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Albeit I have lived to see their bonds Rent like burnt flax, yet much of blood was spilt Or ever the deliverance was accomplished. We fled in the dark night. At length the moon Rose on the midnight,—when I saw the face Of my last child was ghastly white, and set In the death-agony, and from his side The life-blood came like tears: and then I prayed That he would rest, and let me stanch the wound. He motioned me to fly, and then lay down Upon the rock, and died! This is his grave, His home and mine. Ask ye now why I dwell Upon the rock, and loathe the vale beneath?