Nor with more grief was Athamantis torn,
When sank her lovely form ’twixt sunny Greece
And blue Propontis, than made Blanca mourn,
When Morton owned his gage to join the Hope Forlorn.
IV.
“Ah, do not go! Mi Dios, thou wilt not go!
“Guillermo, thou wouldst kill thy Blanca. Death
“Is there nigh certain.” William smiled: “Why no,
“Not certain quite. Sweet Blanca, I’ll have breath
“To kiss thee on my return. Why sorroweth