Higher rose the walls and beams, and higher;
Then the wretch first saw the fate prepared her,
And she shriek’d aloud in her despair;
In her woe implored her husband’s brothers:
“Can ye think of God?—have ye no pity?
Can ye thus immure me, young and healthful?”
But in vain, in vain were her entreaties;
And her brothers left her thus imploring.
Shame and fear succeeded then to censure,
And she piteously invoked her husband: