Here she exclaims against repose and rest, (758)
And bids her eyes hereafter still be blind. (759)
She wakes her heart by beating on her breast, (760)
And bids it leap from thence, where it may find (761)
Some purer chest to close so pure a mind.
Frantic with grief thus breathes she forth her spite (763)
Against the unseen secrecy of night: