Cold on my heart the hand of terror lies,
And shades of horror close my languid eyes!
“Oh!’twas a deed of Murder’s deepest grain,
Could Broderick’s soul so true to wrath remain?
A friend long true, a once fond lover fell!—
Where Love was fostered could not Pity dwell?
“Unhappy youth! while yon pale crescent glows
To watch on silent nature’s deep repose,
Thy sleepless spirit, breathing from the tomb,
Foretells my fate, and summons me to come!