The Orphan's Curse Poem by Charlotte Dacre

Ruin seize thee, ruthless man!
Confusion on thy steps attend;
Thy life exceed a mortal's span,
And terror haunt thee to the end.

May every ill on man that pours
Lurk in thy path, their stings to dart;
Despair infest thy lonely hours,
And drink the life-blood of thy heart!

If sleep thy wearied eyes should close,
May dreams fantastic round thee rise,
And visions sad of future woes
Disturb thee with their vengeful cries!

May poverty, disease, and care
In swift succession seize their prey,
And mist and vapors blast the air
That lights thy solitary way!

Without a friend to soothe thy care,
Without a friend to close thine eyes,
To shades of darkness may'st thou go,
And hell's fell monarch yield the prize!

Tremble! for 'tis the orphan's pray'r,
Nor hope to be forgiven:
The orphan's ghost thy soul shall scare,
And bar the gates of heaven.