LXVIII.

We have been wand’rers since those days of woe, Thy boy and I! As wild birds tend their young, So have I tended him--my bounding roe! The high Peruvian solitudes among; And o’er the Andes’ torrents borne his form, Where our frail bridge had quiver’d midst the storm.[307] But there the war-notes of my country rung, And, smitten deep of heaven and man, I fled To hide in shades unpierced a mark’d and weary head.