Hearing their yells grow fainter, till at last they died away.

Gray dawned the wintry morning on that awful scene of death,

And five cold brows of marble were kissed[116] by its chilling breath—

God in his wisdom took them—save Nellie, who ne’er was found;

And all of them sleep in this valley, each ’neath a grassy mound.

Poor little Nell may be living, but if living she’s dead to me;

Yes, the tale is indeed a true one—and my name?—is Roderick Lee.

—Geo. M. Vickers.

[Gestures.]