![]() | Constance De Castile | ![]() |
XXVI.
“Like cataracts from the mountain brow“Clash the couch'd lances in their rest,
“Squadron on squadron, breast on breast.
171
“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.
![]() | Constance De Castile | ![]() |