XXVIII.

And now with interest deep that hourly grew To tenderest love doth Nial oft behold Sweet Isabel, not formally to woo, But drink unconsciously a bliss untold From presence that his destiny doth mould! Her figure light and graceful as gazelle, Her eyes’ majestic orbs like starlight rolled, Her nature gentle yet with witching spell Of buoyant life, upon his kindred bosom fell.