 | Constance De Castile |  |
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.
| Constance De Castile | |