I have a brother—a young high-soul’d boy,
And beautiful as a sculptor’s dream, with brow
That wears amidst its dark rich curls, the stamp
Of inborn nobleness. In truth, he is
A glorious creature! But his doom is seal’d
With theirs of whom ye spoke; and I have knelt—
Ay, scorn me not! ’twas for his life—I knelt
E’en at the viceroy’s feet, and he put on
That heartless laugh of cold malignity
We know so well, and spurn’d me. But the stain