No plaints were uttered, and a voiceless grief

Lay deep in every bosom: as when death

Knocks at some door but enters not as yet,

Before the mother calls the name aloud

Or bids her grieving maidens beat the breast,

While still she marks the glazing eye, and soothes

The stiffening limbs and gazes on the face,

In nameless dread, not sorrow, and in awe

(Editor：hot)