XIV.
"There is the gift I bring"; the stranger's head
Turns to the cup that glitters at his side:
"And now my tongue draws back for very dread,
Unhappy youth, from what it must not hide.
The saddest tale that ever lips have said;
Yet thou must know how sweet Leonora died,
A broken martyr for love's weary sake,
And left this gift for thee to leave or take."