Thy father, sir—now mark—for 'tis the point
And moral of my tale—thy father, then,
Was, by my sire, in war ta'en prisoner—
Wounded almost to death, he brought him home,
Shelter'd him,—cherish'd him,—and, with a care,
Most like a brother's, watch'd his bed of sickness,
Till ruddy health, once more through all his veins
Sent life's warm stream in strong returning tide.
How think ye he repaid my father's love?
From her dear home he lur'd my sister forth,