Hath bow’d beneath the yoke, and then arisen
As a strong lion rending silken bonds,
And on the open field, before high heaven,
Won such majestic vengeance as hath made
Its name a power on earth. Ay, nations own
It is enough of glory to be call’d
The children of the mighty, who redeem’d
Their native soil—but not by means like these.
Mon. I have no children. Of Montalba’s blood
Not one red drop doth circle through the veins