Page:Ovid's Metamorphoses (Vol. 1) - tr Garth, Dryden, et. al. (1727).djvu/317

And! wretched Heart, (she cry'd) ah! faithless Man!
And then to curse th' imagin'd Nymph began:
Yet oft she doubts, oft hopes she is deceiv'd,
And chides herself, that ever she believ'd
Her Lord to such Injustice cou'd proceed,
Till she her self were Witness of the Deed.
Next Morn I to the Woods again repair,
And, weary with the Chase, invoke the Air;
Approach, dear Aura, and my Bosom chear:
At which a mournful Sound did strike my Ear;
Yet I proceeded, 'till the Thicket by,
With rustling Noise and Motion, drew my Eye:
I thought some Beast of Prey was shelter'd there.
And to the Covert threw my certain Spear;
From whence a tender Sigh my Soul did wound,
Ah me! it cry'd, and did like Procris sound.
Procris was there, too well the Voice I knew,
And to the Place with headlong Horror flew;
Where I beheld her gasping on the Ground,
In vain attempting from the deadly Wound
To draw the Dart, her Love's dear fatal Gift!
My guilty Arms had scarce the Strength to lift
The beauteous Load; my Silks, and Hair I tore
(If possible) to stanch the pressing Gore;
For Pity beg'd her keep her flitting Breath,
And not to leave me guilty of her Death.
While I intreat she fainted fast away,
And these few Words had only Strength to say;
By all the sacred Bonds of plighted Love,
By all your Rev'rence to the Pow'rs above,
By all that made me charming once appear,
By all the Truth for which you held me dear,
And last by Love, the Cause through which I bleed,
Let Aura never to my Bed succeed.
I then perceiv'd the Error of our Fate,
And told it her, but found and told too late!

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