At this a deadly pale her cheeks o'erspread,
Cold trembling seiz'd her limbs, her spirits fled;
She sunk into his arms: the prince was mov'd,
Felt all her griefs, for still he greatly lov'd.
He sigh'd, he wish'd he could forget his throne;
Confine his thoughts, and live for her alone;
But glory shot him deep, the venom'd dart
Was fix'd within, and rankled at his heart;
He cou'd not hide its wounds, but pin'd away
Like a sick flow'r, and languish'd in decay.
An age no longer like a month appears,
But ev'ry month becomes a hundred years.