Of her bright ruby lip, and eye
That shames the Arabic gazelle;
They tell of her cheek’s glowing dye,
Of her arch look and witching spell:
But there is not that man on earth
Who at that hour had felt like mirth.”
Worse than all, he had been watching by a corpse, in company with a young lady of his acquaintance, when
“She trifled, ay, that angel maid,
She trifled where the dead was laid!”