TRANSLATIONS, &c.
141
Nor parting kiss I gave nor tender tear; 105
My ruin flew on swifter wings than fear:
My wrongs, too safely treasur'd in my mind,
Are all the pledges Phaon left behind;
Nor could I make my last desire to thee,
Sometimes to cast a pitying thought on me. 110
But, Gods! when first the killing news I heard,
What pale amazement in my looks appear'd!
A while o'erwhelm'd with unexpected woe,
My tongue forebore to speak, my eyes to flow:
But when my sense was waken'd to despair, 115
I beat my tender breast, and tore my hair;
As a distracted mother weeps forlorn,
When to the grave her fondling babe is borne.
Mean-while my cruel brother, for relief,
With scorn insults me, and derides my grief: 120
"Poor Soul!" he cries, "I doubt she grows sincere;
"Her daughter is return'd to life I fear."
Mindless of fame, I to the world reveal
The love so long I labour'd to conceal.
Thou, thou art fame, and all the world, to me; 125
All day I dote, and dream all night, of thee:
Tho' Phaon fly to regions far remote,
By Sleep his image to my bed is brought:
Around my neck thy fond embraces twine,
Anon I think my arms encircle thine: 130
Then the warm wishes of my soul I speak,
Which from my tongue in dying murmurs break.
My ruin flew on swifter wings than fear:
My wrongs, too safely treasur'd in my mind,
Are all the pledges Phaon left behind;
Nor could I make my last desire to thee,
Sometimes to cast a pitying thought on me. 110
But, Gods! when first the killing news I heard,
What pale amazement in my looks appear'd!
A while o'erwhelm'd with unexpected woe,
My tongue forebore to speak, my eyes to flow:
But when my sense was waken'd to despair, 115
I beat my tender breast, and tore my hair;
As a distracted mother weeps forlorn,
When to the grave her fondling babe is borne.
Mean-while my cruel brother, for relief,
With scorn insults me, and derides my grief: 120
"Poor Soul!" he cries, "I doubt she grows sincere;
"Her daughter is return'd to life I fear."
Mindless of fame, I to the world reveal
The love so long I labour'd to conceal.
Thou, thou art fame, and all the world, to me; 125
All day I dote, and dream all night, of thee:
Tho' Phaon fly to regions far remote,
By Sleep his image to my bed is brought:
Around my neck thy fond embraces twine,
Anon I think my arms encircle thine: 130
Then the warm wishes of my soul I speak,
Which from my tongue in dying murmurs break.
