Constance De Castile A Poem, in Ten Cantos. By William Sotheby |
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 | Constance De Castile |  |
XX.
While the rivals in their mightCouch the spear, and claim the fight,
And, fiercely neighing, steed 'gainst steed
With proud defiance fills the mead:
Wherefore rings that thrilling cry?
Whence the voice of agony?
114
The rashness of his speed restrain.
On Lancaster, why loudly call,
Why on bent knee before him fall?
Why, stain'd with blood, thy hands uprear?
“Speed the wing'd vengeance of thy spear!
“At Bourdeaux, now, beneath yon walls
“On thee, her champion, Constance calls.
“A Paynim sail, an armed host
“That chas'd our bark from coast to coast,
“With Christian blood dyes Garonne's wave:
“Constance, Castillia's heiress, save!
“For her I die, and bless the wound.”
He spake, and fainted on the ground.
| Constance De Castile | |