The cringing nobles that on her did wait,
The high-born dames that kneeled at her beck?
Alas! a ghastly face, a bloody neck,
A simple winding-sheet is now her share;
Look here, ye proud ones, on this mighty wreck,
And learn what perishable stuff ye are,
From her poor mangled carcase, once so sweet and fair.
VII.
And on the ground there lay a murder’d child,
A piteous sight it was, and full of woe,