by a train of weeping comrades, a mighty spirit quelled by 10
a mighty wound. The distant groan told its tale to that
ill-boding heart. He defiles his gray hairs with a shower
of dust, stretches his two palms to heaven, and clings to
the body. “My son! and was I enthralled by so strong a
love of life as to suffer you, mine own offspring, to meet the 15
foeman’s hand in my stead? Are these your wounds
preserving your sire? is he living through your death?
Alas! now at length I know the misery of banishment!
now the iron is driven home! Aye, it was I, my son, that