Constance De Castile A Poem, in Ten Cantos. By William Sotheby |
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| X. | CANTO X. |
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 | Constance De Castile |  |
CANTO X.
I.
Under the noiseless sky,
Or leaves of lulling melody,
I wind the Muse's peaceful haunts among,
And meditate heroic minstrelsy;
“The war-trump speaking to the armed throng”
Rings on the troubled air, and mingles with my song.
Mail'd in gigantic might,
The beacon flaring in his outstretch'd hand,
Points to these blissful bow'rs,
Proud domes, and stately tow'rs,
Invokes the fiend of war, and waves the blazing brand.
Where freedom guards her flame,
Uncrush'd fair Albion's flow'rets smile
To wreathe her warrior's fame.
Still claim th' heroic strain
That fir'd the harp with Crecy's tale,
And Poictier's conquer'd plain.
'Twas Albion's Christian knight
Wav'd his proud flag, when recreant Gaul
Fled from his arm of might.
Whose squadrons strow'd the flood,
When heav'n with war-fires vaulted o'er
Glar'd on a sea of blood?
Gaul's dragon rage subdu'd?
Whose footstep trac'd o'er warriors slain,
At Maida, Gaul pursu'd?
Albion's heroic band.
The war-trump raise, that blowing wide alarm
O'er Talavera's plain,
Bad, awfully suspense, Iberia stand,
While Britain thundering down amain
Thrice brake the battle's strength, and swept o'er Gallia slain.
II.
A voice rekindling war is gone.
Gaul, and du Guesclin, Edward braving,
Their banners in defiance waving,
Exultant on Castillia's coast
Gather their numbers, host on host.
Circled with many a war-train'd son,
St. Venant, there, his flag displaying,
De Bergettes, here, his strength arraying,
Le Begue de Villiers arms this train,
That, headed by the stern Villaine,
There, Ferrand, Gauvain de Baillueil,
And chiefs of Hainault's ancient rule,
Lord d'Antoign, and the brave Brisueil.
Edward upholds the throne of Spain.
III.
At Edward's voice, at glory's call,The barons from their banner'd hall
Seize the triumphant spear and shield,
And fearless seek the unequal field.
Never, ere yet the battle bled,
Reck'd England's host by Edward led
What numbers dar'd their chief oppose:
They sought but to confront their foes,
Nor deign'd to count, till Mercy staid
The havoc of his slaughtering blade,
And Conquest pointing to the slain
Bad Pity ransom half the plain.
IV.
Fair beams on Bourdeaux' tow'rs the dayThat marshals Edward's mail'd array.
High Chandos leads the steel-clad train,
The lords of Partnay and Pinane,
Quercy, Rochelle, and bold Bigorre,
And Saintonge's war-resounding shore.
V.
For Castile arm'd, Majorca's King,Knowles, and high Armagnac renown'd,
And Albert proud their battle bring;
De Buch in perils foremost found;
Neville, whose valour from Auray
Bore many a blood-stain'd spoil away:
Fierce Calverley, whose dauntless train
Triumph'd when Charles de Blois was slain;
D'Ambreticourt has seiz'd the lance,
Bohun and Chatellheraut advance,
Causton, and Roche-chouart poise the spear,
And Clayton calls on Boutelleire.
VI.
Stern Pedro, ere the rebels bleed,Impatient, spurs his coal-black steed,
Robes his bright mail with purple fold,
And crests his helm with crown of gold.
VII.
Constance a milk-white palfrey rode:Whose rich and rare caparison
Powder'd with pearls and jewels shone.
Profusely from his high-arch'd crest
As the gay champing of his pride
Scatter'd the foam from side to side
That bath'd like flakes of snow his breast.
VIII.
Julian Castillia's standard bore,And wav'd its pomp fair Constance o'er.
Unmov'd by pow'r, unsway'd by fame,
Alone for Constance Julian came.
His vow, the van of war to lead,
For Constance, for his King, to bleed,
Perish in arms, or seek the cell,
And bid Lancastria's bride—farewell.—
IX.
