He loves too well that cruel gift to use, To please, for him, these faded charms repair; No fecond paffion can this heart engage; And shortly, Pompey, fhall thy Flora prove, Death may diffolve, but nothing change her love. ARISBE to MARIUS Junior. From FONTENELLE. By the Same. When Marius was expelled from Rome by Sylla's faltion, and retired into Africa, his son (who accompanied him) fell into the hands of Hiempfal king of Numidia, who kept him prifoner. One of the mifireffes of that king fell in love with Marius junior, and was fo generous to contrive and give him his liberty, though by that means fhe facrificed her love for ever. 'Twas after be kad rejoin'd bis father, that fhe writ him the following letter. I. F all I valued, all I lov'd, bereft, OF Say, has my heart this little comfort left? That you the mem'ry of its truth retain, And think with grateful pity on my pain? II. Though but with life my forrows can have end, (For death alone can join me to my friend) Yet think not I repent I fet you free, I mourn your abfence, not your liberty. III. Before III. Before my Marius left Numidia's coast, Each day I faw him; scarce an hour was loft: But one long abfence from the man I love. IV. Painful reflection! poyfon to my mind! V. Would'st thou believe it? to those walls I fly VI. The live-long day I mourn, I loath the light, What, though the horrid gloom augment my grief? 'Tis grateful ftill, for I disclaim relief. 'VII. That coz'ner hope intrudes not on my woe; One only interval my forrows know; When dreams, the kind reversers of my pain, Bring back my charming fugitive again. VIII. Yet there's a grief furpaffing all the reft; The show of love the hypocrite put on. IX. Then I reflect (ah! would I could forget!) How much your thoughts on war and Rome were set. How little paffion did that conduct prove! Too frong thy reafon, but too weak thy love. X. Thy fword, 'tis true, a father's cause demands; To love, and duty juft, give each their part, XI. But what avail these thoughts? fond wretch, give o'er! Marius, or falfe, or true, is thine no more: Why fhould I wish to think I had his heart? XII. Yes: let me cherish that remembrance ftill; XIII. De XIII. Deceitful comfort! let me not perfuade Perhaps év'n you what most I wish oppose, I'm a Numidian, and your foul difdains To bear th' inglorious weight of foreign chains. Can any climate then fo barb'rous prove, His proxy beauty, and his flaves mankind. XVI. Nor am I a Numidian but by name, For I can int'reft for my love disclaim: My virtue fhews what 'twas the gods defign'd, By chance on Afric's clay they ftamp'd a Roman mind. XVII. Not all the heroes which your Rome can boast, XVIII. Yes, |