Inspired her there were Gods to pity pain,
Or end it,—but she lifts her arms in vain!
XCIV.
Poor gilded Grief! the subtle light by this
With mazy gold creeps through her watery mine,
And, diving downward through the green abyss,
Lights up her palace with an amber shine;
There, falling on her arms,—the crystal skin
Reveals the ruby tide that fares within.
XCV.