Starving beggar with the foe,
Now for bread his grandson pleads.
"Let thy heroes strengthen me;
God's wrath on thee resteth sore;
Leave fame and honor to the Goths,
To the Franks:--they are but toys."
"I will not listen; I will not bear it," cried Hilda. "He shall not revile all that makes life worth living."
Nearer, more distinctly, sounded the slow, mournful notes.
"Vanity and sin are all
Thou hast cherished, Vandal race;