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And now Heav'n calls, and now ſhe is reſign'd,
And only this dear Pledge is left behind.
But oh her Lord! what ſorrow ſwell'd his heart,
Too great for numbers, and too high for art!
Such grief the Muſe, when deeper colours fail,
Muſt, like Apelles, hide beneath a veil.
Not the pale Merchant on ſtrange billows toft,
His Goods, his Ship, and all his Comfort 1oſt:
When unrelenting waves have left no more,
Than one ſmall plank to bear him faſe to ſhore;
Half ſuch concern in deepeſt ſadneſs ſhows,
Nor, tho' undone, can he have half the cauſe.
While nothing now remains but fad deſpair;
Strait on the deareſt object of his care
He looks, and fees his Mariana there.
Then pining grief by ſlow degrees removes,
For Her he ſtill enjoys, and ſtill he loves.
So Troys great Heroe, when the flaming Town
He'd paſt, and found his dear Creuſa gone;
Hector and Priam he could now forget,
And thought this crime enough to charge on fate.
And now he turn'd, and was reſolv'd to dare
The Conqu'ring Foe, and challenge all the War.
But when behind his weeping eyes were caſt,
And ſaw the Matron in the Child expreſt:
Now big with hope, H' embrac't the lovely Boy,
And fair Aſcanius was his double Joy.
O. X. O. N. C. C. C. July 27.
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