Constance De Castile | ||
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.
168
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.
Constance De Castile | ||