Too dire the scenes that San Sebastian stain To leave Salustian safe within its wall; Young Isabel doth by his side remain In Nial’s tent, and soothe his sorrows all, But oft her face doth Isidor recall! Before the old man from the tower descended, Had Nial, fearful lest the sight appal Their eyelids, moved the shattered corse and tended Its hurried funeral, where no tear with his was blended. XXVII. But Blanca’s corse, her foster-sister fair, Was borne with flowrets strewn to Isaro’s isle, While snow-white banner trembled in the air Above the bark where cold she lay the while, To show her virgin spirit without guile! And while her sisters of the oar with long And pensive strokes, and thoughts that War revile, In mournful pageant tame the waters strong, The Island coast they round with low funereal song. XXVIII. And now with interest deep that hourly grew To tenderest love doth Nial oft behold Sweet Isabel, not formally to woo, But drink unconsciously a bliss untold From presence that his destiny doth mould! Her figure light and graceful as gazelle, Her eyes’ majestic orbs like starlight rolled, Her nature gentle yet with witching spell Of buoyant life, upon his kindred bosom fell. XXIX. And felt the maiden boundless gratitude To him the saviour of herself and sire. Love when he comes doth little there intrude, With such devoted zeal she doth admire; ’Tis only kindling an intenser fire. Neither had noted the delicious hour, When mutual transport as in Heavenly choir Their souls united; but the common power They owned with one accord--of hearts the richest dower. XXX. She loved him with a deep idolatry, So like a god he to her eyes doth seem, Who came from demon-hate her soul to free, Nor shorn at times of a Hypérion beam-- The very image of her virgin dream! Like to those angel-visitants descending To earthly loves in Time’s primeval gleam. And Nial joys her beauty in defending, And deems celestial charms were ne’er so sweetly blending. XXXI. And while the father ’neath the daughter’s care Doth gather strength and resignation’s calm, Young Nial to the grave doth pious bear The corse of Carlos which their tears embalm. And Morton low reposeth ’neath the palm Of martyr-courage in the self-same grave. Funereal rite was none nor dirge nor psalm; But warriors mourned for them, the true and brave-- There sleep, young soldiers, well--for gallant souls ye gave! XXXII.