Constance De Castile A Poem, in Ten Cantos. By William Sotheby |
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 | Constance De Castile |  |
XI.
Oh! it were long to tell each wound,
And how they wheel'd and travers'd round;
How, from each blow, the batter'd shield
And hauberk, piece-meal, strow'd the field:
How, each, throughout the dubious fray
By turns advanc'd, by turns gave way,
And what the Moor's gigantic might,
And Lancaster's address in fight.
And how they wheel'd and travers'd round;
How, from each blow, the batter'd shield
And hauberk, piece-meal, strow'd the field:
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By turns advanc'd, by turns gave way,
And what the Moor's gigantic might,
And Lancaster's address in fight.
Swift on the Christian's helm descends
The Paynim's blade, and cuts in twain
The wreath of pearls that strow the plain.
Lo! on bow'd knee the warrior bends:
That wreath—so seen—fresh force inspir'd:
Fame, vengeance, love each champion fir'd.
Blade rings on blade, wound follows wound,
And the warm life-blood spouts around.
The Paynim's blade, and cuts in twain
The wreath of pearls that strow the plain.
Lo! on bow'd knee the warrior bends:
That wreath—so seen—fresh force inspir'd:
Fame, vengeance, love each champion fir'd.
Blade rings on blade, wound follows wound,
And the warm life-blood spouts around.
| Constance De Castile | |