And she upon the ground
Pouring rich folds of veil in saffron dyed, 230
Cast at each one of those who sacrificed
A piteous glance that pierced,
Fair as a pictured form;[288]
And wishing,—all in vain,—
To speak; for oftentimes
In those her father's hospitable halls
She sang, a maiden pure with chastest song,
*And her dear father's life
That poured its threefold cup of praise to God,[289]
Crowned with all choicest good,
She with a daughter's love
Was wont to celebrate.