Plaintive again he moan’d, and with slow steps withdrew.
She is alone; she breathes again!—Fly, fly!—
Ah! wretched girl, too late! with frenzied eye,
(Scarce gone the master-fiend) his imps she sees,
Pour from the rocks, and drop from all the trees
With yell, and squeak, and many a horrid sound,
And form a living fence to hedge her round:
—“Now then,” she cried, 4 c all’s over!—oh! farewell,
Farewell, Rosalvo!” On her knee she fell,
And told her beads with trembling hands. Yet still