To wake with tenfold strength: ’twas then her eye
Resumed its light, her mien its majesty,
And o’er her wasted cheek a burning glow
Spreads, while her lips’ indignant accents flow.
“Away! I dream! Oh, how hath sorrow’s might
Bow’d down my soul, and quench’d its native light—
That I should thus forget! and bid thy tear
With mine be mingled o’er a father’s bier!
Did he not perish, haply by thy hand,
In the last combat with thy ruthless band?