And seaward ran, her visage tearing sore, Presaging, and now certain of her plight:
She beat her bosom, and her tresses tore, And looked (the moon was shining) if she might Discover any thing beside the shore;
Nor, save the shore, was any thing in sight.
She calls Bireno, and the caverns round, Pitying her grief, Bireno's name rebound.
