Murderous, with double doom,
Wrought unto full completeness all these ills.
What shall I say? What else
Are they than woes that make this house their home?
But oh! my friends, ply, ply with swift, strong gale,
That even stroke of hands upon your head,[[127]]
850
In funeral order, such as evermore
O'er Acheron sends on
[*]That bark of State, dark-rigged, accursed its voyage,