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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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102

II.

Far different they by hope betray'd,
Thou, Julian! and the hapless Maid!
They on the cliff where tempests swept
Through the long day sad vigils kept,
There commun'd with the evening star
Till night drove up her ebon car.
Then—ere they slowly left the steep,
Pale moon-beams saw the mourners weep,
And gazing on the vacant main
Shape in each cloud a sail—in vain.—
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