Constance De Castile A Poem, in Ten Cantos. By William Sotheby |
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 | Constance De Castile |  |
XVIII.
Last came, with many a poursuivant,Clarion and harp, and minstrel chant,
The knight, the champion without peer,
The youth belov'd of Guinever,
Such as from Joyeuse Garde he rode,
And his barb'd battle steed bestrode.
But—what brave hero, chief of fame
In Launcelot's high honours, came?
Why graven on his golden shield,
That casts new lustre o'er the field,
A Virgin like a form of light
Half-hid beneath a veil of night,
And round the buckler's wreath enroll'd
In characters embost with gold,
“I will the dark eclipse remove,
“Or die thy willing victim, Love?”
Why round his golden helmet wind
Fair wreaths of pearls with gems intwin'd?
Those wreaths of pearls, 'twas Constance gave;
'Tis Lancaster,—the gay—the brave—
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Blew from a trump defiance wide,
“Chiefs! when the tourney course is run,
“This glorious day, ere set of sun,
“The fair Castillian's chosen knight,
“In honour of her peerless charms
“Here challenges to mortal fight
“The bravest of the brave in arms.”
Fam'd Lancaster thus past along:
And all was wonder, shout, and song.
| Constance De Castile | |