And, O my Delia, the fierce prophetess
Told dreadful things that on thy head should fall:--
I know not what they were--but none the less
I pray my darling may escape them all.

Not for thyself do I forgive thee, no!
'Tis thy sweet mother all my wrath disarms,--
That precious creature, who would come and go,
And lead thee through the darkness to my arms.

Though great the peril, oft the silent dame
Would join our hands together, and all night
Wait watching on the threshold till I came,
Nor ever failed to know my steps aright.

Long be thy life! dear, kind and faithful heart!
Would it were possible my life's whole year
Were at the friendly hearth-stone where thou art!
'Tis for thy sake I hold thy daughter dear.

Be what she will, she is not less thy child.
Oh, teach her to be chaste! Though well she knows
No free-born fillet binds her tresses wild
Nor Roman stole around her ankles flows!

My lot is servile too. Whate'er I see
Of beauty brings her to my fevered eye.
If I should be accused of crime, or be
Dragged up the steep street, by the hair, to die:--