But ere they could perform this pious duty,

The dying man cried, "Hold! I've got my gruel!

Oh! for a glass of max![567] We've missed our booty;

Let me die where I am!" And as the fuel

Of Life shrunk in his heart, and thick and sooty

The drops fell from his death-wound, and he drew ill

His breath,—he from his swelling throat untied

A kerchief, crying, "Give Sal that!"—and died.