Once, and but once, his features wrath express’d:
He saw her shudder, as it drain’d her breast;
And, while reproach half mingled with his moan,
Snatch’d it from her’s, and press’d it to his own.
Three months had pass’d; still lived the monster-brat:
Its sire had sought the wood; alone she sat:
She sheds no tears—no tears are left to shed;
Unmoisten’d burn her eyes—her heart seems dead—
Her form seems marble. Lo! from far the sound
Of music steals, and fills the caves around.