Gay-balancing with flexile graceThe cadence of his courser's pace,
On his barb'd roan in martial pride
Castillia's champion woos the bride,
And wins her with heroic tale
Of wars where youthful knights prevail,
Deeds of renown for beauty done,
And realms, for love of ladies, won.
That o'er his belt its broidery spread;
'Twas her fair hand its fancies wove,
Emblem of bliss and nuptial love.
Where the bright texture richly glow'd,
In silver wave the ocean flow'd.
There floating in a pearly shell
Whence light as from a rain-bow fell,
Went Hymen veil'd, and gaily wreath'd
A garland where fresh roses breath'd.
Cupid here play'd the pilot's part,
His rudder was a diamond dart:
Wide wav'd his plumes, each wing a sail,
Fluttering its feathers in the gale.
An emerald its centre shone,
And changeful opals clasp'd the zone.
X.
Why sound the clarions far and wide,Why kneel the chiefs on either side?
St. George's banner onward guiding
The noon-breeze in its strength dividing,
In broad and beautiful display
Proclaims the dark-mail'd Victor's way.
Beam'd like the sparkle of a star,
That glances through the gloom of night:
And, like the eagle's wing on flight,
The plumage o'er his helm of gold
Spread to the gale its feathers bold.
XI.
“Brother of arms,”—the hero cried.As far-fam'd Gaston bow'd the knee
See a very instructive note on the subject of “Les fraternités d'armes,” in the “Mémoires sur l'ancienne Chevalerie,” p. 272.
“The Earl of Foix (Gaston Phœbus) came to pay his respects to the Prince his lord, who shewed him much honour for his readiness to serve him; but, because of his known valour and conduct, as also that he was generally beloved in the country, he gave him in charge the defence of his dominions in his absence, desiring him to reside in Aquitaine till his return, together with his high seneschal, the Lord James Audeley. This, the Earl was well “contented with, and after returning thanks to the Prince, for the honour of that trust, rode to Bourdeaux, where the Princess, and the Lord Audeley were.”—Collins's Life of the Black Prince, p. 194.—Of Gaston, see a highly interesting account, in Froissart, vol. iii. ch. xxxi.
Before the lord of Gascony:—
“All honour wait on Gaston's name!
“Brother of arms! thy aid I claim.
“While Castile forth my puissance leads,
“And in far realms the battle bleeds:
“Forget awhile thy gay resort,
“And feasts of Foix' unrivall'd court.
“Thron'd in my pow'r supremely reign
“Sov'reign of guarded Aquitaine.
“Edward to Gaston dares confide
“His realm, his heir, and peerless bride.”
XII.
Proud Gaston bow'd the willing knee,And pledg'd the faith of chivalry.
Then, as each eye on Edward hung,
The Hero, turning to Castile,
Cried with loud voice, and grasp'd his hand,
“Edward his faith in blood shall seal.
“Thou, King! within thy native land
“Crown'd on Castillia's throne shalt reign,
“Or Edward slumbers with the slain.
“On, warriors! lift your banners high!
“Onward to death or victory!”
XIII.
Wide clangour rends the vault of heav'n.
Swells onward through the crowded way,
And shouts of joy, and sighs of woe
Pursue the warriors winding slow.
Passes the flow'r of chivalry,
'Mid champaigns, o'er whose fertile bed
Free streams, and winding waters spread,
And from their mountain cradle pour
On earth's green lap their gather'd store:
Fair flocks amid luxuriant meads,
Where autumn carols as the swain
Shakes from full sheaves the golden grain,
And sees down each sun-purpled brow
Oil, and the jocund vintage flow.
XIV.
Now the green vales are left behind:Slowly the length'ning battles wind
Through glens, where wolves at random prowl,
And bay the moon with ceaseless howl.
More slow the toilsome march ascends
Where the bold mountain range extends,
Where eagles in their aerie rest
On the top cliff's ice-mantled crest,
And famine on her bleak domain
Frowns o'er the rocks that barrier Spain.
The minstrels lead the host along,
And cheer the march with harp and song.
XV.
