Page:Vida's Art of Poetry.djvu/90

 Piles of Barbarick gold should glitter there, The wealth of kingdoms, and the pomp of war; But, by your crime, ye gods, our hopes are crost, And those imaginary triumphs lost; Inter'd with Leo, in one fatal hour, Our prospects perish'd, as they liv'd before.

The End of the Second BOOK.



VIDA's