Constance De Castile :: :: University of Virginia Library

Constance De Castile

A Poem, in Ten Cantos. By William Sotheby

Sotheby, William (1757-1833)

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CONSTANCE DE CASTILE.

CANTO I.

II.

CANTO II.

III.

CANTO III.

IV.

CANTO IV.

II.

III.

IV.

VI.

VII.

VIII.

IX.

XI.

XII.

XII. Minstrel Song.

XIII.

XIII. Fairy Song.

XIV.

CANTO V.

II.

III.

IV.

VI.

VII.

VIII.

IX.

XI.

XII.

XIII.

XIV.

XV.

XVI.

XVII.

XVIII.

XIX.

XX.

XXI.

VI.

CANTO VI.

II.

III.

IV.

VI.

VII.

VIII.

IX.

XI.

XII.

XII. Julian's Tale.

XIII.

XIV.

XV.

XVI.

XVII.

XVIII.

XIX.

XX.

XXI.

XXII.

XXIII.

XXIV.

XXV.

XXVI.

XXVII.

XXVIII.

XXIX.

XXX.

VII.

CANTO VII.

II.

III.

IV.

VI.

VII.

VIII.

IX.

XI.

XII.

XIII.

XIV.

XV.

XVI.

XVII.

XVIII.

XIX.

XX.

XXI.

XXII.

XXIII.

XXIV.

XXV.

XXVI.

XXVII.

XXVIII.

XXIX.

XXX.

VIII.

CANTO VIII.

II.

III.

IV.

VI.

VII.

VIII.

IX.

XI.

XII.

XIII.

XIV.

XV.

IX.

CANTO IX.

II.

III.

IV.

VI.

VII.

VIII.

IX.

XI.

XII.

XIII.

XIV.

CANTO X.

II.

III.

IV.

VI.

VII.

VIII.

IX.

XI.

XII.

XIII.

XIV.

XV.

XVI.

XVII.

XVIII.

XIX.

XX.

XXI.

XXII.

XXIII.

XXIV.

XXV.

XXV. The Hermit's prophetic Ode.

XXVI.

XXVII.

XXVIII.

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CANTO I.

I.

Hark! round Corunna's sea-girt tow'r

On the general revolt of Castile against Pedro, Corunna alone refused to open its gates to the usurper, Henry Count of Trastamere.

A loud voice tells the midnight hour:
On the lone castle's topmost height
A warrior trims the signal light,
And bending o'er th' embattled keep
Gazes on the vacant deep.
The billows roll along the shore
Hoarse-echoing the tempestuous roar.
No vessel labours on the main:
Shall Castile view her King again?

II.

A twelvemonth and a day had past
Since brave Corunna hail'd him last.
Before her walls the Rebels lay
Wasting in wassal sports the day,
And shows of peaceful pageantry.
The laughter of their revel hours
Echo'd around her mournful towr's;
Beneath the warder's watch their pomp past sweeping by.

III.

And was it not a galling sight
For warriors armed cap-à-piè,
Who ceaseless kept their watch aright,
To mark their foemen's revelry?
To see upon the green turf laid
Some who the helmet's weight unbound;
Some to guitars who tripp'd around,
Or with the lute gay music made,
Fingering light ditties to their love;
Others, who in the myrtle grove,
When vext Corunna's trumpet rung,
On the lithe branch their shields uphung;
Or trimm'd them for the tourney day,
To glitter in a bloodless fray.

IV.

Yet one amid the festive throng
An armed chief slow pac'd along,
His bold hand sternly grasp'd the spear;
'Twas Henry Count of Trastamere.

V.

There, not Castillia's knights alone,
Nor the liege lords of Arragon,
But chiefs of fame and leaders come
From each far realm of Christendom.
These, courting honour, seek the foe;
Those, roam for plunder, to and fro:

With the leaders of the free companions, who, after the peace of Bretigny in 1360, devastated the kingdom of France, and whom the policy of the French monarch, Charles the Fifth, and the temptation of plunder, induced to join the banners of Trastamere, many chieftains of high note, both English and French, were associated. Among the English knights, Froissart enumerates Sir Eustace d'Ambreticourt, Sir Hugh Calverley, Sir Walter Huet, Sir Mathew Gournay, Sir John Devereux, and Sir John Neville: among the French, the Lord Arnold d'Endreghen, Marshal of France, the Lord Anthony de Beau-jeu, and the Lord John de Bourbon, Count de la Marche, cousin of the unfortunate Blanche of Bourbon; these marched under the command of the celebrated Sir Bertrand du Guesclin.

