On came the throng; and soon, with wanton skill
(Lured by its coral glow and cross of gold),
One snatch’d her chaplet, nor forsook his hold,
Though hard she struggled: while more bold, more fierce
Another seized her arm, and dared to pierce
With his sharp teeth its snow. The pure blood stream’d
Fast from the wound, and loud the virgin scream’d;
And strait again was heard that sad strange moan,
And instant all the dwarfs again were flown.
Scarce conscious that she lived, scarce knowing why,