CLXVII.

Hark! forth from the abyss a voice proceeds,[532] A long low distant murmur of dread sound, Such as arises when a nation bleeds With some deep and immedicable wound;-- Through storm and darkness yawns the rending ground-- The gulf is thick with phantoms, but the Chief Seems royal still, though with her head discrowned, And pale, but lovely, with maternal grief-- She clasps a babe, to whom her breast yields no relief.