XLV.

Now thronged the soldiery, and Carlos prest By numbers fought full long with valour rare; Till faint and bleeding from his wounded breast, He gained once more the mute Cathedral square. But, ah, the bloodhounds tracked him to his lair, And forced an entrance to the sacred pile. His blood doth guide them up the belfry stair. They reach the door--they burst it in--the while Young Isidora screams, and laugh those demons vile.