Till faint and bleeding from his wounded breast,
He gained once more the mute Cathedral square.
But, ah, the bloodhounds tracked him to his lair,
And forced an entrance to the sacred pile.
His blood doth guide them up the belfry stair.
They reach the door—they burst it in—the while
Young Isidora screams, and laugh those demons vile.
XLVI.
Grey-haired Salustian feebly snatched a sword,
And Carlos strove to lift—but falls his hand.