At last, the maid awak'ning as from sleep,
Felt all her soul o'erwhelm'd in deep despair,
Her eyes star'd wild, she rav'd, she could not weep,
She beat her bosom, and she tore her hair!
She look'd now on the ground, now on the skies,
Now gaz'd around, like one imploring aid:
But none was near in pity to her cries,
No comfort came to sooth the hapless maid!
Then grasping in her palm, that shone like snow,
The youth's dead hand, she thus express'd her wo.