With effort of strong will, backward she bent,
And gazing on his head now shorn and grey,
And on his furrow’d countenance, exclaim’d,
Still, still, my Roderick! the same noble mind!
The same heroic heart! Still, still, my Son; ...
Changed, ... yet not wholly fallen, ... not wholly lost,
He cried, ... not wholly in the sight of Heaven
Unworthy, O my Mother, nor in thine!
She lock’d her arms again around his neck,
Saying, Lord, let me now depart in peace!