_Alas! poor child,
Fortune forsook thee even at thy birth._
The heavens are overcast, the elements
Are turbid, and the very sea and winds
Are all combined against me. _Thou, my child,
Know'st not the dark misfortunes into which
Thou art so early plunged, but happily
Lackest the power to comprehend thy fate._
What I would crave of thee, my life, since I
Must never more be blessed with seeing thee,
Is that thou never, never wilt forget
To say, as thou wert wont, thy _Ave Mary_;
For that bright queen of goodness, grace, and virtue
Can loosen all thy bonds and give thee freedom.