With execrations from her kneeling child.
Start not! your angel from her knee rose mild,
Feared that she should not long the scene outlive,
Yet bade e’en you the unnatural one forgive.
Till then her ailment had been slight or none;
But fast she drooped, and fatal pains came on:
Foreseeing their event, she dictated
And signed these words for you.’ The letter said—
“‘Theodric, this is destiny above
Our power to baffle; bear it then, my love!