Constance De Castile :: :: University of Virginia Library

Constance De Castile

A Poem, in Ten Cantos. By William Sotheby

Sotheby, William (1757-1833)

[section]

CONSTANCE DE CASTILE.

II.

III.

IV.

II.

III.

IV.

VI.

VII.

VIII.

IX.

XI.

XII.

XII. Minstrel Song.

XIII.

XIII. Fairy Song.

XIV.

CANTO V.

II.

III.

IV.

VI.

VII.

VIII.

IX.

XI.

XII.

XIII.

XIV.

XV.

XVI.

XVII.

XVIII.

XIX.

XX.

XXI.

VI.

CANTO VI.

II.

III.

IV.

VI.

VII.

VIII.

IX.

XI.

XII.

XII. Julian's Tale.

XIII.

XIV.

XV.

XVI.

XVII.

XVIII.

XIX.

XX.

XXI.

XXII.

XXIII.

XXIV.

XXV.

XXVI.

XXVII.

XXVIII.

XXIX.

XXX.

VII.

CANTO VII.

II.

III.

IV.

VI.

VII.

VIII.

IX.

XI.

XII.

XIII.

XIV.

XV.

XVI.

XVII.

XVIII.

XIX.

XX.

XXI.

XXII.

XXIII.

XXIV.

XXV.

XXVI.

XXVII.

XXVIII.

XXIX.

XXX.

VIII.

CANTO VIII.

II.

III.

IV.

VI.

VII.

VIII.

IX.

XI.

XII.

XIII.

XIV.

XV.

IX.

CANTO IX.

II.

III.

IV.

VI.

VII.

VIII.

IX.

XI.

XII.

XIII.

XIV.

CANTO X.

II.

III.

IV.

VI.

VII.

VIII.

IX.

XI.

XII.

XIII.

XIV.

XV.

XVI.

XVII.

XVIII.

XIX.

XX.

XXI.

XXII.

XXIII.

XXIV.

XXV.

XXV. The Hermit's prophetic Ode.

XXVI.

XXVII.

XXVIII.

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CONSTANCE DE CASTILE.

CANTO I.

I.

Hark! round Corunna's sea-girt tow'r

On the general revolt of Castile against Pedro, Corunna alone refused to open its gates to the usurper, Henry Count of Trastamere.

A loud voice tells the midnight hour:
On the lone castle's topmost height
A warrior trims the signal light,
And bending o'er th' embattled keep
Gazes on the vacant deep.
The billows roll along the shore
Hoarse-echoing the tempestuous roar.
No vessel labours on the main:
Shall Castile view her King again?

II.

A twelvemonth and a day had past
Since brave Corunna hail'd him last.
Before her walls the Rebels lay
Wasting in wassal sports the day,
And shows of peaceful pageantry.
The laughter of their revel hours
Echo'd around her mournful towr's;
Beneath the warder's watch their pomp past sweeping by.

III.

And was it not a galling sight
For warriors armed cap-à-piè,
Who ceaseless kept their watch aright,
To mark their foemen's revelry?
To see upon the green turf laid
Some who the helmet's weight unbound;
Some to guitars who tripp'd around,
Or with the lute gay music made,
Fingering light ditties to their love;
Others, who in the myrtle grove,
When vext Corunna's trumpet rung,
On the lithe branch their shields uphung;
Or trimm'd them for the tourney day,
To glitter in a bloodless fray.

IV.

Yet one amid the festive throng
An armed chief slow pac'd along,
His bold hand sternly grasp'd the spear;
'Twas Henry Count of Trastamere.

V.

There, not Castillia's knights alone,
Nor the liege lords of Arragon,
But chiefs of fame and leaders come
From each far realm of Christendom.
These, courting honour, seek the foe;
Those, roam for plunder, to and fro:

With the leaders of the free companions, who, after the peace of Bretigny in 1360, devastated the kingdom of France, and whom the policy of the French monarch, Charles the Fifth, and the temptation of plunder, induced to join the banners of Trastamere, many chieftains of high note, both English and French, were associated. Among the English knights, Froissart enumerates Sir Eustace d'Ambreticourt, Sir Hugh Calverley, Sir Walter Huet, Sir Mathew Gournay, Sir John Devereux, and Sir John Neville: among the French, the Lord Arnold d'Endreghen, Marshal of France, the Lord Anthony de Beau-jeu, and the Lord John de Bourbon, Count de la Marche, cousin of the unfortunate Blanche of Bourbon; these marched under the command of the celebrated Sir Bertrand du Guesclin.

Chiefs who scarce deign to bend the knee
To brow of earthly sov'reignty,
Men of adventures, bold and free,
Who of the sword their tenure hold,
And freely barter blood for gold.

VI.

Around Corunna's tow'rs, profusion reign'd,
And revels unrestrain'd:
Gaunt famine watch'd within,
The deep sigh mingling with that festive din:

And far, more galling far
To spirits of the brave that courted war,
Each one who kept Corunna's tow'r
Seem'd captive in his conqueror's pow'r

VII.

