She wakes. Flash on her soul—the Fleet’s delay—
Her Mother’s despair as she went her way—
The wrath of Artemis, Her gory rites—
Basilisk glance as Calchas passed that day!
And her sire—not once to have turned and smiled
Upon his best beloved, his first-born child—
The gleam from a ray on a Thing ill veiled—
And a swell of sobs that could not be stilled!
Her knees fail her; and how not? how sustain
The horror! her father to will to stain