The Lord of Hosts shall visit thee with storm
And thunder;—vengeful fires thy pride consume,
In gory dust is laid thy beauteous form,
And as a dream of night thy agonies shall swarm!
XLVII.
In after days, when Isidora long
Had slept the icy slumber of the dead,
The memory of her Beauty and her wrong
O’er her still honoured name a lustre shed;
And many a lover with her story fed