By all Hell’s living agonies of hate,

They shall not take my little ones alive

To make their mock with! Howso’er I strive

The thing is doomed....

Oh, darling hand! Oh, darling mouth, and eye,

And royal mien, and bright brave faces clear,

May you be blessèd, but not here! What here

Was yours, your father stole....

... I am broken by the wings

Of evil.... Yea, I know to what bad things