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At his command the pestilence abhorrM
Spares the poor slave, and smites the haughty lord ;
While to the tomb he sees his friend consign'd,
Foreboding melancholy sinks his mind,
Soon at his heart he feels the monster's fangs,
They tear his vitals with convulsive pangs ;
The light is anguish to his eye, the air
Sepulchral vapours laden with despair ;
Now frenzy -horrors rack his whirling brain,
Tremendous pulses throb through every vein ;
The firm earth shrinks beneath his torture-bed,
The sky in ruins rushes o'er his head ;
He rolls, he rages in consuming fires,
Till nature spent, with agony expires.
��END OF THE tHIRD PART.
�� �
