God saw, but would not stoop to save
The struggling wretch who dared defy
His laws, on land and wave.
O, Geraldine, I see thee fly,
Despairing, from my accursed hands:
“Better my bones should bleach,” thy cry,
“On savagest of strands
Than that my fatal charms should cause
My never—never-dying shame;
Better, O, villain, virtuous fame