Through twilight of the cell before his eye,
Maddening his heart untamed, despairing, lorn;
And though the day of Carlos’ bridal’s nigh,
In hopeless passion’s thrall that monk will changeless die.
XVI.
Now, had they not been brothers of the womb!—
I saw two emmets fight with dire intent,
As nought could slake their vengeance but the tomb—
As each the other’s head had joyous rent,