--Don Juan, Canto 4.
Her love was like the raging of a storm,
Sweeping all things before it; and her song
Was like her soul of passion, wild and warm;
She could not brook a slight, or suffer wrong;
And when her heart the treacherous wound received
From him who should have sheltered her from harm,
And soothed her every sorrow when she grieved,
O! how the gushing blood did inly flow!
O! how she wept his falsehood, and her woe!
Hers was melodious mourning; like the dew
Her bright tears fell, for madness made her weep;
Too soon her gold-winged pleasures flew,
Too soon she sank into a slumber deep,—
Lo! high Leucadia now can tell where she doth sleep.