Page:Poems of Anne Countess of Winchilsea 1903.djvu/546

 408 THE POEMS OF ANNE �Nor let one Ray of Hope e'er dawn beyond it. 360 �Never, Oh never! �Demag. This Passion must rise higher, ere it falls. Divide and let him know the worst. [To the Officers. �Aristom. Where is my Son? my Grief has pass'd all �Bounds, �All dallying Circumstance, and vain Delusion, And will be told directly where to find him. �Demag. Oh ! then behold him there ! �[They divide. He seeing the Bodies stands awhile amaz'd and speechless, drops his Sword, then speaks. �Aristom. So look'd the World to Pyrrha, and her Mate; �So gloomy, waste, so destitute of Comfort, �When all Mankind besides lay drown'd in Ruin. 370 �Oh! thou wert well inform 'd, my evil Genius; �And the complaining Rocks mourn'd not in vain: �For here my Blood, my dearest Blood I pay �For this poor Wreath, and Fame that withers like it; �[Tears the Wreath, and throws himself upon his Son. The Ground, that bore it, take the slighted Toy, Whilst thus I throw me on his breathless Body, And groan away my Life on these pale Lips. Oh'.O', O', O',- �Thus did I clasp him, ere the Battle join'd, When Fate, which then had Doom'd him, mock'd my Arms, Nor in their folds wou'd let me feel my Son. 381 �Oh ! that his Voice (tho' low as then it seem'd) Cou'd reach me now! But the fond Wish is vain, And all but this too weak to ease my Pain. �[He takes the Sword that lay at Aristor's Feet, and goes to fall upon it, Demagetus takes hold of it. �Demag. Oh! hold, my Lord; nor stab at once your Army. �[All the Officers and Soldiers kneel, Alcander speaks. ��� �