text:  These things mark'd the father Asan Aga And in sorrow call'd he to his children-- "Turn again to me ye poor deserted; Hard as steel is now your mother's bosom; Shut so fast it cannot throb with pity!" Thus he spoke; and when the lady heard him Pale as death she dropp'd upon the pavement And the life fled from her wretched bosom As she saw her children turning from her