我的脉搏，我的血管，我的呼吸，都因你的病而僵硬;亚历山大在写给他的信中写道:为了安抚你的白昼，抚慰你的不眠之夜，我送你爱:噢!我可以把我的灵魂传授给你的心!这样，当凶猛的瘟热平息后，他们就可以重新战斗，击退寒冷的敌人。就像在阿尔贝拉平原上，当波斯人穿过我们的军队开辟了道路，当粗野的斯基泰人在劫掠中奔逃，当他们用倒刺的叫声宣布胜利时，天神之鸟在我头顶上扇动着支撑的空气(为了阻止迅速的绝望)，在我的羽毛上展翅飞翔，无论我在哪里强行前进，它都跟着我;而阿里斯塔德，穿着白袍，向摇摆的军队展示了祥瑞的景象;它在每个人心中激起新的勇气，并立即赢得东方帝国。可是现在，他听到了一个好消息，说他的身体可能会恢复健康。愿你接受我的愿望，接受我深情的拥抱;当我们一起到帐棚里去聆听皇家俘虏的歌声时，亚历山大像你一样，俯伏在地上崇拜希西甘比斯;在伟大的Æsculapius之上，他站立着，或者被阿佩莱斯·汉德赐予不朽。 But no reviving Hope his Art allows, And such cold Damps invade my anxious Brows, As, when in Cydnus plung'd, I dar'd the Flood T' o'er-match the Boilings of my youthful Blood. But Philip to my Aid repair'd in haste; And whilst the proffer'd Draught I boldly taste, As boldly He the dangerous Paper views, Which of hid Treasons does his Fame accuse. More thy Physician's Life on Thine depends, And what he gives, his Own preserves, or ends. If thou expir'st beneath his fruitless Care, To Rhadamanthus shall the Wretch repair, And give strict Answer for his Errors there. Near thy Pavilion list'ning Princes wait, Seeking from thine to learn their Monarch's State. Submitting Kings, that post from Day to Day, To keep those Crowns, which at my Feet they lay, Forget th' ambitious Subject of their Speed, And here arriv'd, only Thy Dangers heed. The Beauties of the Clime, now Thou'rt away, Droop, and retire, as if their God of Day No more upon their early Pray'rs would shine, Or take their Incense, at his late Decline. Thy Parisatis whom I fear to name, Lest to thy Heat it add redoubl'd Flame; Thy lovely Wife, thy Parisatis weeps, And in her Grief a solemn Silence keeps. Stretch'd in her Tent, upon the Floor she lies, So pale her Looks, so motionless her Eyes, As when they gave thee leave at first to gaze Upon the Charms of her unguarded Face; When the beauteous Sisters lowly knelt, And su'd to those, who more than Pity felt. To chear her now Statira vainly proves, And at thy Name alone she sighs, and moves. But why these single Griefs shou'd I expose? The World no Mirth, no War, no Bus'ness knows, But, hush'd with Sorrow stands, to favour thy Repose. Ev'n I my boasted Title now resign, Not Ammon's Son, nor born of Race Divine, But Mortal all, oppress'd with restless Fears, Wild with my Cares, and Womanish in Tears. Tho' Tears, before, I for lost Clytus shed, And wept more Drops, than the old Hero bled; Ev'n now, methinks, I see him on the Ground, Now my dire Arms the wretched Corpse surround, Now the fled Soul I wooe, now rave upon the Wound. Yet He, for whom this mighty Grief did spring, Not Alexander valu'd, but the King. Then think, how much that Passion must transcend, Which not a Subject raises but a Friend: An equal Partner in the vanquished Earth, A Brother, not impos'd upon my Birth, Too weak a Tye unequal Thoughts to bind, But by the gen'rous Motions of the Mind. My Love to thee for Empire was the Test, Since him, who from Mankind cou'd chuse the best, The Gods thought only fit for Monarch o'er the rest. Live then, my Friend; but if that must not be, Nor Fate will with my boundless Mind agree, Affording, at one time, the World and Thee; To the most Worthy I'll that Sway resign, And in Elysium keep Hyphaestion mine.