, and the tree ever after brought forth purple berries,
as it does to this day.

Moore, in the "Sylph's Ball," speaking of Davy's Safety Lamp, is
reminded of the wall that separated Thisbe and her lover:

"O for that Lamp's metallic gauze,
That curtain of protecting wire,
Which Davy delicately draws
Around illicit, dangerous fire!

The wall he sets 'twixt Flame and Air,
(Like that which barred young Thisbe's bliss,)
Through whose small holes this dangerous pair
May see each other, but not kiss."

In Mickle's translation of the "Lusiad" occurs the following
allusion to the story of Pyramus and Thisbe, and the metamorphosis