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“ The clinging kiss of Cypris at his side-- Alas, he knew not that she kissed him as he died! I wail--responsive wail the Loves with me. Ah, cruel, cruel is that wound of thine, But Cypris' heart-wound aches more bitterly. The Oreads weep; thy faithful hounds low whine; But Cytherea's unbound tresses fine Float on the wind; where thorns her white feet wound, Along the oaken glades drops blood divine. She calls her lover; he, all crimsoned round His fair white breast with blood, hears not the piteous sound. Alas! for Cytherea wail the Loves, With the beloved dies her beauty too. ”
