Of hopeless, mad, despairing misery:
Then grim starvation on her little head
Laid his cold fingers, and she fell back dead!
I raised her tenderly with pitying arms,
And in a garden, far from Life's alarms,
I buried her, and left her all alone,
And wrote this epitaph upon the stone:—
"Peace to her ashes, but not peace to those,
Her erewhile friends, the cause of all her woes,
Who fondled and caressed her for a space,