Hath made him slight what he should dearest hold.
Beside yon haw-crowned hill, a widowed dame,
Dwelt with her son, by whom her living came.
Enticed by gorgeous dreams that haunt his sleep,
Her age's pillar wanders o'er the deep—
Deserts his aged, widowed, trembling dame—
Ah thus will gain destroy the sense of shame!
There on those barren hills and burning plains,
His insane fancy gloats on glittering gains.
Until, at last, avenging fever lays,