VIII.

Dark fell the night like thickest, deadliest pall On Blanca’s bosom fluttering nigh to swoon; But while she drained her bitterest cup of gall, O’er fair Biscaya’s bay arose the Moon In wondrous beauty, and dispelled full soon Her gloom by enchantment. So serenely bright, It seemed as ’twere from Heaven a special boon, And Blanche with tears invoked the Virgin’s might, And deemed she saw her form within that orb of light!