Tell me the sentence! Could our judges look,
Without relenting, on thy silvery hair?
Was there not mercy, father? Will they not
Restore us to our home?
D’Aubigné. Yes, my poor child!
They send us home.
Blanche. Oh! shall we gaze again
On the bright Loire? Will the old hamlet spire,
And the gray turret of our own chateau,
Look forth to greet us through the dusky elms?