LXVII.

Short solace, vain relief!--Thought came too quick, And whirled her brain to madness; she arose As one who ne'er had dwelt among the sick, And flew at all she met, as on her foes; But no one ever heard her speak or shriek, Although her paroxysm drew towards its close;-- Hers was a frenzy which disdained to rave, Even when they smote her, in the hope to save.