 | Constance De Castile |  |
IV.
He stood, and, bent o'er Pedro's brow,Beheld his tear in silence flow,
And thus the contrite man addrest:
“Repentance yet thy soul may save,
143
“Son! on this hallow'd relic, vow,
“O'er Blanche, o'er hapless Bourbon's grave
“A gifted chantry to endow:
“And lead thyself a sacred band
“To combat in the holy land.—
“Then—heav'n vouchsafe his servant, pow'r
“To free thee from the torturing hour!”
| Constance De Castile | |