 | Juvenile poems on various subjects |  |
SCENE III.
Arsaces,alone.
'Tis here that hapless Bethas is confin'd;
He who, but yesterday, like angry Jove,
When punishing the crimes of guilty men,
Spread death and desolation all around,
While Parthia trembl'd at his name; is now
133
Wrapt in the gloomy horrors of a goal.—
How dark, and hidden, are the turns of fate!
His rigid fortune moves me to compassion.
O! 'tis a heav'nly virtue when the heart
Can feel the sorrows of another's bosom,
It dignifies the man: The stupid wretch
Who knows not this sensation, is an image,
And wants the feeling to make up a life—
I'll in, and give my aid to sooth his sorrows.
| Juvenile poems on various subjects | |