It is their savage mode of death I dread;
Say could you bear to see me lying here,
Weltering in blood, by ruthless butchers shed?
“Fancy their bloody hands wreathed in my hair—
That silken hair you used so much to prize;
Dragged—struck—faint—bleeding!—could you bear
To see all this before your very eyes?
“Pierced by a hundred knives, my life-blood flows
In purple streams—could you look on and see,
Unmoved—my murderers watch my dying throes—