XXX.

“Five years have past--thou dost remember well, ’Twas when thou first didst braid thy raven hair, My Isidor, as now doth Isabel-- Five wretched years--and both have grown so fair! Since first this Meteor who the earth doth scare With blood-red beams--this dire Napoléon-- O’er Spain began to cast his lurid glare, Covet her lovely sky and radiant sun, And try how much could first by treacherous fraud be won.