Page:The Mysterious Mother - Walpole (1781).djvu/30

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THE MYSTERIOUS MOTHER.
So was it deem'd—I smote the turban'd race:Did zeal or did ambition nerve my blow?Or matter'd it to me, on Buda's domesWhether the crescent or the cross prevail'd?Mean time on alien climes I dissipatedWealth from my subjects wrung, the peasant's tribute,Earn'd by his toil. Mean time in ruin laidMy mould'ring castles—Yes, ye moss-grown walls!Ye tow'rs defenceless!—I revisit yeShame-stricken.—Where are all your trophies now?Your thronged courts, the revelry, the tumult,That spoke the grandeur of my house, the homageOf neighb'ring barons? Thus did Thibalt, Raoul,Or Clodomir, my brave progenitors,Creep like a spy, and watch to thrid your gatesUnnotic'd? No; with martial attributes,With waving banners and enlivening fifes,They bade your portal wide unfold its jaws,And welcome them and triumph.
FLORIAN.And welcome them and triumph.True, my lord;They reign'd the monarchs of a score of miles;Imperial lords of ev'ry trembling cottageWithin their cannon's mandate. Deadly feudsFor obsolete offences, now array'dTheir livery'd banditti, prompt to dealOn open vallies and unguarded herds,On helpless virgins and unweapon'd boors,The vengeance of their tribe. Sometimes they dar'dTo scowl defiance to the distant throne,Imprison'd, canton'd inaccessiblyIn their own rock-built dungeons—Are these glories

My

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