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 And o'er him there th' Avenger stood, And watch'd the victim's ebbing blood, Still calm, as if his faithful hand Had but obey'd some just command, Some power, whose stern, yet righteous will, He deem'd it virtue to fulfil, And triumph'd, when the palm was won, For Duty's task austerely done.

But a feeling dread, and undefin'd, A mystic presage of the mind, With strange and sudden impulse ran Chill through the heart of the dying man, And his thoughts found voice, and his bosom breath, And it seem'd as fear suspended death, And Nature, from her terrors, drew Fresh energy, and vigour new.

"Thou saidst thy lonely bosom ne'er Was conscious of a parent's care; Thou saidst thy lot, in childhood's years, Froze in thy soul the source of tears;