But she appears! Verona sees her shorn
Of all her beams—while nations gaze and mourn—750
Ere yet her husband's ashes have had time
To chill in their inhospitable clime;
(If e'er those awful ashes can grow cold;—
But no,—their embers soon will burst the mould;)
She comes!—the Andromache (but not Racine's,
Nor Homer's,)—Lo! on Pyrrhus' arm[349] she leans![ew]
Yes! the right arm, yet red from Waterloo,
Which cut her lord's half-shattered sceptre through,