XX.

Then from her beauteous breast the maid drew forth A silken banneret of pigmy size, Yet truly figuring--thence was all its worth-- The standard proud of Spain, whose castles rise With lions rampant to the gazer’s eyes. And in the centre, broidered all blood-red Showed the French eagle--arrow-pierced he lies, Gasping in death, the plumes rent from his head: “Give this to Isidor,” at parting, “this,” she said.