Borne in his arms, she wept, entreated, rav'd;
Then fainted, as a mute farewell she wav'd.
But now the wretch, with low and wildered cries,
Round and around revolving vacant eyes:
Slow from the green departs, and pauses now,
And gnaws her tresses and contracts her brow.
Shock'd by the change, the matrons, stern no more,
Pursue her steps and her return implore:
Soon a poor maniac, innocent of ill,
She wanders unconfined, and drinks the rill,