Through great deserts we wandered on our way—
Forward we passed on narrow bridge of trie,
O'er waters great, which hediously did roar.
Again, she supposes herself suspended over an infernal gulph:
Ere I was ware, one gripped me at the last,
And held me high above a naming fire.
The fire was great; the heat did pierce me sore;
My faith grew weak.; my grip was very small;
I trembled fast; my fear grew more and more.
A horrible picture of the same kind, dictated probably by the author's unhappy state of mind, is to be found in Brooke's Fool of Quality. The dreamer, a ruined female, is suspended over the gulph of perdition by a single hair, which is severed by a demon, who, in the form of her seducer springs upwards from the flames.