Is like the scorpion girt by fire,—
In circle narrowing as it glows,
The flames around their captive close,
Till, inly search’d by thousand throes,
And maddening in her ire,
One sad and sole relief she knows,
The sting she nourish’d for her foes,
Whose venom never yet was vain,
Gives but one pang, and cures all pain,
And darts into her desperate brain.”