LXVIII.
We have been wand’rers since those days of woe,
Thy boy and I! As wild birds tend their young,
So have I tended him—my bounding roe!
The high Peruvian solitudes among;
And o’er the Andes’ torrents borne his form,
Where our frail bridge had quiver’d midst the storm.[307]
But there the war-notes of my country rung,
And, smitten deep of heaven and man, I fled
To hide in shades unpierced a mark’d and weary head.