But thou, false Infidel! shalt writhe

Beneath avenging Monkir’s scythe;

And from its torment ‘scape alone

To wander round lost Eblis’ throne;

 

And fire unquench’d, unquenchable,

Around, within, thy heart shall dwell;

Nor ear can hear nor tongue can tell

The tortures of that inward hell!

 

But first, on Earth as Vampire sent,

Thy corse shall from its tomb be rent:

Then ghastly haunt thy native place,

And suck the blood of all thy race;

 

There from thy daughter, sister, wife,

At midnight drain the stream of life;

Yet loathe the banquet which perforce

Must feed thy livid living corse:

 

Thy victims ere they yet expire

Shall know the daemon for their sire:

As cursing thee, thou cursing them,

Thy flowers are wither’d on the stem.

 

But one that for thy crime must fall,

The youngest, most beloved of all,

Shall bless thee with…