Rather with steel thy guilty breast invade,
And take the fortune thou thyself hast made!"
Dryden.
With one strong blow she smote herself to the heart, and fell dead upon the pile she had erected.
"Then swiftly to the fatal place she passed,
And mounts the funeral pile with furious haste;
Unsheathes the sword the Trojan left behind,
Not for so dire an enterprize designed;
But when she viewed the garb so loosely spread,