XLVI.

Behold, with berries smeared, with brambles torn, The babes, now famished, lay them down to die; 'Midst the wild howl of darksome woods forlorn, Folded in one another's arms they lie; Nor friend, nor stranger, hears their dying cry: 'For from the town the man returns no more.' But thou, who Heaven's just vengeance darest defy, This deed with fruitless tears shalt soon deplore, When Death lays waste thy house, and flames consume thy store.