Then o'er the Posts, once hung with Wreaths, he throws
The ready Cord, and fits the fatal Noose;
For Death prepares; and bounding from above,
At once the Wretch concludes his Life, and Love.
E'er long the People gather, and the Dead
Is to his mourning Mother's Arms convey'd.
First, like some ghastly Statue, she appears;
Then baths the breathless Coarse in Seas of Tears,
And gives it to the Pile; now as the Throng
Proceed in sad Solemnity along,
To view the passing Pomp, the cruel Fair
Hastes, and beholds her breathless Lover there.
Struck with the Sight, inanimate she seems;
Set are her Eyes, and motionless her Limbs:
Her Features without Fire, her Colour gone,
And, like her Heart, she hardens into Stone.
In Salamis the Statue still is seen
In the fam'd Temple of the Cyprian Queen.
Warn'd by this Tale, no longer then disdain,
O Nymph belov'd, to ease a Lover's Pain.
So may the Frosts in Spring your Blossoms spare,
And Winds their rude Autumnal Rage forbear.
The Story oft Vertumnus urg'd in vain,
But then assum'd his heav'nly Form again.
Such Looks, and Lustre the bright Youth adorn,
As when with Rays glad Phœbus paints the Morn.
The Sight so warms the fair admiring Maid,
Like Snow she melts: So soon can Youth persuade.
Consent, on eager Wings, succeeds Desire;
And both the Lovers glow with mutual Fire.
The Latian Line continu'd.
Now Procas yielding to the Fates, his Son
Mild Numitor succeeded to the Crown.
