The dark-brow’d throng, more near and more,
With murderous looks are on me thrust;
And lo! they ope the accursed door,
And I must go—I know I must! 40
VI.
That female fiend!—Why is she there?
Alas! I know her.—Oh, begone!
Why is that tainted bosom bare?
Why fix’d on me that eye of stone?
Why have they left us thus alone?