And as she sat, and pleased her longing sight, Viewing the king’s pavilion, veil’d with white, “Should joy or grief,” she said, “possess my breast, To see my country by a war oppress’d? I’m in suspense! for, though ’tis grief to know I love a man that is declared my foe, Yet, in my own despite, I must approve That lucky war, which brought the man I love: Yet were I tender’d as a pledge of peace, The cruelties of war might quickly cease: O! with what joy I’d wear the chains he gave, A patient hostage, and a willing slave. Thou lovely object! if the nymph that bare Thy charming person were but half so fair, Well might a god her lovely bloom desire, And with a kiss indulge his youthful fire. O! had I wings to glide along the air, To his dear tent I’d fly, and settle there; There tell my quality, confess my flame, And grant him any dowry that he’d name; All, all I’d give; only my native land, My dearest country, should excepted stand: For, perish love, and all expected joys, Ere with so base a thought my soul complies.