So softly sweet, so lulling, too,
It bathed my soul in rapture's dew.
Iola! sure I love thee well,
And if thou wilt thy father tell,
I deem he will not eye me ill,
Whose love is with his daughter still."
Iola raised her glance to heaven,
Then to Gonzalo, darting, even
Her soul, into his own, and said;
"This soil with blood was never red;