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Constance De Castile

A Poem, in Ten Cantos. By William Sotheby

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CANTO VIII.
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121

CANTO VIII.


123

I.

Whence that deep groan?—what dream unblest
Forbids the brow of guilt to rest,
And, borne on midnight's gloomy wing,
Shakes horror o'er Castillia's King?
In slumber, vision'd on his sight
Tow'r'd Montiel, and its rocky height:

The separate pictures in this vision are all copied from the real circumstances attendant on the capture and assassination of Pedro. See Johnes's Froissart, vol. i. p. 768.

Le Begue de Villaines seized Pedro in his attempt to escape by night from Montiel: and the Viscount de Rocaberti held him by the legs while he was poniarded in the tent by Henry of Trastamere.


The dream its antique castle show'd,
The flood that round its bulwarks flow'd,
The battlements that crown'd its brow,
And Trastamere encamp'd below,

124

Thick-gathering shades o'erhung the plain,
And pale stars gleam'd o'er warriors slain.
 

Sir Bertrand de Guesclin has by some authors been accused (but I believe unjustly) of the capture, and dishonourable murder of Pedro.

II.

It seem'd, at midnight's silent hour
A chief stole lonely from the tow'r.
The Monarch heard the flinty road
Ring to the mule the knight bestrode,
As pac'd along its dull hoof slow.—
From ambush sprung an armed foe,
Seiz'd the lone knight, and captive led.
—Montiel, and all its scenery fled.

III.

In vision, now, a tent arose:
There lay the captive, girt with foes.
In armour to that guarded tent
With hurried step a chieftain went.
Castillia's robes his hauberk grac'd,
Castillia's crown his helm embrac'd.
'Twas Henry—sceptred Trastamere.
The captive, as th' usurper came,
Leapt up, and boldly own'd his name—
“Pedro—Castillia's rightful lord.”—
Loud, in that dream, his haughty word,

125

Each haughty word, distinctly clear,
Like thunder burst on Pedro's ear.

IV.

Onward the hostile Monarchs prest,
And seem'd to grapple breast to breast.
Then Pedro saw his arm prevail,
And Henry's strength beneath him fail:
Saw, as his semblance seiz'd the blade,
In act to strike pale Henry's shade,
A knight, stern-visag'd, unaware,
Spring like a tiger from his lair,
Seize him with sudden grasp, and bind
His limbs by giant force confin'd.

V.

With stedfast hand, before his view
Now Trastamere a poniard drew,
Mark'd with keen eye the mortal part,
Thrice sheath'd his blade in Pedro's heart,
Then, pointing to each hideous wound,
Smil'd, as the life-blood gush'd around.
The King, in agony of woe,
Groan'd, as his bosom felt the blow.

126

His groan of death the vision broke,
Bath'd in chill dew the Monarch woke,
And gazing on day's golden beam,
Shook at the horror of a dream,
The dread of that prefigur'd doom,
And Henry crown'd on Pedro's tomb.—

VI.

Thron'd in St. Andrew's holy walls,
Edward each summon'd warrior calls,
Knight, banneret, and baron bold,
Who of his realm high tenure hold.
There, too, in pomp of priestly state,
Albert, the mitred abbot, sate.

VII.

Around the throne, a numerous band,
Natives, and knights of every land.
'Mid these, in golden armour drest,
Tow'r'd an unknown mysterious guest,
Whose barred helm was ne'er unclos'd,
Whose rank no blazon'd shield expos'd,
Pennon nor broider'd surcoat show'd
From what pure fount his lineage flow'd,

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Yet—his proud port, his stately pace
And stature, mark'd no common race.

VIII.

Apart, amid the princely train
Who join'd the feast at Aquitaine,
The knight ne'er pledg'd the social bowl.
Haply, some vow had bound his soul,
Pennance, that none on earth had pow'r
To loosen, ere the appointed hour.
Haply, his mistress had enjoin'd
A deed that harrow'd up his mind:
Haply, 'twas conscience-haunted guilt,
Blood of the brave, unjustly spilt.
There stood the knight, and high his brow
Tow'r'd, helmeted, o'er all below.—

IX.

Edward his solemn court addrest:
“Peers! on whose strength I firmly rest,
“Unblemish'd honour to maintain,
“And knighthood guard from earthly stain;
“And thou, oh holy father! hear!
“No common suppliants claim our ear,

128

“An exil'd King—a royal Maid,
“Imploring valour's votive aid—
“Knights! shall we trust the glowing rage
“That fires our souls dire war to wage?
“Yet—blood is charg'd on Pedro's brow:
“Or, Heav'n, well pleas'd, had heard my vow
“To lead our host in Castile's cause,
“And on his native throne once more
“The King to rightful sway restore—
“Edward the sword of justice draws.”

X.

