INFANTICIDE. 
105 
Down among the reeds she cower’d. 
There gently laid the fated child, 
And o’er it, from her basket, piled 
Green leaves and blossoms shower’d. 
Then, pressing both hands to her head. 
As if in agony of fear 
Its dying shriek to hear, 
Nerved by despair, with frenzied speed she fled. 
