In the balm of her quiet: but not on the maid fell slumber’s peace {1060}
One whit, but her heart in her bosom for anguish writhed without cease.
Even as when a toiling woman windeth her thread
Through the night, and her fatherless children around her be moaning for bread,
For that widowed she is; and adown her cheeks stream ever the tears
As she thinketh upon this dreary lot that hath darkened her years;
Even so were the maid’s cheeks wet, and her heart evermore in her breast
On the anguish-thorn impaled was writhing in wild unrest.
But amidst of the city the palace within, as in days gone by,
Alkinoüs the king, and the lady of queenliest majesty,