Clasped to her breast the maiden her adored,
And wildly shrieking Isabel doth stand,
Nor for her clamour cared the ruthless band.
They charged impetuous, as the breach were still
Before them—fell that chieftain in the land,
Salustian, piercéd—Carlos they did kill
In Isidora’s arms, where spouts a crimson rill!
XLVII.
Fell to the ground his corse—the maiden stood,
Like Horror’s statue, chained unto the floor.