IX.

’Twas starry midnight lone, when Carlos soft ’Neath Isidora’s open lattice stole, And gently touching his guitar, as oft, In strains melodious poured his melting soul. Even when his deepest cadenced transports roll, An iron hand his shoulder seized--another Held high the gleaming dagger, to its goal Next instant plunged it. Blood the voice doth smother Of Carlos--he looks up--and sees, oh God, a brother!