Where throng'd spectators wait.
Slow as he past no pious tongue
Pour'd forth a pitying pray'r;
Abhorrence all who saw him felt,
He, horror and despair.
And now the dismal death-bell toll'd,
The fatal cord was hung,
While sudden, deep and dreadful shrieks,
Burst forth amidst the throng.
Hark! 'tis his mother's voice he hears!