"Were I not sick of bridal torch and bower, This once, perchance, I had been frail again.
Anna--for I will own it--since the hour When, poor Sychaeus miserably slain, A brother's murder rent a home in twain, He, he alone my stubborn will could tame, And stir the balance of my soul.

Too plain I know the traces of the long-quenched flame; The sparks of love revive, rekindled, but the same.
IV.

"But O! gape Earth, or may the Sire of might Hurl me with lightning to the Shades amain, Pale shades of Erebus and abysmal Night, Ere, wifely modesty, thy name I stain, Or dare thy sacred precepts to profane.
Nay, he whose love first linked us long ago, Took all my love, and he shall still retain And guard it with him in the grave below." She spake, and o'er her lap the gushing tears outflow.
V.

Then Anna: "Sister, dearer than the day, Why thus in loneliness and endless woe Wilt thou for ever wear thy youth away?
Nor care sweet sons, fair Venus' gifts to know?
Think'st thou such grief concerns the shades below?
What though no husband, Libyan or of Tyre, Could bend a heart made desolate; what though In vain Iarbas did thy love desire, And Africa's proud chiefs, why quench a pleasing fire?
VI.

"Think too, whose lands surround thee: on this side, Gaetulian cities, an unconquered race, Numidians, reinless as the steeds they ride, And cheerless Syrtis hold thee in embrace; There fierce Barcaeans and a sandy space Wasted by drought.