Chiefs who scarce deign to bend the knee
To brow of earthly sov'reignty,
Men of adventures, bold and free,
Who of the sword their tenure hold,
And freely barter blood for gold.

VI.

Around Corunna's tow'rs, profusion reign'd,
And revels unrestrain'd:
Gaunt famine watch'd within,
The deep sigh mingling with that festive din:

And far, more galling far
To spirits of the brave that courted war,
Each one who kept Corunna's tow'r
Seem'd captive in his conqueror's pow'r

VII.

But vow'd not Pedro, ere the moon,
Which glimmer'd on his parting sail,
Had thrice renew'd her crescent pale,
That victory o'er Corunna's tide
Should on his prow in triumph ride:
That by his gifts and largess won,
The potent chiefs of Lusitane
Should join in arms his loyal train,
And on his rightful brow replace Castillia's crown?

VIII.

Thus past the Monarch o'er the main,
But ne'er set sail from Lusitane,
Till now the mournful year
Clos'd in its slow career;
And, in the dreary interval,
The brave, without a wound,
Sunk perishing around,
While o'er the frequent funeral

Nor bow'd the priest, nor kindred tear
Fell on the tainted bier;
Till famine, watchful on the tow'r,
Number'd each slow-returning hour.

IX.

It was a boisterous night,
And bitterly the blast o'er ocean howl'd;
No kind star lent its light
As on the world of waters darkness scowl'd,
Save where on bold Corunna's height,
From the lone tow'r that crown'd the steep,
Glanc'd a swift gleam along the deep,
Flash'd to and fro by fits, and seem'd to mock the sight.

X.

It was a fearful hour,
No voice but of the winds and waters heard,
Or the shrill wailing of the storm-tost bird;
And, in the lulling interval,
The momentary slumber of the gale,
At due time from the sea-girt tow'r
The still ear caught the measur'd sound
Of one who lonely pac'd, and told to night his round.

XI.

Pace on, thou sleepless sentinel!
Loud to the list'ning ear the due time tell,
Nor fail to turn th' uplifted eye
On each pale torch about to die.
So, ever in the bloody fray
Glance from thy helm the shaft away!
Not thine the fires, by night-hags fed,
That wandering o'er the marshy bed
Lure astray the traveller;
Thine beckon the worn mariner,
And guide him from the stormy main
To home, and earth's green lap again.

XII.

Will they from ocean's stormy tide
To earth's green lap yon sufferers guide?
The bleak winds on those billows dark
Tempest at will a lonely bark.
Hear! hear, good sentinel!
Heav'n! and the holy Virgin shield thee well!
Trim, trim anew the waning light,
Till the broad signal-flame flash bright,
While yet the steersman eyes the beam,
And turns the helm to catch the gleam.

XIII.

That lonely bark those wild waves o'er
Castillia's long lost Monarch bore.
But why does Pedro rashly brave
Death on the dark tempestuous wave?
While the long year toil'd slowly round,
Pedro had caught no other sound
Save the sad murmur of the main:
What time the heir of Lusitane,

The son and heir of Pedro the Just, King of Portugal, to whom Pedro had fled for succour, openly favoured the cause of Trastamere. He was allied to the usurper, his mother being half-sister to the Lady Jane Manuel, wife of Henry of Trastamere. Vide Dillon's History of Peter the Cruel, vol. ii. p. 17.

By Trastamere's base offers gain'd.
By justice, honour, unrestrain'd,
Fetter'd the king in servile chain.
Rescued from lone Viana's tow'r,
Pedro defies the dangerous hour,
And freely spreads the vent'rous sail
To midnight, and the stormy gale.

XIV

Now near and nearer to that shore
A loud voice came the billows o'er.
The sentinel has caught the sound,
And from the promontory's steep,
Bow'd o'er the darkness of the deep,
Waves his flaming torch around.
In the huge sea-swell, rolling wide,

A lone bark labours to and fro,
Seems now above the surge to ride,
Now plunge th' unfathom'd deep below.
Flaps on the mast each shiver'd sail,
The loose cords rattle in the gale;
Huge waves foam in on every side,
The breakers flash against the prow;
Yet, guided by that beacon light
Th' intrepid pilot steers his way,
And onward to Corunna's bay
Holds steadily his course aright.
Hark! as the swift keel ploughs the strand,
Hark! eager acclamations ring,
“Castile! come forth! hail, hail thy King!
“Thy long lost King returns, and greets his native land!”

