Here animals, there men, strong lights, dark shades,—
The weaver made the lion chief of all:
"Out, monster!" cried the youth, and eyed the wall
With foaming rage: "'tis you that keep me here,
In gloom and fetters. Is it you I fear?"
He spoke, and struck, with all a madman's might,
The beast so innocent. There, out of sight,
Under the hanging, a sharp nail was stuck:
It pricked him deeply, by the worst of luck.
The arts of ?sculapius were in vain:
He joined the shadows that own Pluto's reign.
His death was due to his fond sire's regard,
