LII.
The darkly glorious midnight sky of Spain,
Burning with stars! What had the torches’ glare
To do beneath that temple, and profane
Its holy radiance? By their wavering flare,
I saw beside the pyres—I see thee now,
O bright Theresa! with thy lifted brow,
And thy clasp’d hands, and dark eyes fill’d with prayer!
And thee, sad Inez! bowing thy fair head,
And mantling up thy face, all colourless with dread!