His form on earth, through dark, delirious days,
Without a mother's soothing care to ease
His dying throes, beyond those distant seas.
Yet, when, in that brief space which comes before,
The spirit flies, to visit earth no more,
A transient light breads on his wildest brain,
His bosom speaks in this lamenting strain!
"Ah! damning love of gold, which sees me here,
And made me leave an aged mother dear.
Now Heaven, how just! repays my guilty deed!