Truest friend and noblest foe;—
Yet she neither spoke nor moved.
Stole a maiden from her place,
Lightly to the warrior stept,
Took the face-cloth from the face;—
Yet she neither moved nor wept.
Rose a nurse of ninety years,
Set his child upon her knee;—
Like summer tempest came her tears—
“Sweet my child, I live for thee.”