 | Constance De Castile |  |
XII.
He spake, and warmly to his breastThe 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.
| Constance De Castile | |