19
“The child! what madness fires her? Hence! Depart!
Fly, daughter, fly! before the death-stroke rings:
Divide her, warriors, from that English heart.”
In vain! for with convulsive grasp she clings:
She claims a pardon from her frowning sire;
Her pleading tones subdue his gather'd ire;
And so, uplifting high his feathery dart,
That doting father gave the child her will,
And bade the victim live, and be his servant still.
Fly, daughter, fly! before the death-stroke rings:
Divide her, warriors, from that English heart.”
In vain! for with convulsive grasp she clings:
She claims a pardon from her frowning sire;
Her pleading tones subdue his gather'd ire;
And so, uplifting high his feathery dart,
That doting father gave the child her will,
And bade the victim live, and be his servant still.
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