of every rude vicinage, the memory is sometimes compelled

of every rude vicinage, the memory is sometimes compelled，

Tell me, my daughter, has the stranger gone?

Yes, he has gone; now we are all alone,

And thou may'st speak, dear father, without fear.

Stern-visaged queens, since coming to this land

First in your sanctuary I bent the knee,

Frown not on me or Phoebus, who, when erst

He told me all my miseries to come,

Spake of this respite after many years,

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