Far off they kept; but soon, more daring grown,
More near they crept, oft sharpening on some stone
Their long crookt claws; and still, as on they came,
They screeched and chattered; and their eyes of flame,
Twinkling and goggling, told, what pleasure grim
‘Twould give to rack and rend her limb from limb:
—“Heaven take my soul!” she cried,—when, hark! a
moan,
So full, so sad, so strange—not shriek—not groan—
Something scarce earthly—breathed above her head—