Constance De Castile A Poem, in Ten Cantos. By William Sotheby |
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| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
 | IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. | VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| X. |
 | Constance De Castile |  |
VII.
At once, ere Pedro's closing word,
Up from their seats the warriors sprung,
Leapt from each sheath th' avenging sword,
Leapt from each sheath th' avenging sword,
The roof with martial clangour rung:
Brave Lancaster, before the rest,
Exultant to the Virgin prest,
His hand now hover'd o'er the veil:
When in the thunder of his mail,
With light'ning speed, with eye of fire
Baring his brow in scornful ire,
The stranger knight before him flew,
His outstretch'd arm a dagger drew,
Shook o'er the Maid in vengeful mood:
“Hence! or this poniard drinks her blood.
“Behold Almanzor, Afric's King,
“Afric's wide realms my sceptre own:
“Their Monarchs kneel before my throne.
“I claim my bride: lo mine the ring!
“Sheath your vain swords, I scorn your pow'r,
“My word, like Fate, o'er-rules the hour.
“Touch but this veil, the Virgin dies,
“My life the willing sacrifice,
“While reeking from the victim slain
“This dagger cleaves my heart in twain.
Brave Lancaster, before the rest,
Exultant to the Virgin prest,
His hand now hover'd o'er the veil:
When in the thunder of his mail,
With light'ning speed, with eye of fire
Baring his brow in scornful ire,
The stranger knight before him flew,
His outstretch'd arm a dagger drew,
Shook o'er the Maid in vengeful mood:
“Hence! or this poniard drinks her blood.
145
“Afric's wide realms my sceptre own:
“Their Monarchs kneel before my throne.
“I claim my bride: lo mine the ring!
“Sheath your vain swords, I scorn your pow'r,
“My word, like Fate, o'er-rules the hour.
“Touch but this veil, the Virgin dies,
“My life the willing sacrifice,
“While reeking from the victim slain
“This dagger cleaves my heart in twain.
“Almanzor to the world proclaims
“The passion that his soul inflames.
“Thrills Europe at the voice of love?
“Does Afric's pulse less fiercely move?
“Love bad me quit my native throne,
“Love fix'd me lingering here unknown.
“Where, but at far-fam'd Edward's court
“Would Castile's King for aid resort?
“Love wing'd my sail, love arm'd the train
“That sought my bride across the main;
“Love bids me crown the Christian Maid,
“Or—in her breast, now, plunge my blade.”
He spake, and rais'd his arm on high.
“The passion that his soul inflames.
“Thrills Europe at the voice of love?
“Does Afric's pulse less fiercely move?
“Love bad me quit my native throne,
“Love fix'd me lingering here unknown.
“Where, but at far-fam'd Edward's court
“Would Castile's King for aid resort?
“Love wing'd my sail, love arm'd the train
“That sought my bride across the main;
“Love bids me crown the Christian Maid,
“Or—in her breast, now, plunge my blade.”
He spake, and rais'd his arm on high.
'Mid the loud burst of agony,
Bold Lancaster, with thundering sound,
Cast his steel gauntlet on the ground:
“Fame vaunts thy strength, and giant force
“Dwells on the thunder of thy course,
“Thy spear's vast weight, thy bulk of shield,
“And mace no arm but thine can wield.
“Yet—Lancaster defies thy might:
“Take up my gauntlet, join the fight,
“Or, recreant, shun the beams of day.
“Paynim! come forth—I lead the way.”
146
Cast his steel gauntlet on the ground:
“Fame vaunts thy strength, and giant force
“Dwells on the thunder of thy course,
“Thy spear's vast weight, thy bulk of shield,
“And mace no arm but thine can wield.
“Yet—Lancaster defies thy might:
“Take up my gauntlet, join the fight,
“Or, recreant, shun the beams of day.
“Paynim! come forth—I lead the way.”
| Constance De Castile | |