The fury passions riot in her brain,
And all is rage, revenge, and helpless, hopeless pain.
Days, weeks, months pass. Time came with slow relief;
But still at length it came. No more her grief
Disturbs her brain: she knows “that groan was his!”
And fully feels herself the wretch she is.
She rises: towards the grotto’s mouth she goes,
Nor dares the fiend her wandering steps oppose.
She seeks the spot on which Rosalvo fell,
On which he died! She knows that spot too well!