Then say if I have learnt my story well.
Yon babe you stole to rob him of his lands,
And as afraid with blood to stain your hands,
You meant to bear him to some distant shore,
Where parents' smiles would bless the child no more.
But not for thee I crushed the viper's brood,
Far other thoughts and impulse I pursued.
It was revenge, deep rankling in my breast,
That sent the infant to its last long rest.
With hate I'd sworn, if chance should e'er incline,