Beneath the boundary mountain's browWhere winter smites the realms below,
Or veils in night of vapours lost,
With hideous chasm the pass divides,
And cleaves with floods its shatter'd sides,
Nature had sweetly form'd a scene
That bloom'd the snow-capt rocks between,
And shelt'ring from each bitter blast
O'er it perpetual verdure cast.
XVI.
There bosom'd in a pine-crown'd woodO'er a dark glen a grotto stood,
Where in the still repose of age
Alvarez sought the hermitage.
His sires, renown'd in wars of old
Their lineage from Pelayo told.
He, too, in youth, o'er warriors slain
Had triumph'd in the tented plain:
Granada's Kings had sanguine made
The breadth of his Castillian blade,
And valour in the front of war
Furrow'd his breast with many a scar.
XVII.
Congenial to his musing mood,The warrior hermit's solitude
O'erlook'd the memorable dell
Where Roland and his heroes fell.
“Between St. Jean Pied de Port and Pampeluna are the defiles and strong passes of Navarre, which are very dangerous; for there are a hundred situations among them, which a handful of men would guard and shut up against a whole army.”—Froiss. vol. i. 711.—Among these defiles, in the Pyrennean mountains separating France and Spain, is the celebrated pass of Ronceval.— Through these the Black Prince led his army at the latter end of February, 1366.
It is difficult to escape from the passages crowding on the memory at the mention of Roland, and Ronceval:—but I must content myself with the mere recital of the historical fact, on which the Romancers and Poets have erected their delightful fictions.
On Charlemain's triumphant return from the defeat of the Saracens in Spain in 778, Montfaucon, on the authority of Eginard, adds, “Il revint à Pampelune, dont il fit abattre les murs pour lui ôter les moiens de se revolter— Lorsqu'il repassoit les Pyrenées, les Gascons attaquerent la queüe de son armée dans les lieux escarpez et dans des rochers, où les François armez de pied en cap avoient peine à se soutenir, au lieu que ces Gascons armez à la legere, avoient tout l'avantage. Il y eut là bien des gens tuez, et des gens même de la premiere qualité; entre autres, Egarth Maître de la table du Roi, Anselme, Comte du Palais, et Roland, Prefet des Frontieres de la Bretagne Armorique. Cet échec fit bien de la peine au Roi Charles. Il auroit bien souhaité de châtier ces Gascons: mais après l'action, ils étoient tellement dispersez dans leurs rochers et montagnes, que pas un ne paroissoit.” Montf. Mon. de France. Vol. I. p. 209.
Eginard's expression is, “Cujus vulneris (sc. Rolandi) accepti ratio magnam “partem rerum feliciter in Hispania gestarum, in corde Regis obnubilavit.”
Alvarez' hand had fenc'd the ground,
And with the cross their relics crown'd.
And ever, there at noon of day
The lone enthusiast wont to pray;
There, o'er the dead, an offering laid,
With peaceful requiem sooth'd their shade,
And scattering wild flow'rs on the grave.
Hallow'd the sod that tomb'd the brave.
XVIII.
The trumpets bray'd, the minstrels sung,
The neighing steed, the rattling car
Pour'd on his ear the rush of war.
Alvarez caught the heroic flame,
And as the minstrels onward came,
With solemn mien, and outstretch'd hand
Advancing, stay'd the awe-struck band.
XIX.
It seem'd, a saint in amice grayCame forth to bless them on their way,
So peace sat pictur'd on his brow,
And white, as flakes of feathery snow
That fall when every wind has rest,
His beard descending swept his breast:
And lowly from his girdle hung
A cross that to his slow pace swung.
XX.
“Pause, minstrels! lowly bending down,
“Pause on this monumental stone!
“Here swell the dirge, here strike the lyre:
“Where earth in many a hillock thrown
“Heaves o'er heroes dead and gone!
“Yon mighty bones that press the plain
“Still speak of the gigantic train
“Who quell'd the Paynims in their pride.
“Swell the dirge where Roland died!—
“Lo! on this spot Earl Roland fell:
“The mountain shepherds know it well,
“And yearly on the fatal day
“Pluck from the stones the weeds away.
