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THE PRINCESS;
The forum, and half-crush'd among the restA little Cato cower'd. On the other sideHortensia spoke against the tax; behind,A train of dames: by axe and eagle sat,With all their foreheads drawn in Roman scowls,And half the wolf's-milk curdled in their veins,The fierce triumvirs; and before them pausedHortensia, pleading: angry was her face.
 I saw the forms: I knew not where I was:Sad phantoms conjured out of circumstance,Ghosts of the fading brain, they seem'd; nor moreSweet Ida: palm to palm she sat: the dewDwelt in her eyes, and softer all her shapeAnd rounder show'd; I moved: I sigh'd: a touchCame round my wrist, and tears upon my hand:Then all for languor and self-pity ranMine down my face, and with what life I had,And like a flower that cannot all unfold,So drench'd it is with tempest, to the sun,
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