Constance De Castile | ||
XIV.
The hero cast her veil aside,And knelt before the blushing bride.
But—how?—what words,—what glowing lay
The feelings of her soul display,
Each mingled passion that imprest
Its tumult on the Virgin's breast,
150
Burst from the dark eclipse of night,
And, like an angel, rob'd in light,
To heav'n uprais'd her snowy arms,
While Fame's resounding voice proclaim'd her Champion's might?
Constance De Castile | ||