XVII.
On! on!—behold the foe! their speed
Shames all past efforts;—every nerve
To straining, ministers to their need
When most its sacrifice may serve.
Rapid, they gain: the conscious foe
Now, first, his danger starts to know:
With fiercer gesture, feller tone,
His trembling prey he urges on:—
She, witless of the succour nigh
Tasks her reluctant strength to fly:
Now, now, Moyarra! let your need
Add wings to favour yet your speed.
Yet, look back, Mytah! as a flower
Beneath the pitiless thunderstorm
Droops, laden with the dropping shower,
So yielded Mytah's fainting form:—
Her fate how different! from her fall
No gentle breath can bid her rise:—
Life's sunshine never can recall
The light of life to her dark eyes.
Muntookan paused—and backward cast
One glance—a moment, and 'tis passed—
