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Constance De Castile

A Poem, in Ten Cantos. By William Sotheby
Sotheby, William (1757-1833)

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CONSTANCE DE CASTILE.
 I. 
CANTO I.
 II. 
CANTO II.
 III. 
CANTO III.
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CANTO IV.
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CANTO V.
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CANTO VI.
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CANTO VII.
 I. 
I.
 II. 
II.
 III. 
III.
 IV. 
IV.
 V. 
V.
 VI. 
VI.
 VII. 
VII.
 VIII. 
VIII.
 IX. 
IX.
 X. 
X.
 XI. 
XI.
 XII. 
XII.
 XIII. 
XIII.
 XIV. 
XIV.
 XV. 
XV.
 XVI. 
XVI.
 XVII. 
XVII.
 XVIII. 
XVIII.
 XIX. 
XIX.
 XX. 
XX.
 XXI. 
XXI.
 XXII. 
XXII.
 XXIII. 
XXIII.
 XXIV. 
XXIV.
 XXV. 
XXV.
 XXVI. 
XXVI.
 XXVII. 
XXVII.
 XXVIII. 
XXVIII.
 XXIX. 
XXIX.
 XXX. 
XXX.
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CANTO VIII.
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CANTO IX.
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CANTO X.

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101

I.

Sweet is it, when the spirit is at rest,
And peace attunes the mind,
On the green down at summer tide reclin'd
To listen to the whisper of the wind:
And, on the clouds that canopy the west,
Round the slope sun's vast orbit roll'd
O'er billows of the molten gold,
Catch in quick colours, ere they fade,
The seraph's plume with light inlaid,
And picture fair in blissful dream
Bright visions floating on eve's roseate beam!
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