At length his race of life was run:
Thou shouldst not mourn for him, my son.”
Long on the ground he wept, and rolled
From side to side, still unconsoled,
And then, with bitter grief oppressed,
His mother with these words addressed:
“This joyful hope my bosom fed
When from my grandsire's halls I sped—
“The king will throne his eldest son,
And sacrifice, as should be done.”