“Melanthon, how I loved, the gods who saw
“Each secret image that my fancy formed,
“The gods can witness how I loved my Phocion,
“And yet I went not with him. Could I do it?
“Could I desert my father?—Could I leave
“The venerable man, who gave me being,
“A victim here in Syracuse, nor stay
“To watch his fate, to visit his affliction,
“To cheer his prison hours, and with the tear
“Of filial virtue bid each bondage smile.”