She, reluctant to resign
To her own whelp that prey beneath her paw,
The bloody Empire, stealthily 'gan draw
The crimson curtain; with keen ear down-bent
To count the breathings, thick and indolent,
Of her recaptured cub: who, sleeping, smiled,
By visions lewd of folly and lust beguiled.
Anon, she beckon'd to the unshut door:
Whence, crafty-footed, down the glassy floor
Crept to her side (with wither'd features white
Bow'd o'er a trembling lamp) her parasite,
Storax, the lean-lipp'd, low-brow'd Logothete.