Page:Poems of Anne Countess of Winchilsea 1903.djvu/547

 ���COUNTESS OP WINCHILSEA 409 �Alcand. We're all your Sons; and if you strike, my Lord, The Spartans may come back, and take our Bodies ; For when yours goes, our Spirits shall attend it. �[They all prepare to fall on their Swords. �Aristom. Wou'd you then have me live, when thus unbow- �ell'd, �Without the Charms of my Aristor's presence, 390 �Without his Arm to second me in Fight, And in still Peace his Voice to make it perfect? �[He rises in a Passion and comes forward on the Stage. Yes I will live, ye Sov'reign Pow'rs, I will: You've put my Virtue to its utmost Proof; Yet thus chastis'd, I own superior Natures, And all your fixt Decrees this Sword shall further, 'Till Rhodes is rescu'd, and my Task completed. Who knows, but that the Way to your Elysium Is Fortitude in Ills, and brave Submission; Since Heroes whom your Oracles distinguish, 400 �Are often here amidst their Greatness wretched? But yet my Heart! my lov'd, my lost Aristor! �Demag. Let me succeed him in his active Duty, And join with all the Earth to bring you Comfort. �Aristom. Comfort on Earth ! Oh ! 'tis not to be found. My Demagetus, thou hast far to travel ; The Bloom of Youth sits graceful on thy Brow, And bids thee look for Days of mighty Pleasures, For prosp'rous Wars, and the soft Smiles of Beauty, For generous Sons, that may reflect thy Form, 410 �And give thee Hopes, as I had, of their succour. �Demag. With these indeed my Thoughts have still been flatter'd. �Aristom. Then let me draw this flatt'ring Veil aside, And bid thee here, here in this Face behold, How biting Cares have done the work of Age, ��� �