“Say on the harp to other times,
“Saw the plum'd crest of Charlemain
“In van of his triumphant train,
“Pour'd forth a nameless multitude.
“Vain the hauberk, vain the mail,
“Vain the terror of the spear:
“Tow'r'd on the cliff the mountaineer,
“And roll'd the tempest on the field,
“Burying the helm and bruised shield.
“Then Roland's blade was found to fail,
“The edge of dreaded Durindale:
“The voice of the enchanted horn
“Down the steep mountains slowly borne
Roland, alone, bleeding to death with four mortal wounds, amid the rocks of Ronceval, thus concludes his apostrophy to Durindale, and sounds for the last time his warning horn:—“Gran dolor siento en dexarte, y mucho mayor si pensase que quedabas en poder de paganos: mas por sacar mi alma de cuidado, quiero hacer que no te goce Moro, ni Judio, ni Christiano: y entonces se levantó con gran trabajo, y la tomó con entrambas manos, y dió con ella en la pen̄a tantos gólpes, que la hundió hasta el suelo, sin que en la espada hiciese mella ni sen̄al alguna; y viendo que no podia quebrarla, tomó su cuerno para hacer sen̄al á algun Christiano si en el monte se hubiese escondido: y tan̄ó dos veces, y la segunda se abrió todo de cabó á cabó, y se le abrieron las llagas y las venas de su cuerpo: llegó aquella voz á oidos del Emperador, que estaba dos leguas de alli.”—Hist. de Carlo Magno.
Charlemaigne feit embasmer le corps de Roland, et emporter en leglise Saint Romain de la ville de Blayes, et au pie de son tumbeau feit mectre son cor dyvoire, qu'il portoit en guerre, et au chef son espee durandal.—Bouchet, F.42, b. 72.—See the Anotaciones a Don Quixote, Seg. Parte.
“The Monarch, rushing to the call,
“Saw but the rocks of Ronceval,
“And stretch'd upon their flinty bed
“Earl Roland, and his warriors dead.
“Here swell the dirge, here strike the lyre!
“And Roland in the grave be blest!”
If the reader be not immoderately curious, the following list of some of the renowned swords from the armoury of the warriors of romance, will not leave him wholly ungratified.
“Entonces Fierabras cin̄ó su espada, Ilamada Ploranza, y tenia otras dos al arzon de la silla, la una se Ilamaba Baptisto, y la otra Graban. Hicieron estas espadas tres Hermanos, y cada uno hizo tres;” the names of the three fraternal sword-makers, were Galfus, Munisicans, and Ausiax. Ausiax made the three above-mentioned. “Munisicans” hizo las espadas Ilamadas “Durandal,” the possessor of which was Roland: (Orlando, the nephew of Charlemagne—) He also made “Salvagina, y Cortante, estas hubo Oger de Danoys. Galfus hizo las espadas Ilamadas Flamberge y Altaclara, estas tenia Oliveros: y Joyosa, esta tenia Carlo Magno.”—Hist. de Carlo Magno.
XXI.
The minstrels swell'd the dirge of woe.
He view'd his chieftains in their pride,
Who oft had turn'd the battle tide:
Hope proudly plum'd each warrior's crest,
And valour flam'd from breast to breast.
Past, and perish'd in his might.
Treason might lead his warriors on:
Navarre, another Ganelon.
Ronceval, and the territory on each side adjoining, were at that time possessed by Charles, justly surnamed “le Mauvais,” king of Navarre. His avaricious bargain with Pedro for the opening of the passes, his treacherous conduct, and desertion of the Black Prince, (vid. Froissart, passim) brand him in history with the detestable mark of the false Peer of Charlemain, Ganelon, who “por “avaricia vendió los Caballeros, los doce Pares de Francia, en quien jamas faltó “virtud y nobleza.” Hist. de Carl. Mag.
XXII.
Brave Edward leaning on his spearShed on the funeral stone a tear.
There, prostrate, hoar Alvarez pray'd,
There, his mute harp the minstrel laid.
And Constance, at her champion's side,
Knelt on the spot where Roland died.
