His bed uneasy and unbless’d his meal,
For three sad years the boy his tortures bore,
And then his pains and trials were no more.
“How died he, Peter?” when the people said,
He growl’d - “I found him lifeless in his bed;”
Then tried for softer tone, and sigh’d, “Poor Sam is dead.”
Yet murmurs were there, and some questions ask’d -
How he was fed, how punish’d, and how task’d?
Much they suspected, but they little proved,
And Peter pass’d untroubled and unmoved.