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Who could behold, with heart unmoved,

How thus her constancy was proved

Towards the treacherous man through whom

Her joyous life met death’s grim doom.

And Phillis fair, who did await

Her Demophon, disconsolate,

And, for he came not, with a cord

Sought death, since false she proved his word.

Of Paris and Œnone hear—

She, body and soul, forgetting fear,

Gave up to him; with what return?

Alas! her love he did but spurn.

Small letters on the trees he cut

To tell her of his flitting; but

Her love reflected not his heart;

He less esteemed it than a tart.

These letters were right skilfully

Engraven on a poplar tree.

And said, till Xanthus sought again

His source, he faithful would remain;

Alas! though that did ne’er occur,

For Helen he deserted her.

Was not Medea, beauteous maid,

By Jason treacherously betrayed,

Who perjured him, though she, to save

His life, both home and honour gave,

When the fierce bulls with breath of fire

Would work on him destruction dire?

She braved the flames with subtle charms,

Subdued the beasts and saved from harms