At every wave, and through her gaping side
And o’er her shattered bulwark ever drinks,
Till plunging in the watery wild she sinks,
To scoop her grave beneath the crushing tide:
17
So with each word her broken spirit drank
Its doom; and overwhelm’d with deep despair
She turn’d away, and coming forth she sank
Silently weeping on the temple stair,
In midmost night, forspent with long turmoil: