XV.

And where is he--the Fratricide? Within A gloomy convent cloistered, gowned, and shorn, He strives to curb his passion, shrive his sin-- Against all world-communion deeply sworn. Yet Isidora’s image oft is borne Through twilight of the cell before his eye, Maddening his heart untamed, despairing, lorn; And though the day of Carlos’ bridal’s nigh, In hopeless passion’s thrall that monk will changeless die.