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the frosts of honour melt before the fires of love.

Again, I must repeat that fatal hour, which snatch'd my Henry from his Woodstock bower; when mad Bellona, with tumult'ous cries, the hero rous'd, and drowo'd the lover's sighs. Stretch'd on my downy couch, at ease I lay, and sought by reading to beguile the day; with am'rous strains I sooth'd a grateful fire, and all the woman glow'd with soft desire. Till as I wish'd I heard the vocal breeze, proclaim my Hen'ry rustling through the trees; d'erjoy'd, I ran to meet thy longing arms, and taste a dear remeinbrance of thy charms; but soon I saw some sad conceald surprise, fade on thy cheeks, and languish on thy eyes; through each dissembled smile, a sorrow stole, and whisper'd out the secret of thy soul. What this could mean, uncertain to divine, no fault I knew, yet fear'd some fault was mine. But soon thy love dispellid those airy fears, dispell'd alas! but brought too solid cares; for as with hands, entwin'd in hands, we walk'd, of love, and hapless lovers, still thou talk'd: thy tears of pity answer'd each sad moan, and in their seeming mis’ries, wept thy own. "I cannot leave her!" I o'erheard thee say, pierc'd to the soul, I sunk, and dy'd away. What art restor'd ine, thou alone can'st tell, for thy kind arms embrac'd me, as I fell. My opening eyes fix'd on thy beauties, hung, and my ears drunk the cordial of thy tongue. Again my thoughts return with killing pain, within thy arms I sink, and swoon again: again thou dost my sweet physician prove,

our soft-breath'd raptures charm’d the listening grove. and all was harmony, for all was love!

But hark! the trumpet sounds! see discords rise! It is honour calls; from me my Henry flies ! honour, to him, more bright than Rosamonda's eyes ! not thus ny honour with his passion strove, his sighs I pity, and indulg'd his love: he then cry'd, honour was an empty name, and love a sweeter recompence than fame.

Oh! had I liv'd in some obscure retreat, securely fair, and innocently sweet; how had I bless'd some humble shepherd's arins ! how kept my fame as spotless as my charms! then, hadst thou ne'er beheld these eyes of mine, nor they bewail'd the fatal power of thine! dear fatal power! to me for ever dear! fix'd in my tender breast, and rooted there! for ever in my tender breast remain, and be for ever a delightful pain!

With what surprise those glories first I view'd, that in one moment my whole heart subdu'd ! with such resistless beams, so fierce they shone, not such the dazzling radiance of thy crown! sent from thy crown I never felt a dart; the lover, not the monarch, won my heart: nor e'er the monarch with such charms appears, as when the lovers soften'd dress he wears: as when he, silent, deigns my breast to seek, and looks such language, as no tongue can speak.

Whene'er my crimes (if love a crime can be, if 't is a crime to live, and die for thee!) in hideous forms arise, and cloud my soul, one thought on Henry can that gloom controul: no more my breast alternate passions move,

the frosts of honour melt before the fires of love.

Again, I must repeat that fatal hour, which snatch'd my Henry from his Woodstock bower; when mad Bellona, with tumult'ous cries, the hero rous'd, and drowo'd the lover's sighs. Stretch'd on my downy couch, at ease I lay, and sought by reading to beguile the day ; with am'rous strains I sooth'd a grateful fire, and all the woman glow'd with soft desire. Till as I wish'd I heard the vocal breeze, proclaim my Hen’ry rustling through the trees; o'erjoy'd, I ran to meet thy longing arms, and taste a dear remeinbrance of thy charms; but soon I saw some sad conceal'd surprise, fade ou thy cheeks, and languish on thy eyes ; through each dissembled smile, a sorrow stole, and whisper'd out the secret of thy soul. What this could mean, uncertain to divine, no fault I knew, yet fear'd some fault was mine. But soon thy love dispelld those airy fears, dispell’d alas! but brought too solid cares; for as with hands, entwin'd in hands, we walk'd, of love, and hapless lovers, still thou talk'd: thy tears of pity answer'd each sad moan, and in their seeming mis’ries, wept thy own. “I cannot leave her!" I o'erheard thee say, pierc'd to the soul, I sunk, and dy'd away. What art restor'd ine, thou alone can'st tell, for thy kind arms embrac'd me, as I fell. My opening eyes fix'd on thy beauties, hung, and my ears drunk the cordial of thy tongue, Again my thoughts return with killing pain, within thy arms I sink, and swoon again: again thou dost my sweet physician prove,

from death to life alternately I move,
now dead by anguish, now reviv'd by love.
But when, without disguise, thy truth I found,
my agonizing sorrows knew no bound:
my locks I tore, then, all entranc'd, I lay,
till by degrees my grief to words gave way,
and soft I cry'd, -Oh! stay, my Henry, stay.
One moment more! add yet, and yet, a kiss!
Oh! give me thine, and take my soul in this!
Farewell !-perhaps, farewell for ever!-oh!
who can sustain so dire a weight of woe?

Ah, wretched maid! alas, a maid no more! no herbs that spotless title can restore ! ah, who shall now protect thy injur'd fame? who shield thy weakness from th' assaults of shame? who lull thy anxious soul to balmy rest, if Henry, dearest Henry, flies thy breast?

Yet, though he flies, your wings, ye angels spread, and hover, guardians, o'er my Henry's head, who knows but this kind pray’r is pour'd too late, and he already struggles with his fate? already, wounded, pants, and gasps in death, and Rosamonda is his latest breath?

Propitious Heaven! vouchsafe a gracious ear! grant, these be only phantoms of my fear: Heav'n still is gracious, if true suppliants pray; and lo!-the foul chimæras fleet a way! transporting prospects to my wishes rise, beam on iny soul, and brighten in my eyes ! he lives! he lives! I see his banner spread, and laurels, wreath'd round the gay victor's head! ye winds! convey the news to Albion's floods ! ye floods ! resound it to the joyous woods! ye joyous woods! your tuneful choirs prepare

to hail my hero from the toils of war!

Delusive scenes ! too beautiful to stay! they fade in visionary streaks away. Alas! no lovely Henry now is nigh! his genius took his form to soothe my eye. No more I seem bis melting voice to hear! peace ! babling fountains! nor abuse my ear. Ye flowers! ye streams! ye gales, no longer move! for ah! how strong is fancy, join'd with love!

O! frail inconstancy of mortal state! one hour dejected, and the next elate! rais'd by false hopes, or by false fears deprest, how different passions sway the human breast! now smiling pleasures, with fair charms, invite, now frowning liorrors, with black trains, affright. Future distrusts the present joys controul, and fancy triumphs o'er the reas’ning soul.

As mid the trees I solitary rove, the trees awake some image of thy love: where'er their arms in am'rous foldings join, my longing arms I spread to fold in thine. ** The beauteous flow'rs thy face reflected bear, (if flow'rs in beauty may with thee compare), their wafted fragrancies thy breath inspire, and my soul kindles with ideal fire! the thick weav'd shades, and grove encircling grove, are emblems of th' eternity of love, my blushing guilt the crimson roses paint, and I, like roses, unsupported faint: like their's my youthful charms (if charms) consume, for love, a closer canker, eats my bloom.

How blest might other nymphs survey these scenes, fountains and shades, and bills, and flowry greens? prospects, on prospects, might detain the sight,

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