When thou didst lie, by fell disease o’erpowered,
I rescued thee, by prayers, from death’s domain;
Pure sulphur’s cleansing fumes I round thee showered,
While an enchantress sung a magic strain.
Yes—and another now enjoys the prize,
And reaps the fruit of all my vows for thee:
Foolish, I dreamed of life ’neath golden skies,
Wert thou but saved—not such great heaven’s decree.
I said—I’ll till my fields, she’ll guard my store
When crops are threshed in autumn’s burning heat;