A death-knell on his temples, and his breath
Was hot and quick, as is the panting deer’s,
Stretched by the Indian’s arrow on the plain.
“Mother! Oh, mother!” oft his faltering tongue
Shrieked to the cold, bare wall, which echoed back
His wailing in the mocking of despair.
Oh! angel nurse, what sorrow wrung thy heart
For the young sufferer’s grief! She knelt beside
The dying lad, and smoothed his tangled locks
Back from his aching brow, and wept and prayed