He spake—when, lo! with stedfast mien,
Firm look compos'd, and pace serene,
As one who in the trying hour
Rests on his own self-center'd pow'r,
Pedro advances—pomp nor train
Of royal state his rank sustain.
But, on each side the Monarch, stood
A mourner by deep woe subdu'd;
Here, Constance, hid beneath the veil,
There, Julian, wounded, faint, and pale.
Nor voice, nor motion silence broke,
While thus Castillia's Monarch spoke.

129

XI.

“Forc'd from my throne, and native land,
“Conqueror!—and ye, high chiefs! whose fame
“Fills the wide world with England's name,
“I, Castile's King, your aid demand.
“Treason usurps Castillia's throne:
“And none to aid their sov'reign, none,
“Save these, whose strength is in the tears
“That, shed for me, in secret flow:
“Whom misery more and more endears,
“And closer binds in mutual woe.”

XII.

He spake, and warmly to his breast
The dark-veil'd Maid and Julian prest.
Each in mute woe before him bent,
As round the court a murmur went
Of chiefs to Pedro's cause inclin'd—
The murmur sooth'd his troubled mind.
Silent awhile the Monarch stood,
As one who, fix'd in thoughtful mood,
Gathers the train of years gone by;
Then rais'd his voice in agony.

130

XIII.

“Here be my guilt—my sufferings—told—
“Far—better far th' avowal bold,
“Than tales half-rumour'd, half-conceal'd,
“Where malice spreads her mists between,
“And dark suspicion clouds the scene,
“Swelling each form to giant size.
“Here be my life's whole course reveal'd,
“Nor art, nor gloss the truth disguise.
“And thou from whom I boast my blood,
“Monarch rever'd! thou saint in heav'n!
“Look down, Alfonzo, great and good,
“And be thy hapless son forgiv'n,
“Who o'er the lustre of thy fame
“Reluctant casts the veil of shame.
“Yet, not the less shall glory raise
“A column to Alfonzo's praise.
“Ask of your fathers: they can tell:
“They saw him smite the infidel
“When Derby's sword, and Salisbury's host
“Spread triumph o'er Castillia's coast.
“Ask of your fathers: they can tell
“Of Salado, where myriads fell.
“Have you not heard, in Teba's fight
“How Douglas tow'r'd, array'd in might?

At the battle of Salado in 1340, Alfonzo defeated Alboacen, the King of Morocco, and slew 200,000 of the infidels. Vide Mariana's History of Spain, book xvi. chap. iv.

“Considerable succours came to him (at the siege of Algezira) from England, France, and Navarre. From England the Earls of Derby and Salisbury.” Mariana, book xvi. chap. v.

For the interesting account of the dying injunctions of Robert Bruce, King of Scotland, and of the bequest of his heart to the gallant Lord James Douglas, to be embalmed, and deposited by him at the Holy Sepulchre, the reader is referred to Johnes's Froissart, vol. I. chapter xx.

Douglas, on his voyage to Jerusalem, hearing that Alfonzo was waging war against the Saracen King of Granada, landed at Valentia, and joined the Spanish host. The issue of the combat is thus related by Lord Hailes in the Annals of Scotland, anno 1330. “The detached troops fought with equal advantage, and the Moorish cavalry fled. Douglas with his companions, eagerly pursued the Saracens. Taking the casket from his neck, which contained the heart of Bruce, he threw it before him, and cried, ‘Now pass thou onward, as thou was wont, and Douglas will follow thee, or die!’ The fugitives rallied: surrounded and overwhelmed by superior numbers, Douglas fell, while attempting to rescue Sir William St. Clair of Roslin, who shared his fate. Robert, and Walter Logan, both of them knights, were slain with Douglas. His friend, Sir William Keith, having had his arm broke, was detained from the battle. His few surviving companions found his body in the field, together with the casket, and reverently conveyed them to Scotland. The remains of Douglas were interred in the sepulchre of his fathers, in the church of Douglas, and the heart of Bruce was deposited at Melros.”



131

“And, when suspended conquest hung,
“A casket from his neck untwin'd
“That the brave heart of Bruce enshrin'd,
“And 'mid the Paynim squadrons flung:
“Then, rush'd to rescue it, or die,
“And perish'd, crown'd with victory?”

XIV.

The Monarch ceas'd awhile: applause
Of ardent chiefs supplied the pause.
Flush'd o'er his cheek the fiery glow,
Ere burst the bitter voice of woe.

XV.

“It may not—must not be conceal'd:
“Yea—Guzman! be thy shame reveal'd!
“Thou, fruitful in thine own disgrace,
“Vile mother of th' adulterous race
“On whom my sire all honours show'r'd.

Leonora de Guzman, called la Richa Donna, was descended from one of the most noble families of Castile. “Alfonzo the XI. totally deserted his Queen, and for the rest of his days devoted himself to the lovely Leonora. Besides Henry Count of Trastamere, and Don Frederic de Castilla, master of the military order of St. James, Leonora bore several other children to King Alfonzo. Such were, at Pedro's accession, the inauspicious prospects of the Castillians, over whom the influence of Leonora de Guzman prevailed, and to whose friends a strong party was attached.” Dillon's History of Peter the Cruel, vol. i. chap. i. passim.


