This hold was now their dungeon and their grave.

His youngest babe had not seen summers three;
"Father," he cried, "why does the man delay
To bring out food? how naughty he must be;
I have not eat a morsel all this day.
Dear father, have you got some bread for me?
Oh, if you have, do give it me, I pray;
I am so hungry that I cannot sleep--
I'll kiss you, father--do not, do not weep."

And day by day this pining innocent
Thus to his father piteously did cry,
Till hunger had perform'd the stern intent
Of their fierce foes. "Oh, father, I shall die!
Take me upon your lap--my life is spent--
Kiss me--farewell!" Then with a gentle sigh,
Its spotless spirit left the suff'ring clay,
And wing'd its fright to everlasting day.

(He who has mark'd that wild, distracting mien,
Which for this Count immortal Reynold's drew,
When bitter woe, despair, and famine keen
Unite in that sad face to shock the view,
Will wish, while gazing on th' appalling scene,
For pity's sake the story is not true.
What hearts but fiends, what less than hellish hate,
Could e'er consign that group to such a fate?)

And when he saw his darling child was dead,