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Ere
from
my
boyhood
I
had
yet
come
forth
,
To
the
left
hand
I
turned
with
that
reliance
With
which
the
little
child
runs
to
his
mother
,
When
he
has
fear
,
or
when
he
is
afflicted
,
To
say
unto
Virgilius
:
"
Not
a
drachm
Of
blood
remains
in
me
,
that
does
not
tremble
;
I
know
the
traces
of
the
ancient
flame
.
"
But
us
Virgilius
of
himself
deprived
Had
left
,
Virgilius
,
sweetest
of
all
fathers
,
Virgilius
,
to
whom
I
for
safety
gave
me
:
