Thou whose unholy zeal
Hath left me on this isle forlorn,
My cherished darlings' loss to mourn.
And she whose soul, in evil strong,
Hath prompted this unfeeling wrong,
To early dust consigned, shall long
Her fruitless rapine wail,
A shivering spectre pale!
The malison of heaven is thine,
Ill shoot of Colman's royal line!