POOR Cassim! thou art doomed to mourn,
  By Destiny's decree;
Whatever happen, it must turn
  To misery for thee.

Two sons hadst thou, the one thy pride,
  The other was thy pest;
Ah, why did cruel Death decide
  To snatch away the best?

No wonder thou shouldst droop with woe,
  Of such a child bereft:
But now thy tears must doubly flow,
  For ah,—the other's left!