XXVII.

But Blanca’s corse, her foster-sister fair, Was borne with flowrets strewn to Isaro’s isle, While snow-white banner trembled in the air Above the bark where cold she lay the while, To show her virgin spirit without guile! And while her sisters of the oar with long And pensive strokes, and thoughts that War revile, In mournful pageant tame the waters strong, The Island coast they round with low funereal song.