XLI.

Then with a frantic energy he tore The earth light-piled upon the new-made grave; Digging with kite-like nails till they were sore, But slow his progress, dire the toil he gave. Ill brooked his soul of time to be the slave. Again he tore the earth, till stiff and numb His hands refuse the task. Not demons rave More wild than he; he shrieked and howled o’ercome; And tears like molten lead descend till he is dumb!