With vain protection;—lo! a treach'rous blade,
Darted behind with sure, with coward aim,
Transfixes deep; convuls'd, the bleeding frame,
Plunged indignant o'er the tainted ground;
Life rolls his torrent through the yawning wound;
O'er his fierce eyes death's hideous shadows move
And dim, suffusion, shut out light and love.
Abyeda, now upon the lifeless form,
Sinks in despair beneath the trying storm.
The murd'rous stroke that mark'd his early tomb,