Page:Poems of Anne Countess of Winchilsea 1903.djvu/539

 COUNTESS or WINCHILSEA 401 �Enter Aristor hastily, and sits down by her. �Aristor. How fares my Love ? sink not beneath your Fears, When this most lucky Hand has made them groundless, Securing to my Life its greatest Blessing, 150 �Your matchless Love and all its dying Transports. �Amal. Its dying Transports, did you say Aristor? I would be glad to know, that Death has Transports. But are there none, none that do live and Love? That early meet, and in the Spring of Youth, Uncross'd, nor troubl'd in the soft Design, Set sweetly out, and travel on to Age In mutual Joys, that with themselves expire? �Aristor. Indeed, there are but few, that are thus Happy. But since our Lot it is, t'encrease the number; 160 �Let us not lose a Thought on other's Fortunes, But keep them still employ 'd upon our own ; For in no Hearts, sure, Love e'er wrought more Wonders. �Amal. Oh! no, to mine I gladly did admit it Thro' the stern hazards of a Father's Wrath, And all the Hate of Sparta and Messenia. If e'er I wept, 'twas Love that forc'd the Dew, And not my Country, or my colder Friendships ; And on my Face (when Lacedemon mourn'd) Suspected Smiles were seen to mock her Losses; 170 �Because that Love was on the adverse Party. Thus fond, thus doating have I pass'd my Hours, And with their dear remembrance will I close My Life's last Scene, and grasp you thus in Dying. �[She embraces him. �Aristor. Far be that Hour; but Oh! my Amalintha, Proceed thus to describe thy tender Soul, And charm me with thy mighty Sense of Passion; For know, 'twas that which fix'd me ever thine, When with a Pleasure, not to be express'd, ��� �