| The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere | ||
II.
Then spake O'Donnell, the King: ‘AlthoughMy hour draws nigh, and my dolours grow;
And although my sins I have now confess'd,
And desire in the Land, my charge, to rest,
Yet leave this realm, nor will I nor can
While a stranger treads on her, child or man.
| The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere | ||