Around her vainly clung his feeble hands
With sacred instinct: love hath lost its sway,
While ruthless zeal the sacrifice demands,
And the fires blaze, impatient for their prey.
Let not his shrieks reveal the dreadful tale!
Well may the drum’s loud peal o’erpower an infant’s wail?
XXV.
A voice of sorrow! not from thence it rose;
’Twas not the childless mother. Syrian maids,
Where with red wave the mountain streamlet flows,