(Ah, now a maid no more!) distracted, said,
And wrung her hands. Those words she scarce could say;
Yet would have pray’d, but fear’d’t was sin to pray!
That only veil which ne’er admits a stain,
The veil of ignorance, was rent in twain:
In spite of virtue, cloisters, horror, youth,
She knows, and feels, and shudders at the truth.
That night accursed!—In death-like swoon she slept—
Then near her couch if that dark demon crept—
Oh! where was then her guardian angel’s aid?