And dearly he shall bide my wrath,"
"Who? who?" "Moyarra. Both I tracked;8
But 'tis enough; I know the fact;
And for the rest, my deeds shall prove
That hate most deadly sprung from love."
He ceased, and by the fire reclined,
Sought in sweet sleep to soothe his mind.
The silent chiefs around withdrew
Their several pleasures to renew.
Not theirs the prompt officious zeal
To probe the wound it cannot heal,
Question on question hurrying
To fan the flame that grows within:
By nature prompted they restrain
From tasking Sorrow to explain.
And leave to Time those wounds to soothe
Inflicted by Care's arrowy tooth.
XI.
Unconscious of a joy denied,
And at the wish each want supplied.
Dark Mytah with her lover passed
Hours which were all too sweet to last.
