Nor boast the virtuous conflict of thy heart Such flights of honour might amuse the crowd, Keep for the fenate, and the grave debate, There words are virtue, and your trade deceit. You fay you melted at Geminius' tears, Forgetting he's oblig'd, and mourning I'm betray'd. He He loves too well that cruel gift to use, To please, for him, these faded charms repair; Oh! 'tis illufion all! and idle rage! No fecond paffion can this heart engage; 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 faction, and retired into Africa, his fon (who accompanied 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, though by that means fhe facrificed her love for ever. 'Twas after he kad rejoin'd his father, that fhe writ him the following letter. Ο I. F all I valued, all I lov'd, bereft, 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, I mourn your absence, not your liberty. III. Before III. Before my Marius left Numidia's coaft, Each day I faw him; fcarce 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 reverfers of my pain, Bring back my charming fugitive again. G 4 VIII. Yet 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 fet. How little paffion did that conduct prove! Too ftrong 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 thefe thoughts? fond wretch, give o'er! Marius, or falfe, or true, is thine no more: Why should I wish to think I had his heart? XII. Yes: let me cherish that remembrance ftill; XIII. De |