 | Constance De Castile |  |
XXI.
“To arms”—exclaim'd Lancastria's lord,—“Warriors! speed on!—unsheath the sword!—
“To arms, to arms!”—at once the train
At Lancaster's high call are gone
From the gay tilting of the plain
To combat on the vext Garonne,
To prove their might by hardihood,
And stain their tourney pomp with blood.
| Constance De Castile | |