There were low, lengthen’d tones with sobs between,
And near at hand, but nothing yet was seen; 570
She hurried on, and “Who is there?” she cried;
“A dying wretch!”—was from the earth replied.
It was her lover, was the man she gave—
The price she paid, himself from death to save—
With whom, expiring, she must kneel and pray, }
While the soul flitted from the shivering clay }
That press’d the dewy ground, and bled its life away! }
This was the part that duty bad her take,