Oh, marvellous variety of minds! Oh, Nature’s handiwork of subtile shades! From the same breast the stream to life that binds In foster-sisterhood drew both these maids. Yet one with gentlest bosom shrinks and fades Before the peril which doth rouse the other; One sickens, one rejoys at clashing blades. Ah, Blanca, Blanca, learn that joy to smother, For steel doth smite e’en now who loves thee like a mother! XXXVI. Still darkness palled the earth, when round the home Of Blanca’s father, near Zumaya’s green, The French hussars who fled Guerníca from, Arrayed in treacherous descent were seen; For Jules thus thought to wreak his vengeful spleen At once upon the maiden and her sire. His comrades called him Jules _L’Enfer_--I ween, Befitting name. More daring or more dire In the French host was none, or rife with demon fire. XXXVII. The vine-clad porch, where Jules erewhile had seized Fair Blanca while his comrade Ana prest, Was entered soon--the stubborn door, well pleased, They battered with their carbines piecemeal--blest Effects of War, that turns the human breast To tiger fierceness! Pablo leapt from bed, Where soon disturbed his lonely widowed rest. The hussars rushed in by pale light faintly shed From dim night-taper, when thus Jules ferocious said:-- XXXVIII. “Where be thy daughters--yield them to our arms, “This instant yield them--buxom maids be they; “Buxom and fierce--the soldier’s spiciest charms “In woman. _L’Espingarda_ fires, I say, “With aim that like a tirailleur’s can slay. “’Twas with my carbine she my comrade smote. “Now will I rifle her--she’ll now obey “My wishes, while I grasp her soft, white throat. “_Dame!_ a French bastard soon her tapering waist shall bloat!” XXXIX. Terrific Pablo’s triumph as he cried:-- “No, ruffians, no; thank Heaven, they are not your’s, “My daughters! ’Tis God’s hand, to crush your pride, “To San Sebastian hath removed the lures “That brought ye hither, worse than Godless Moors!” “Ha, say you so?” quoth Jules, “_pardieu_, ’tis he, “The same who ’neath the oak, ’mongst Vascon boors, “My bridle cut and made my steed to flee. “Dog! with those eyes to do the like no more thou’lt see!” XL.