 | Constance De Castile |  |
XIII.
The banners wave, the signal's giv'n,
Wide clangour rends the vault of heav'n.
Wide clangour rends the vault of heav'n.
From Bourdeaux' tow'rs the long array
Swells onward through the crowded way,
And shouts of joy, and sighs of woe
Pursue the warriors winding slow.
Swells onward through the crowded way,
And shouts of joy, and sighs of woe
Pursue the warriors winding slow.
Along the realm of Gascony
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:
Plains,—where the pipe of evening leads
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.
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:
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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.
| Constance De Castile | |