XXII.

A word Salustian with the Chief exchanged, And smiles on both their faces cordial beam. Sweet Isabel her timid glances ranged From side to side--a momentary gleam O’ercast with blushes that like roses seem. Her fluttering breast now pants like prisoned bird, Her downcast eyes reluctant ye might deem; But oh, what joy doth light them at a word: Young Nial says, “Thou’rt mine!” and every heart is stirred.