Britain ... - Blue-Lite

Scene IV. J THE ENGLISH SLAVE. 69
RODERICK.
By Heaven ! 'tis true. Have I not brought
To heal the sorrows of thy broken heart ?
And call'st thou me a traitor ? Why I thought
Thou wouldst have pressed me in thine arms with joy
To know they live ; and, hastening to restore
thee balm
Thine ill-got wealth to those whom thou hast robbed,
Exchange the gaudy trappings of thy power
For cowl of beadsman and the hermit's weeds,
Resolved in some lone cell thy days to pass
With peace and penitence.
GONDABERT.
Drive me not mad
With thy foul mockery. Tell me, where hast thou
So long these boys concealed ? and why at such
A time as this, when my distracted soul
Is harassed with a thousand cares and fears,
Are they brought forth to blast me ?
RODERICK.
One of those boys I to a peasant's care
Confided ;
and the other with our band
Was cherished as mine own,
Mark, then, my words.
till the wild Danes
Once, in my absence, plundered all our treasures,
And bore that boy to sea.
One led, the other joined the Danes new-landed,
And both are captives in my cavern home.
Hope not that I delude thee.
GONDABERT.
Now thou pour'st
A balm indeed on my fresh-bleeding wounds.
They're mine again ! O
transport ! Bring
They shall not live to see returning light.
them hither.