Page:The Siege of Valencia.pdf/142

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Read you no records in this mien, of things Whose traces on man's aspect are not such As the breeze leaves on water?—Lofty birth, War, peril, power?—Affliction's hand is strong, If it erase the haughty characters They grave so deep!—I have not always been That which I am. The name I bore is not Of those which perish!—I was once a chief— A warrior!—nor as now, a lonely man! I was a father!

Then thy heart can feel! Thou wilt have pity!

Should I pity thee? Thy sons will perish gloriously—their blood——

Their blood! my children's blood!—Thou speak'st as 'twere Of casting down a wine-cup, in the mirth And wantonness of feasting!—My fair boys! —Man! hast thou been a father?