Page:Poems of Anne Countess of Winchilsea 1903.djvu/545

 COUNTESS OF WINCHILSEA 407 �Thou Demagetus, ha! thou'rt all in Tears, �And so are these that make a Wall about thee: 330 �The Cause deliver, Oh ! declare it quickly. �Demag. Enquire it not, my Lord ; too soon 'twill find you. �Aristom. I must prevent it by my hasty Search. Reveal it you, or you, since all partake it: �[To Alcander, &c. What silent still! �If yet ye do not speak, ye do not love me; I find you do not, since ye all are Speechless. Aristor would have spoke, had he been here. �Demag. Aristor's here, but Oh! he cannot speak. You have it now, my Lord, and must weep with us. 340 �Aristom. Thy Tongue has warn'd my Eyes to seek the �Centre : ' [Looks down. �For round this Place I dare not let them stray, Lest they explain too soon, thy fatal meaning.. Oh ! Anaxander, had such Trembling seiz'd me, When at the Army's Head I met thy Fury ; The poorest of thy Troops had cry'd me Coward. Why so we're all, there's not a Man that is not; We all dread something, and can shrink with Terror* Yet he that comes a Conqu'ror from the Field, Shall find a vain Applause to crown his Valour, 350 �Tho' fainting thus, and sweating cold with Fear. �[Pauses and leans on an Officer. But didst thou say, Aristor cou'd not speak? Oh! that I live to ask it! not answer to his Father! �Demag. Oh! never more! �Aristom. The Sun will keep his Pace, and Time revolve, Rough Winters pass, and Springs come smiling on ; But Thou dost talk of Never, Demagetus: Yet ere Despair prevails, retract that Word Whose cloudy distance bars the reach of Thought, ��� �