The iron rails seem all mingling in one,
To shut out the Green Park scenery!
And now the Cellar its dangers reveals,
She shudders—she shrieks—she's doom'd, she feels,
To be torn by powers of horses and wheels,
Like a spinner by steam machinery!
XCVII.
Sick with horror she shuts her eyes,
But the very stones seem uttering cries,
As they did to that Persian daughter,