XXXI.
He pass’d me—and what next? I look’d on two,
Following his footsteps to the same dread place,
For the same guilt—his sisters![292] Well I knew
The beauty on those brows, though each young face
Was changed—so deeply changed!—a dungeon’s air
Is hard for loved and lovely things to bear.
And ye, O daughters of a lofty race,
Queen-like Theresa! radiant Inez!—flowers
So cherish’d! were ye then but rear’d for those dark hours?