Hung o'er their shields in gloom profound,
And where the hero breath'd his last
The banners of their glory cast.
While nought was heard, nor speech, nor sound,
Save the long sighing of the blast,
Or where the rushing torrents stray'd
A voice of many waters past:
Uprose Castillia's royal Maid,
By high heroic impulse fir'd,
And seiz'd the harp as one inspir'd;
Smote the loud chords, bade triumph flow,
And turn'd to joy the tide of woe.
XXIII.
“They live, the chiefs who bravely fall,
“Weep for the youth to virtue dying
“In pleasure's shameful fetters lying.
“Strow the flow'r, and shed the tear
“O'er age unhonour'd in the bier,
“The tears that drop, the flow'rs that die
“Shall picture his mortality.
“Nor patriot zeal, nor honour mov'd,
“Nor the trumpet's voice most musical
“Like those who fell at Ronceval.
“See, in the crimson realm of war
“Rises again Earl Roland's star.
“Earl Roland on Castillia's plain
“In high-born Edward lives again,
“Live all the peers of Charlemain
“In high-born Edward's knightly train.
“Ye beckon us to victory!
“'Tis ours to follow glory's call;
“And greatly live, or nobly fall,
“Like those who died at Ronceval!”
XXIV.
“To arms—to arms!”—the warriors cried,And wav'd their flaming falchions wide.
O'er Edward's brow the chiefs on high
Their banners rais'd triumphantly:
Their voice, the shout of victory.
The warriors on Alvarez gaz'd,
While swift before his heav'n-fix'd eye
Swept visions of futurity.
XXV. The Hermit's prophetic Ode.
“War blows the trump on Navaret.“Like the vext sea in tempests roll'd
“The foemen, host on host, unfold.
“Advance! the battle ranks are set.
“Sparkling spears, and helmets bright
“Quiver in the golden light.
“Fix'd like rocks whose strength outbraves
“The deep with all its weight of waves,
“Stern, silent, still, the Britons stand.
“Why smile the chiefs in scornful mood?
“The sword that flam'd o'er Poictiers arms their hand,
“Pale Crecy's shadowy slain before them float in blood.
XXVI.
“Like cataracts from the mountain brow“Clash the couch'd lances in their rest,
“Squadron on squadron, breast on breast.
“Whose voice pours thunder on the gale?
“Whose war-hoofs, red with slaughter, crush the foe?
“Like Death, with terror crown'd, dark tow'rs the sable mail.
XXVII.
“Lone in his might the conqueror past.—“They fly—the foes, thrice rallied, fly!
“Hark, hark!—St. George and victory!
The Black Prince closed his career of victory at Navaret. In that decisive battle, fought on the 3d of April, 1367, the conqueror of Crecy and Poictiers defeated, with immense slaughter, the disproportioned numbers of the Usurper. Henry of Trastamere fought with desperate resolution; thrice rallied his broken ranks, nor resigned the contest, till the flight of his brothers, and the capture of Du Guesclin, in himself a host, rendered all resistance ineffectual.
Trastamere fled to France, and under more auspicious circumstances, and when no longer opposed by the Black Prince, defeated and murdered Pedro, and maintained possession of the kingdom, against the claims of John of Gaunt, titular king of Castile and Leon.
“Chiefs on their bucklers breathe their last.
“Weave the wreath. the war is o'er,
“Najara's torrent foams with gore,
“And Fear o'er Gaul's tumultuous flight
“Wide waves his banner dark as night.
“Navaret! weave the laurel wreath!
“Glory's peerless course is run.
“Edward! repose!—the sword of victory sheathe.
“Rest! in thy splendour rest—so sets yon golden sun.
XXVIII.
“To notes of joy and nuptial pleasure:
“War's blood-stain'd path with flow'rets hide;
“Lead to Lancastria's lord the bride.
“In peace their sceptred race shall reign.
