Page:Poems of Anne Countess of Winchilsea 1903.djvu/277

 COUNTESS OF WINCHILSEA ���139 ���He vail'd his face, to hide that shame Which did on the mistake attend, Of having own'd thee, for his freind. �AN EPISTLE �From ALEXANDER to HEPH^ISTION in His Sickness With such a Pulse, with such disorder'd Veins, Such lab'ring Breath, as thy Disease constrains ; With failing Eyes, that scarce the Light endure, (So long unclos'd, they've watch'd thy doubtful Cure) To his Hephcestion Alexander writes, To soothe thy Days, and wing thy sleepless Nights, I send thee Love: Oh! that I could impart, As well my vital Spirits to thy Heart! That, when the fierce Distemper thine wou'd quell, They might renew the Fight, and the cold Foe repel. 10 �As on Arbelds Plains we turn'd the Day, When Persians through our Troops had mow'd their way, When the rough Scythians on the Plunder run, And barb'rous Shouts proclaim'd the Conquest won, �'Till o'er my Head (to stop the swift Despair) The Bird of Jove fans the supporting Air, Above my Plume does his broad Wings display, And follows wheresoe'er I force my way: Whilst Aristander, in his Robe of White, Shews to the wav'ring Host th' auspicious Sight; 20 New Courage it inspires in ev'ry Breast, And wins at once the Empire of the East. Cou'd He, but now, some kind Presage afford, That Health might be again to Thee restor'd; Thou to my Wishes, to my fond Embrace ; Thy Looks the same, the same Majestick Grace, That round thee shone, when we together went To chear the Royal Captives in their Tent, ��� �