avenging fiends sit crouched on the threshold.
So when, spent with agony, she gave conception to the
demon, and resolved on death, she settled with herself
time and means, and thus bespoke her grieving sister, her
face disguising her intent, and hope smiling on her brow:— 30
“Dearest, I have found a way—wish me joy, as a sister
should—to bring him back to me, or to loose me from the
love which binds me to him. Hard by the bound of ocean
and the setting sun lies the extreme Ethiopian clime, where
mighty Atlas turns round on his shoulders the pole, studded 35