So in her father’s arms thus languidly,

While over her with earnest gaze he hung,

Silent and motionless she lay,

And painfully and slowly writh’d at fits,

At fits to short convulsive starts was stung.

Till when the struggle and strong agony

Had left her, quietly she lay repos’d:

Her eyes now resting on Ladurlad’s face,

Relapsing now, and now again unclos’d.

The look she fix’d upon his face, implies

Nor thought nor feeling; senselessly she lies,

Compos’d like one who sleeps with open eyes.