Oh, rapturous embrace! oh, tenfold joy, All sweeter for the racking grief sustained. Salustian shook with transport to destroy, Upon the cliff where he perforce remained, By iron bonds of age and sickness chained. But swift sweet Isabel to cheer him flew, Like beauteous fawn, and soon the summit gained, And wept with bliss, and on her bosom true The old man’s weary head sustained, and kist anew. XXXIII. And soon her story wondrous strange was told, Beltrán’s devoted frenzy, harmless all, And how the Basque barqueras, even though bold And criminal his passion, seemed to fall From Heaven to her relief. From Vascon tall, Salustian’s servitor, doth Nial here Take well-trained steed, then lift her wrapt in shawl; And, homeward wending, Heaven received a tear Of gratitude for her who now was doubly dear. XXXIV. And many a noble gift Salustian sent With old Hidalgo lavishment to mark His grateful spirit to the maids who went To aid his daughter when the sky was dark, And safely bore to his arms in gallant bark. But what of San Sebastian ’mid this play Of grief and joy alternate? Is no ark Of saving launched upon the torrent spray, That swept her homes? Alas, still desolate are they! XXXV. In Santiago’s burial-green, while fall The struggling moonbeams from a stormy sky, With brilliance now unclouded, now with pall Of darkness shadowed intermittingly, A haggard, gaunt, and ghostly form doth try Each mound of earth for some peculiar sign, With preternatural strides and gleaming eye Doth pass from grave to grave, from line to line, With eye more fearful bright then halt and cry: “’Tis thine!” XXXVI. ’Twas Fray Beltrán, who ’mongst the graves had found, With instinct’s fatal truth and frenzy’s lore, The lilies planted o’er the new-raised mound, That hid the Vascon lily, Isidor! And as some mariner a rock-bound shore Doth find in shipwreck, where his limbs are cast And dashed to pieces with the saving oar, So baleful was this sight of earth that passed Before Beltrán’s red eyes, and like to prove their last! XXXVII. With nerves mad-strung he knelt upon the sod, And deeply groaned, and raised a fervent prayer. That prayer, ah me, it was not breathed to God; It seemed the very echo of Despair! Nor yet the name of Heaven invoked he there, But loud at first he called the Fiend and Hell, Till breathed the name of Isidora fair, All ’midst his anguish dire it was a spell, Melting his heart to tears that now in torrents fell! XXXVIII.