XV.

Rous'd by the warder's trumpet sound,
Corunna's warriors gather round;
Blazes with fire the castle brow,
Swift hurrying lights flash to and fro;
As down the rocks the steel-clad band
Rush to the tempest-beaten strand,
Load the loud blast with Pedro's name,
And o'er the foamy surge wide wave the beck'ning flame.

XVI.

The seamen, prostrate on the strand,
Hail with glad shout their native land,
And kiss, with filial lip, the shore:
The priest, with heav'n uplifted eye,
Hoar Anselm, holds the cross on high,
And chaunts his deep-ton'd hymn amid the billowy roar.

XVII.

What form of air, what angel bright,
Severing the darkness of the night,
Speeds like a shadowy vision fleet
Along the sands her printless feet?
'Tis Constance on the sea-beat shore;
Around her burst the ocean roar,
And the swoln surge its foam upthrew,
As faint, beneath her wilder'd view,
Pedro, contending with the deep,
Strove mid the breakers' refluent sweep.
Onward the fearless virgin prest,
And borne before the rising blast,
The loose robe fluttering on her breast,
Rush'd through the volume of the wave;
Her arms around her father cast,
And swoon'd on him she flew to save.

XVIII.

With falt'ring footstep slow,
The king, weigh'd down with woe,
The boisterous surges booming round his way,
On through the breakers hoar,
His speechless daughter bore,
Stream'd o'er her brow his locks so silvery gray.
All might discern by that dim flame,
The grief that agonis'd his frame,
His bosom labouring past controlling,
Down his dark cheek the big tear rolling.
And ever as his upward eye
Glar'd on the night-cloud sweeping by,
On his stern front, and troubled mien
The conflict of his soul was seen,
Lines deeper far than those of age,
Furrows of vengeance, woe, and rage.

XIX.

But, motionless, like sculptured stone,
Her eye-lid clos'd, her colour gone,
Lay the pale Maiden, o'er whose brow
The father bow'd his locks of snow,
And spread his mantle to the wind,
To shield her from bleak gales unkind.

Faint gleam'd the torch above her head,
Dim as a taper o'er the dead.

XX.

Mark'd you, how o'er his speechless child
The father hung with anguish wild?
Unnerv'd the arm once wont to wield
The falchion, terror of the field;
Of friends, of fame, of hope bereft,
Nought but the vow of vengeance left,
“Curs'd be my corse, unwept my bier,
“If Pedro yield to Trastamere!”

XXI.

Thus, breathing rage, while Pedro past,
The beacons flaring in the blast,
Gave to his gaze the war-worn band
That knelt upon the sea-beat strand.
The Monarch paus'd to praise their worth;
But deep groans burst unbidden forth;
And all, in silent agony,
Wept, as their lord went hopeless by.

XXII.

Beneath the crags that overhung
The shelter of Corunna's bay,
The windings of the cliffs among
Deep in a cove a cavern lay;
The guard there slept not, night nor day.
Huge gates of steel its entrance clos'd,
And silence in its gloom repos'd:
There, the long toil of elder time
Smoothing the rocky channel wide,
Slow led the cheated foot to climb
Step after step its rifted side,
Till unperceiv'd the gradual steep
Clos'd in the castle's central keep.

XXIII.

Up the dark windings of the cave
The faithful warder leads the way;
Hush'd there the wind's tempestuous sway,
And the wild uproar of the wave
Sunk to a low and lulling sound,
A whisper in that vault profound:
The sufferers gain the castle keep,
And Constance wakes from death-like sleep.

XXIV.

Then—as the father o'er her hung,
And heard once more her angel tongue,
Lour'd his dark brow in deepest gloom:
“Priest!” he exclaim'd in accent wild,
“The father cannot soothe his child;
“Calm, holy Anselm! calm her breast,
“And lull her troubled soul to rest.
“I am a man with blood defiled;
“I go to bear my bitter doom;
“Shield me, Maria! in thy tomb!”
He spoke, and with wild mien aghast,
And hurried foot-step, onward past.

All the English knights, prior to the expedition of the Black Prince into Castile, at his summons left the usurper, and joined the banners of Aquitaine.