XXXII.
A mournful home, young sisters, had ye left!
With your lutes hanging hush’d upon the wall,
And silence round the aged man, bereft
Of each glad voice once answering to his call.
Alas, that lonely father! doom’d to pine
For sounds departed in his life’s decline;
And, midst the shadowing banners of his hall,
With his white hair to sit, and deem the name
A hundred chiefs had borne, cast down by you to shame![293]