But Cynthia's maid, high seated, from afar
Surveys the field, and fortune of the war,
}
{ Unmoved a while, till, prostrate on the plain,
{ Weltering in blood, she sees Camilla slain,
{ And, round her corpse, of friends and foes a fighting train.
Then, from the bottom of her breast, she drew
A mournful sigh, and these sad words ensue:—
"Too dear a fine, ah much lamented maid!
For warring with the Trojans, thou hast paid: