XLII.
And Nial thought upon his Isabel,
For all his proudest feelings centred there,
Prophetic that the maid he loved so well
The praise would echo sweetly, smiling fair;
And while his brow a loftier plume doth wear
Through glory for that day’s achievements done,
With her he thought the joyous fruits to share,
With her to feel the glow of Victory’s sun,
For still for her and Spain was Freedom’s battle won.