By her who gave thee being, spare!
Did they not, o’er thy infant years,
Keep watch, in sleepless hopes and fears!
Young warrior! thou wilt heed my prayers,
As thou wouldst hope for grace to theirs!”
But cold th’ Avenger’s look remain’d,
His brow its rigid calm maintain’d:
“Maiden! ’tis vain—my bosom ne’er
Was conscious of a parent’s care;
The nurture of my infant years