Thither embost with varied woe,
Misfortune's pallid slave retires —
Hark, hark, he raves! — Thy tablet shew,
Charg'd with damn'd ghosts, and sulphurous fires.
Oh mercy, heaven! — Upstarting stands
His grisly hair; his nerveless hands
Shake; o'er his face the curdled blood,
From his swoln heart, with tidings flies:
"Give me another horse," he cries,
"Oh! bring the poison'd bowl, let loose Life's crimson flood!"