XLI.

“That word recalls, my girls, your mother dead, And brings to these weak eyes a sacred tear. Belov’d Juana! round thy honoured head Celestial glory beams, yet, oh, look here, And shed protection o’er thy children dear!” Salustian ceased--he kist the foreheads pure Of both his weeping daughters, Carlos near Impatient stood, his eyes with ceaseless lure Tow’rds the lance-casement drawn, where Morn’s first glimmerings pour.