Constance De Castile A Poem, in Ten Cantos. By William Sotheby |
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 | Constance De Castile |  |
XXV.
But—foremost, in Castillia's viewTo the fair Maid her champion flew.
'Twas love—'twas beauty's virgin charm
Brac'd with resistless strength his arm.
In vain their ranks the Paynims clos'd,
Wing'd arrowy clouds in vain oppos'd:
Thick on his helm the tempest rung,
Through clashing blades the hero sprung;
This hand on high the buckler held,
That, arm'd with death, the Moors repell'd;
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Bristling the horrors of his mane,
With eye that rolls in living fire
Springs on the herd, and wastes the plain:
Thus, conqu'ring in Castillia's sight,
Her champion turn'd the foe to flight.
The hero has yon chieftain slain,
Has freed the king from servile chain,
Then, at thy feet, enchanting Maid,
The homage of his falchion laid.
| Constance De Castile | |