Then rushed the crowd, by instinct furious borne Of life preserving, like the Ocean surge Towards the great entrance. Trodden down and torn Was every weaker form, and frantic urge The merciless hale who fly that fiery scourge; And heaving to and fro they cried to Heaven, Still vainly seeking instant to emerge, Till barriers of the sanctuary were riven, And to the altar-front the trembling priests were driven. XXIV. Now onward rolls the mass, till near the door More fiercely violent grows the maddened throng With sight of safety. Hundreds strew the floor Crushed, bruised, and trampled. O’er the weak the strong Unpitying stride, and dying shrieks the wrong With vain reproof attest of selfish man. But Carlos bore like Hercules along His Isidor with strength that all outran; Grasped Isabel his waist--the outer wall they scan. XXV. “Now had I known,” the grave Salustian cried, “That thus the stranger would have Spain defended, I sooner, by my fathers’ bones, had died, Than Leon’s fate with Albion thus have blended. For vain the seas of treasure, blood expended, If fire and sword our homes and hearths assail. The standard joint I raised, yet now would rend it. While England’s lions roar, Castile may wail Her lions mute; ’tis shrieks are borne upon the gale!” XXVI. It was a blessed thought--so Carlos deemed; A chamber high in the Cathedral tower His love might harbour while ferocious gleamed The eye of Rapine. Rude for lady’s bower Was this abode, where oft huge bells of power Swung loud, but who may choose in scenes like these? Cloak and sombrero thrown o’er Beauty’s flower Disguised the form which, ah! too well could please, And Carlos guided well their path through danger’s seas. XXVII. At deepest night the blaze of burning streets With horrid gleam doth light like Hell the town; The lurid glare its fit reflection meets, Where many a stream of blood runs crimson down! Ferocious yell and savage war-whoop crown The pile of dire disaster. Anguished screams Of terror shrill the roaring noises drown. Shrieks turn to groaning where the bayonet gleams, And murdered Sleep wakes wild from sanguinary dreams. XXVIII.