Romans, said he, old Marius now must die: These seven fair eagles, birds of mighty Jove, That at my birthday on my cradle sat, Now at my last day warn[150] me to my death, And lo, I feel the deadly pangs approach.

The breast, that may its pangs conceal, Is not from torture freed, For still the wound, that will not heal, Alas! must inly bleed.

I saw her tired eyes gazing into the dreariness of Oakley Street and felt a pang strike through me.

The most powerful pictorial or sculpturesque delineation of the Judgment, when compared with the pangs inflicted on the spirit by a guilty conscience, pangs whereof words may render some account, but which can find no analogue in writhings of the limbs or face, must of necessity be found a failure.