“Fell serpents! that Castile devour'd!
“Such was my country's hapless doom
“What time I rais'd Alfonzo's tomb:
“Then treason, hydra-headed, rose,
“And Guzman's race were Pedro's foes.

132

“Tello and Frederic grasp'd the spear
“To crown aspiring Trastamere,
“And crush the boy—the youthful King,
“In blossom of his fifteenth spring.
“But, in his son, Alfonzo reign'd;
“I, the crown'd boy, my sway maintain'd.
“Mean-time, my states were met; their aim
“To raise my kingdom's ancient fame,
“And on the throne of Castile place
“A bride of Bourbon's high-born race.
“Then, while my conquering host repos'd,
“And war awhile its horror clos'd,
“I, o'er far lands, with hawk and hound,
“Oft in keen chase my bugle wound.
“It chanc'd, that following in his flight
“My falcon o'er the mountain's height,
“As from my train apart I stray'd,
“And sought, o'er-tir'd, a forest glade,
“All unadorn'd, in simple dress,
“In guise a mountain sheperdess,
“Yet beauteous as a Seraph bright,
“Maria glanc'd before my sight.
“Brief let me be:—of gentle race
“Her sire, amid those wood-lands wild,
“In that lone spot, his native place,

133

“Rear'd up in innocence his child,
“Where peace on his late evening smil'd.
“We met, we lov'd:—mind link'd to mind,
“And heart with heart were intertwin'd.
“And I, beneath a feigned name,
“(Say, was the youthful King to blame?)
“In secret union with my bride
“Cast, in her arms, the world aside.
“So months in dream of rapture fled,
“Ere yet a gathering rumour spread,
“That Gallia, at a nation's pray'r,
“Had sent the fairest of her fair,
“The high-born daughter of Bourbon,
“Blanche, to adorn Castillia's throne.
“I went, inflam'd by worldly pride,
“I woo'd—oh guilt accurst!—the bride—
“I to the altar Bourbon led;
“Horror o'ercanopied our bed.
“View'd I fair Bourbon with delight?
“No—'twas a fiend appall'd my sight,
“A threat'ning fiend that stood alone
“Between Maria and my throne.
“To love, to meek Maria's arms,
“I flew from pomp and Bourbon's charms.
“There, too, on meek Maria's breast

134

“Fell Blanche, disquieting my rest,
“Haunted my couch with dreams unblest.
“Year after year dissension reign'd,
“Yet still my pow'r its rule maintain'd:
“Seville, in distant times unknown,
“Shall bid her sons revere the stone,
“Where, thron'd beneath the golden day,

“Near the western entrance of the Alcazar, or royal palace of Seville, was formerly to be seen a stone seat, with its canopy supported by four pillars, where that severe judge, Don Pedro, sat to decide causes. His justice was so very inflexible, that in those days of feudal anarchy, it was deemed cruelty and tyranny: and hence, perhaps, much of the obloquy bestowed on him by historians. In Andalusia, where he fixed his residence, his memory is not held in abhorrence: and the Sevillian writers, instead of the appellation Pedro el Cruel, distinguish him by that of El Justiciero.” Swinburne's travels through Spain, p. 255.


“Firm Pedro bad the realm obey,
“And justice, at his sceptred hand
“Held her pois'd balance o'er the land.
“Now burst the storm: adulterous love
“And fraud their coil around me wove,
“Drew from the rocks fell Trastamere,
“And couch'd again war's rebel spear.
“My host, by traitorous Frederic led,
“Ingloriously the battle fled.
“Again his King in evil hour
“Arm'd him in plenitude of pow'r,
“When to my throne a rumour came
“Of Frederic's guilt, and Bourbon's shame.

“Don Pédre épouse Blanche de Bourbon; et la première nouvelle qu'il apprend de sa femme quand elle est arrivée à Valladolid, c'est qu'elle est amoureuse du grand-maitre de St. Jâques, l'un de ces mêmes batards qui lui avaient fait la guerre. Il y a encore une famille en Espagne qui se vante d'être issue de ce commerce, c'est celle des Henriques.” Voltaire, Essai sur les Mœurs. Tome III. p. 179.


“These eyes beheld—spare, spare the rest!—
“I sheath'd my blade in Frederic's breast.
“Blanche o'er the base adulterer hung,
“Blanche to his bleeding bosom clung.

135

“My arm was rais'd in vengeful mood.
“—Oh! that this hand had shed her blood!
“I shed not blood—but—ere her hour—
“Blanche—perish'd—in Sidonia's tow'r—
“And the sharp curse that hangs o'er crime
“Yet haunts me from that fatal time.
“Lo the dire proof—this belt I wear,
“These drops of gore the curse declare.”
And Pedro back his mantle threw,
And gave the ensanguin'd belt to view.
His fixed eye-ball on the blood
Glar'd, and his hair uplifted stood.
And, fearfully, on all around
Amazement fell, and awe profound.