Elm. But captives! They
Whom my fond heart had imaged to itself
Bounding from cliff to cliff, amidst the wilds
Where the rock-eagle seem’d not more secure
In its rejoicing freedom! And my boys
Are captives with the Moor!—oh! how was this?
Gon. Alas! our brave Alphonso, in the pride
Of boyish daring, left our mountain-halls,
With his young brother, eager to behold
The face of noble war. Thence on their way