He views not Flora with her Pompey's eyes,
He loves like me, he doats, despairs, and dies.
Come to my arms, thou dear, deferving youth!
Thou prodigy of man! thou man with truth!
For him, I will redouble every care,

To please, for him, these faded charms repair;
To crown his vows, and sharpen thy despair.

Oh! 'tis illufion all! and idle

rage e!
No fecond paffion can this heart engage;
And fhortly, Pompey, fhall thy Flora prove,
Death may diffolve, but nothing change her love,

}

00000000000000000

ARISBE to MARIUS Junior.

From FONTENELLE.

By the Same.

When Marius was expelled from Rome by Sylla's faction, and retired into Africa, his fon (who accompany'd him) fell into the hands of Hiempfal king of Numidia, who kept him prifoner. One of the mistresses of that king fell in love with Marius junior, and was fo generous to contrive and give him his liberty, tho' by that means fhe facrificed her love for ever. 'Twas after he had rejoin'd his father, that he writ him the following letter.

O

That

I.

F all I valued, all I lov'd bereft,

Say, has my heart this little comfort left?
you the mem❜ry of its truth retain,

And think with grateful pity on my pain?

II.

Tho' 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 absence, not your liberty.

II.

Before my Marius left Numidia's coaft,

Each day I saw him; scarce an hour was loft:

Now months and years must pafs, nay life shall prove

But one long abfence from the man I love.

IV. Painful

IV.

Painful reflection! poyson to my mind!
Was it but mortal too, it would be kind :
But mad with grief I search the palace round,
And in that madness dream you're to be found.

V.

Would't thou believe it? to those walls I fly
Where thou wert captive held; there frantick cry,
These fetters fure my vagrant's flight restrain'd;
Alas! these fetters I myself unchain'd.

VI.

The live-long day I mourn, I loath the light,
And wait impatient each returning night:
What, tho' 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 reverfers of my pain,

Bring back my charming fugitive again.

VIII.

Yet there's a grief furpaffing all the reft;
A jealous dæmon whispers in my breast,
Marius was false; for liberty alone
The fhow of love the hypocrite put on.

IX. Then

IX.

Then I reflect (ah! would I could forget!)
How much your thoughts on war and Rome were fet,
How little paffion did that conduct prove!

Too strong thy reafon, but too weak thy love.

X.

Thy fword, 'tis true, a father's caufe demands;
But 'twas a mistress gave it to thy hands:
To love, and duty juft, give each their part,
His be the arm, and mine be all thy heart.

XI.

But what avail these thoughts? fond wretch, give o'er!
Marius, or false, or true, is thine no more:

Since Fate has caft the lot, and we must part,
Why should I wish to think I had his heart?

XII.

Yes: let me cherish that remembrance ftill;
That thought alone shall soften ev'ry ill;
To tell my foul, his love, his truth was fuch,
All was his due, nor have I done too much.

XIII.

Deceitful comfort! let me not perfuade
My cred❜lous heart its fondness was repaid;
It makes
my foul with double anguish mourn
Thofe joys, which never, never must return.

XIV.

Perhaps ev'n you what most I wish oppofe,
And in the Roman all the lover lofe :
I'm a Numidian, and your foul difdains

To bear th' inglorious weight of foreign chains.

Can

any

XV.

climate then fo barb'rous prove, To ftand excluded from the laws of Love? His empire's univerfal, unconfin'd,

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 shows what 'twas the gods defign'd,

By chance on Africk's clay they ftamp'd a Roman mind.

XVII.

Not all the heroes which your Rome can boast,

So much for fame, as I for have loft:

you

Yourself I loft: oh! grateful, then confefs,
My tryal greater, tho' my glory lefs.

XVIII.

Yes, partial gods! inflicters of my care!
Be witness what I felt, what grief, what fear!
When full of ftifled woes the night he fled,
No figh I dar'd to breathe, no tear to shed.

XIX. Whilf