 | The Distrest Mother |  |
SCENE III.
Orestes, alone.
Then is Orestes blest! My Griefs are fled!
Fled like a Dream!—Methinks I tread in Air!
Pyrrhus, enamour'd of his Captive Queen,
Will thank me, if I take her Rival hence:
He looks not on the Princess with my Eyes!
Surprizing Happiness! unlook'd-for Joy!
Never let Love despair!—The Prize is mine!
Be smooth, ye Seas; and, ye propitious Winds,
Breathe from Epirus to the Spartan Coasts!
I long to view the Sails unfurl'd—But, see!
Pyrrhus approaches in a happy Hour.
Fled like a Dream!—Methinks I tread in Air!
Pyrrhus, enamour'd of his Captive Queen,
Will thank me, if I take her Rival hence:
He looks not on the Princess with my Eyes!
Surprizing Happiness! unlook'd-for Joy!
Never let Love despair!—The Prize is mine!
Be smooth, ye Seas; and, ye propitious Winds,
Breathe from Epirus to the Spartan Coasts!
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Pyrrhus approaches in a happy Hour.
| The Distrest Mother | |