His only child, his motherless, his daughter.
And you received the gift, and vowed to be
A father to the little lonely one.
Where is that orphan now?—Must I go on?
'Tis not to harrow up your trembling soul.
I would not lay a feather on the weight
Stern memory brings to crash the guilty down.
But I would stir your feelings to their depths.
And bring, like conscience in your dying hour,
The sense of your great crime, that so you may