The sole issue of the union of John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, with Constance, the heiress of Castile, was Katherine, who, by marriage with the grandson of Trastamere, Henry III. became mother of John II. father of Isabel, “married to Ferdinand, King of Arragon, surnamed the Catholique, by whom she had issue, Joan, espoused to Philip, Archduke of Austria, in her right King of Spain, father of the Emperor Charles V., father of Philip II., who had issue Philip III., father of Philip IV., father of Charles II., who died in 1700.” —Sandford's Geneal. Hist. Kings of England, p. 253.
“Yet—stay!”—
Why bursts th' involuntary tear?
The fire, that glow'd thy cheek, why flown,
Why silenc'd, joy's triumphant tone?
“Fall'n is the banner that, unfurl'd
“By conquest, claim'd another world;
“The flag that wav'd o'er Pavia's fight.
“Spaniard!—Iberia's glories fade.
“Terror of earth, enthron'd sublime,
“Who, crown'd by horror, fraud, and crime,
“O'erlook'st the world, an idol god?
“O'er Gaul, th' avenger lifts the rod,
“Shivering the sceptres of the globe,
“And dies in blood of kings his robe.
“Shalt at the idol's altar bow;
“Thou, by thy native sons betray'd,
“By scepter'd vice and folly sway'd:
“Thy nobles slav'd, thy princes sold,
“Thy ruler under yoke of gold,
“Fetter'd beneath the Gallic chain.
“I see in arms a people stand,
“Stand where their great fore-fathers bled,
“While Rome and all her legions fled,
“And o'er their consecrated grave
“The rescu'd flag of Freedom wave.
“Speaks, as she casts her shield o'er Spain:
“‘Beneath my trident strike the blow,
“‘And boldly grasp the Gallic prow.
“‘Beneath my trident free thy host,
“‘Unyoke their strength on Funen's coast,
“‘Assert the birth-right of the brave,
“‘Conquer, or claim a patriot's grave!
“‘With thee his sword the Briton draws:
“‘Freedom is thine and Britain's cause.
“‘Wheel o'er thy realm his scythed car,
“‘Level with iron mace thy tow'rs,
“‘And waste with flame thy peaceful bow'rs:
“‘Though smoke with blood thy untill'd ground,
“‘Palace and altar blazing round,
“‘Valour, that slavery's yoke disdains,
“‘Honour remains, that nurs'd thy sires,
“‘Vengeance that rous'd Saguntum's fires:
The inhabitants of Saguntum, (near Murviedro, in Valencia,) besieged by Hannibal, preferred perishing in the flames with their wives and children, rather than submit to ignominious terms. On referring to the account in Livy, it is impossible to resist the insertion of a passage which equally describes some features of the resistance that has immortalised, in our days, the heroic defenders of Saragossa.—“Inter ruinas muri tectaque urbis modico distantia intervallo constiterant.—Hinc spes, hinc desperatio animos irritat: Pœno cepisse jam se urbem, si paululum adnitatur, credente: Saguntinis pro nudata mœnibus patria corpora opponentibus. Nec ullo pedem referente, ne relicto à se loco hostem immitteret. Itaque quo acrius et confertim magis utrimque pugnabatur, eo plures vulnerabantur, nullo inter arma corporaque vano intercidente telo.”—Liv. lib. xxi.
“‘To want, to woe, to death resign'd
“‘Remains th' unconquerable mind:
“‘The rocks, th' eternal rocks remain
“‘The bulwark of Pelayo's reign:
Pelayo was descended from the regal blood of the Goths. After the fatal battle near the river of Guadaleta, where the Moors under Tarif, in 714, totally defeated the Goths, and wrested the sceptre from Roderick, Pelayo retired to the mountains of Asturias, and by inflexible perseverance and heroic courage, gradually prepared the re-establishment of the Christian monarchy.
“‘The starry cope, the cold bleak sky
“‘Sheltering the sons of liberty.
“‘On every mount the weapon lies
“‘That gain'd the Gothic victories,
“‘Freedom!—to man in birth-right giv'n,
“‘Guard it—the rest confide to Heav'n.’”
Through Ronceval's dark-winding way,
Nor sought his peaceful cell again,
Till Navaret, on her conquer'd plain,
Saw Edward hang his banner high,
And sheathe the sword of victory.
| Constance De Castile | |