ing armies, thither come,
Shall reconciled be.
We'll ask no epitaph, but say,
ORINDA and ROSANIA.

The exaggerated pitch of sentiment in Orinda, the sensitive and
absorbing demands of her affection, and, perhaps, some lightness, or
even falsity, on the part of Rosania, led to a rupture. The indignant
and unhappy Orinda expressed her sorrows in several heartfelt poems,
one of which bears the superscription, "To the Queen of Inconstancy,
Regina Collier:"

Unworthy, since thou hast decreed
Thy love and honor both shall bleed,
My friendship could not choose to die
In better time or company.

Another is entitled, "On Rosania's Apostacy and Lucasia's
Friendship." For the injured Orinda tried to find solace for the loss
of an old, in the arms of a new, friend; or, rather, by transferring
to one, in intensified unity, the love and attention she had before
divided between two. She writes "To my Lucasia, in Defence of
Declared Friendship,"

I did not live until this time Crowned my felicity,
When I could say, without a crime,
I am not thine but thee.

And, again, in "Friendship's Mystery, To my dearest Lucasia,"

Our hearts are mutual victims laid,
While they, such power in friendship lies,
Are altars, priests, and offerings made;
And each heart which thus kindly dies,
Grows deathless by the sacrifice.

For a good while this attachment kept its keen flavor, and was only
heightened by sympathy in misfortunes and distress. Cowley celebrated
it in the following lines:

The fame of friendship which so long had told
Of three or four illustrious names of old,
Till hoarse and weary of the tale she grew,
Rejoices now to have got a new,
A new and more surprising story,
Of fair Lucasia and Orinda's glory.

Mr. Owen, Lucasia's husband, died. Mrs. Phillips went from a distance
to visit her bereaved friend, and they fell into each other's arms
with copious tears. In a poem, Orinda describes this meeting under
the beautiful image of two sister rivulets, which, creeping from
their separate springs, in secret currents under ground, burst
together at last, swollen by their own embraces to a flood. Lucasia
marries again, and becomes Lady Dungannon. This marriage, by the new
scenes, ties, and pleasures it introduces, proves the undoing of poor
Orinda's happiness. Lucasia cools towards her, allows her less space
in her heart than she craves; and finally we have a reluctant
farewell poem, bearing the ominous title, "Orinda to Luca