Page:Poems of Anne Countess of Winchilsea 1903.djvu/499

COUNTESS OF WINCHILSEA 361 �I, who in thy rocky way, �Cloth'd in Eagles Feathers lay, 60 �And in safety brought thee down, �Where none living e'er was known. �Chearful Hope I bring thee now, �Chearful Hope the Gods allow, �Mortal, on their Pleasures wait, �Nor rush into the arms of Fate. [The Voice ceases. �Aristom. To hope, is still the Temper of the Brave : And tho' a just Despair had dispossess'd it, Yet, thus encourag'd, will I trust the Gods With those few Moments, Nature has to spare me ; 70 �Nor follow thee, thou bad persuading Spirit. Yet tell me, who thou art, and why thou tempt'st me ? �1st Voice. I thy evil Genius am, �To Phcerea with thee came ; �Hung o'er thee in the murd'ring Croud, �And clapp'd my dusky Wings aloud ; �Now endeavour'd to deceive thee, �And will never, never, leave thee. 2d Voice. I'll protect him from thy Pow'r. 1st Voice. I shall find a careless Hour. 80 �2d Voice. Laurels He again shall wear, �War and Honour's Trumpet hear. 1st Voice. For one fatal, famous Day, �He his dearest Blood shall pay. �Hear it ye repeating Stones, �And confirm it by your Groans! �[A dismal Groan is heard round the Dungeon. �Aristom. What all this Bellowing for a Conqueror's �Death! �The Field of Honour is his Bed of Ease ; He toils for't all the Day of his hard Life, ��� �