But soon he finds, the wound tho' slight,
Death lurks in ambush there.

Now to his bed of sorrow bound,
By penitential pain,
He seems, by this heart-reaching wound,
A purer mind to gain.

Near to his couch he bids, with care,
The widow to be brought,
And speaks to her, with soften'd air,
His self-correcting thought.

"True prophetess! I feel thee now;
So God my crimes forgive,
As I with thee true concord vow:
In comfort may'st thou live."

"Behold upon this charter'd scroll,
A pictur'd cottage stand,
I give it thee, with all my soul,
And its adjacent land."

"The only rent I will assume,
Be this. At close of day,
Sit thou, with pity, on my tomb,
And for my spirit pray!"

"That tomb be rais'd by sculpture's aid,
To warn men from my guilt;