Deep-breathed and low, yet never sweeter voice
Pour’d forth its hymns in ecstasy to Heaven.
Her hands were bloody, and her garments stain’d
With blood, her face with blood and dust defiled.
Beauty and youth, and grace and majesty,
Had every charm of form and feature given;
But now upon her rigid countenance
Severest anguish set a fixedness
Ghastlier than death.
She led him through the streets