Hid her pale face, and closed her aching eyes.
But hark! why shout the monks?—C£ Again,” they said,
“Again the demon comes!” with desperate dread
Starts the poor wretch, and lifts her anguish’d head.
Yes! there the infant-murderer stood once more,
But now far different were the looks he wore.
No bending knee, no suppliant glance was seen,
Proud was his port, and stern and fierce his mien.
His blood-stain’d eye-balls glared with vengeful ire;
His spreading nostrils seem’d to snort out fire.