VII.

Dire was the chill that fell on Blanca’s soul, And oft she sighed for Isidora’s ear, To pour her woes and hear those lips console-- Her foster-sister more than sister dear! But Isidora’s lot was e’en more drear, For none might dare from San Sebastian pass; And shivering from each cannon’s shock with fear, She longed by Blanca’s side--’twas vain, alas! To pluck the summer-flowers, and brush the dewy grass,