Page:Poems - Lewis (1812).djvu/76

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POEMS.
Locks of torn hair; and still in frantic toneOf mingled rage and pain, half shriek, half groan,I raved of honest hearts with treachery paid,Of perjured love, false Friends, and trust betrayed,And curst in bitter grief and fury vainMan's flinty heart, and woman's fickle brain.
When lo! as thus in maniac state I lay,A Matron tow'rds me won her easy way[1].With solemn step She moved: Her robes of whiteOf vestal-make, though not so dazzling bright,Were pure as Virtue's own and o'er her headA cyprus veil in decent guise was spread,Fixt on her forehead by a sacred wreath,And past in graceful folds her chin beneath.Inspiring awe, but awe unmixed with fear,Calm was her cloudless eye: Her brow, so clearFrom wrinkles, spoke [though pale] a heart, which ne'erHad known the withering touch of guilt or care.A bowl, around whose brim the poppy reigned,In her right hand She bore: Her left sustained
  1. ↑ Gray.
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