Page:Poems upon Several Occasions.djvu/161

Arcal. Enchantress say, whence such Replies as these?
Thou answer's Love, I speak of Amadis.

Arcab. Swiftly he past, and as in Sport pursu'd
The savage Herd, and hunted round the Wood;
[Seeming not to mind him
Tygers and Wolves in vain his Stroke withstand,
Cut down, like Poppies by the Reaper's Hand;
Like Mars he look'd, as terrible and strong,
Like Jove majestick, like Apollo young;
With all their Attributes divinely grac'd,
And sure their Thunder in his Arm was plac'd.

Arcal. Who pass'd? who look'd?

Arcab. Ah! there's the fatal Wound,
That tears my Heartstrings———But he shall be found:
Yes, ye Infernals, if there's Pow'r in Art,
My Arms shall hold him, as he grasps my Heart.
Shall I, who can draw down the Moon, and keep
The Stars confin'd, enchant the boist'rous Deep,
Bid Boreas halt, make Hills and Forests move,
Shall I be baffled by this Trifler, Love?

Arcal. Suspend these Follies, and let Rage surmount.
A Brother's Death requires a strict Account;
To Day, to Day, perhaps this very Hour,
This Moment, now, the Murth'rer's in our Pow'r.
Leave Love in Cottages and Cells to reign,
With Nymphs obscure, and with the lowly Swain.
Who waste their Days and Strength in such short Joys,
Are Fools, that barter precious Life for Toys.