hand to thine?
"To thine, whose ruthless heart has caus'd my pains,
"Whose barb'rous hands the blood of Zamor stains! 120
"Can'st thou--the murd'rer of my peace, controul
"The grief that swells, the pang that rends my soul?
"That pang shall death, shall death alone remove,
"And cure the anguish of despairing love."

In vain th' enamour'd youth essay'd each art 125
To calm her sorrows, and to sooth her heart;
While, in the range of thought, her tender breast
Could find no hope, on which her griefs might rest,
While her soft soul, which Zamor's image fills,
Shrinks from the cruel author of its ills. 130
At length to madness stung by fix'd disdain,
The victor gives to rage the fiery rein;
And bids her sorrows flow from that fond source
Where strong affection feels their keenest force,
Whose breast, when most it suffers, only heeds 135
The sharper pangs by which another bleeds:
For now his cruel mandate doom'd her sire
Stretch'd on the bed of torture, to expire;
Bound on the rack, unmov'd the victim lies,
Stifling in agony weak nature's sighs. 140
But oh, what form of language can impart
The frantic grief that wrung Aciloe's heart,
When to the height of hopeless sorrow wrought,
The fainting spirit feels a pang of thought,
Which never painted in the hues of speech, 145
Lives at the soul, and mocks expression's reach!
At length she trembling cried, "the conflict's o'er,
"My heart, my breaking heart can bear no more--
"Yet spare his feeble age--my vows receive,
"And oh, in mercy, bid my father live!"-- 150
"Wilt them be mine?" the enamour'd chief replies,
"Yes, cruel! see, he dies, my father dies--
"Save, save, my father"--"Dear, angelic maid,
"The charm'd Alphonso cried, be swift obey'd:
"Unbind his chains--Ah, calm each anxious Pain, 155
"Aciloe's voice no more shall plead in vain;
"Plac'd near his child, thy aged sire shall share
"Our joys still cherish'd by thy tender care"--
"No more (she cried) will fate that bliss allow,
"Before my lips shall breathe the nuptial vow, 160
"Some faithful guide shall lead his aged feet,
"To distant scenes that yield a safe retreat;
"Where some soft heart, some gentle hand, will shed
"The drops of comfort on his hoary head:
"My Zamor, if thy spirit trembles near,