Who wrestled with the reluctant breath

On a pillow of broken stone!

’Twas a fearful sight to see her gasp,

And clutch the air in her sinewy palms

As if forcing from a miser’s grasp

The miserable alms!

But a sight to bring the tear-drops down

Was the little maiden pale and thin

Who stood by her side in a tattered gown

Which let the sharp air in!