Their vessels now had made the intended land. And all with joy descend upon the strand, When the false tyrant seized the princely maid, And to a lodge in distant woods convey’d; Pale, sinking, and distress’d with jealous fears, And, asking for her sister, all in tears. The monster, on his purpose fully bent, No longer now delay’d his base intent. Her piercing accents to her sire complain, And to her absent sister, but in vain; In vain she importunes, with doleful cries, Each unattentive godhead of the skies. She pants and trembles like the bleating prey, From some close-hunted wolf just snatch’d away, That still with fearful horror looks around, And on its flank regards the bleeding wound: Or, as the tim’rous dove, the danger o’er, Beholds her shining plumes besmear’d with gore; And though deliver’d from the falcon’s claw, Yet shivers, and retains a secret awe.