Oh, pangs of absence, amply now repaid! Nor yet had ceas'd the strain; but now the queen Saw one that press'd the plain with hasty step; His head the helmet bore, his hand the spear. Sudden with beating heart she ran, she flew; She guess'd the worst. At once through every nerve And pale and ghastly cheek, she stands. In vain Her sad attendants with assiduous care Would sooth her grief. As if depriv'd of sense, Fell from her clasping arms, a breathless corse. Now on her widow'd couch Estrildis lies, Constant and warmly urg'd, the damsel train Those sweet caresses she bestows in vain, And long those tears unnotic'd fall. At length Sudden upon her child she cast her view. Then gush'd the torrent. Springing from the couch, Round the dear pledge of her disastrous loves She clasp'd her agonizing arms; she wept, She sobb'd aloud; and much with fault'ring tongue, In broken murmurs, while the bursting tears Stream on her breast, complains: "My child, my child! Why did I bear thee? Thou wilt curse the hour That gave thee to behold the light of day; And her that bore thee. Oh that pitying fate Had cut my thread of life in early youth! And must I bear the bitter scorn, the taunts There was a time when all her rage was vain ; But now the noble Locrine is no more. What then remains but death? Oh fatal charms! Oh beauty, once so priz'd, but now abhorr'd! To move my virgin heart with guilty love; He had liv'd happy yet. Oh Guendolen ! Sure never pity touch'd that savage breast, Nor gentle love held soft dominion there. I would have piero'd the air with heavy sighs, And death had wrapp'd me in eternal rest; But never, never thought of curst revenge, And stain'd my hands with blood, to me more dear Than is the vital stream which warms my heart. Alas! for him alone I wish'd to live: In him was all my joy; to make him blest Art merciless; his blood is on thy steel. Mine too must stream; and oh, might mine suffice, My ready hand should give the torrent way. But thou, my child, poor wretched orphan! oh, What is reserv'd for thee? A mother's love Clings to thee still, and binds me yet to life." Thus as she mourns, the tears incessant stream, Sighs follow sighs, and groan succeeds to groan. So beneath southern skies, some tender plant With transient beauty paints some northern clime, But when stern winter comes, and in his train Bleak storms, and hail, and snows, and killing frost, Discolour'd all its drooping leaves are seen, And, scarcely blown, its blossoms strew the ground. Glitters the deadly lance, the helmet flames; Of amorous maiden, breath'd enchanting airs, The trumpet's clangor rings. A warlike train, Charg'd with their sovereign's stern commands, appear! Plung'd in despair, with mighty grief oppress'd, |