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But who can tell what Pangs, what sharp Remorse
Torment the Boian Prince? From Native Soil
Exil'd by Fate, torn from the dear Embrace
Of weeping Consort, and depriv'd the Sight
Of his young guiltless Progeny, he seeks
Inglorious Shelter, in an Alien Land;
Deplorable! but that his Mind averse
To Right, and Insincere, would violate
His plighted Faith: Why did he not accept
Friendly Composure offer'd? or well weigh,
With Whom he must Contend? Encount'ring fierce
The Solymæan Sultan, he o'erthrew
His Moony Troops, returning bravely smear'd
With Painim Blood effus'd; nor did the Gaul
Not find him once a baleful Foe: But when,
Of Counsel rash, new Measures he persues,
Unhappy Prince! (no more a Prince) he sees
Too late his Error, forc'd t'implore Relief
Of Him, he once defy'd. O Destitute
Of Hope, unpity'd! Thou should'st first have thought
Of persevering stedfast; now upbraid
Thy own inconstant Ill-aspiring Heart.
Lo! how the Noric Plains, thrô Thy Default,
Rise hilly, with large Piles of slaughter'd Knights,
Best Men, that Warr'd still firmly for their Prince,
Thô Faithless, and Unshaken Duty shew'd;
Worthy of Better End. Where Cities stood,
Well Fenc'd, and Numerous, Desolation Reigns,
And Emptiness, dismay'd, unfed, unhous'd,
The Widow, and the Orphan Strole around
The Desart wide; with oft retorted Eye
They view the Gaping Walls, and Poor Remains
Of Mansions, once their own (now loathsome Haunts
Of Birds obscene), bewailing loud the Loss
Of Spouse, or Sire, or Son, e'er Manly Prime
Slain in sad Conflict, and complain of Fate
As Partial, and too Rigorous; nor find
Where to Retire themselves, or where Appease
Th'afflictive keen Desire of Food, expos'd
To Winds, and Storms, and Jaws of Savage Beasts.