But vow'd not Pedro, ere the moon,
Which glimmer'd on his parting sail,
Had thrice renew'd her crescent pale,
That victory o'er Corunna's tide
Should on his prow in triumph ride:
That by his gifts and largess won,
The potent chiefs of Lusitane
Should join in arms his loyal train,
And on his rightful brow replace Castillia's crown?

VIII.

Thus past the Monarch o'er the main,
But ne'er set sail from Lusitane,
Till now the mournful year
Clos'd in its slow career;
And, in the dreary interval,
The brave, without a wound,
Sunk perishing around,
While o'er the frequent funeral

Nor bow'd the priest, nor kindred tear
Fell on the tainted bier;
Till famine, watchful on the tow'r,
Number'd each slow-returning hour.

IX.

It was a boisterous night,
And bitterly the blast o'er ocean howl'd;
No kind star lent its light
As on the world of waters darkness scowl'd,
Save where on bold Corunna's height,
From the lone tow'r that crown'd the steep,
Glanc'd a swift gleam along the deep,
Flash'd to and fro by fits, and seem'd to mock the sight.

X.

It was a fearful hour,
No voice but of the winds and waters heard,
Or the shrill wailing of the storm-tost bird;
And, in the lulling interval,
The momentary slumber of the gale,
At due time from the sea-girt tow'r
The still ear caught the measur'd sound
Of one who lonely pac'd, and told to night his round.

XI.

Pace on, thou sleepless sentinel!
Loud to the list'ning ear the due time tell,
Nor fail to turn th' uplifted eye
On each pale torch about to die.
So, ever in the bloody fray
Glance from thy helm the shaft away!
Not thine the fires, by night-hags fed,
That wandering o'er the marshy bed
Lure astray the traveller;
Thine beckon the worn mariner,
And guide him from the stormy main
To home, and earth's green lap again.

XII.

Will they from ocean's stormy tide
To earth's green lap yon sufferers guide?
The bleak winds on those billows dark
Tempest at will a lonely bark.
Hear! hear, good sentinel!
Heav'n! and the holy Virgin shield thee well!
Trim, trim anew the waning light,
Till the broad signal-flame flash bright,
While yet the steersman eyes the beam,
And turns the helm to catch the gleam.

XIII.

That lonely bark those wild waves o'er
Castillia's long lost Monarch bore.
But why does Pedro rashly brave
Death on the dark tempestuous wave?
While the long year toil'd slowly round,
Pedro had caught no other sound
Save the sad murmur of the main:
What time the heir of Lusitane,

The son and heir of Pedro the Just, King of Portugal, to whom Pedro had fled for succour, openly favoured the cause of Trastamere. He was allied to the usurper, his mother being half-sister to the Lady Jane Manuel, wife of Henry of Trastamere. Vide Dillon's History of Peter the Cruel, vol. ii. p. 17.

By Trastamere's base offers gain'd.
By justice, honour, unrestrain'd,
Fetter'd the king in servile chain.
Rescued from lone Viana's tow'r,
Pedro defies the dangerous hour,
And freely spreads the vent'rous sail
To midnight, and the stormy gale.

XIV

Now near and nearer to that shore
A loud voice came the billows o'er.
The sentinel has caught the sound,
And from the promontory's steep,
Bow'd o'er the darkness of the deep,
Waves his flaming torch around.
In the huge sea-swell, rolling wide,

A lone bark labours to and fro,
Seems now above the surge to ride,
Now plunge th' unfathom'd deep below.
Flaps on the mast each shiver'd sail,
The loose cords rattle in the gale;
Huge waves foam in on every side,
The breakers flash against the prow;
Yet, guided by that beacon light
Th' intrepid pilot steers his way,
And onward to Corunna's bay
Holds steadily his course aright.
Hark! as the swift keel ploughs the strand,
Hark! eager acclamations ring,
“Castile! come forth! hail, hail thy King!
“Thy long lost King returns, and greets his native land!”

XV.

Rous'd by the warder's trumpet sound,
Corunna's warriors gather round;
Blazes with fire the castle brow,
Swift hurrying lights flash to and fro;
As down the rocks the steel-clad band
Rush to the tempest-beaten strand,
Load the loud blast with Pedro's name,
And o'er the foamy surge wide wave the beck'ning flame.

XVI.

The seamen, prostrate on the strand,
Hail with glad shout their native land,
And kiss, with filial lip, the shore:
The priest, with heav'n uplifted eye,
Hoar Anselm, holds the cross on high,
And chaunts his deep-ton'd hymn amid the billowy roar.

XVII.

What form of air, what angel bright,
Severing the darkness of the night,
Speeds like a shadowy vision fleet
Along the sands her printless feet?
'Tis Constance on the sea-beat shore;
Around her burst the ocean roar,
And the swoln surge its foam upthrew,
As faint, beneath her wilder'd view,
Pedro, contending with the deep,
Strove mid the breakers' refluent sweep.
Onward the fearless virgin prest,
And borne before the rising blast,
The loose robe fluttering on her breast,
Rush'd through the volume of the wave;
Her arms around her father cast,
And swoon'd on him she flew to save.

XVIII.

With falt'ring footstep slow,
The king, weigh'd down with woe,
The boisterous surges booming round his way,
On through the breakers hoar,
His speechless daughter bore,
Stream'd o'er her brow his locks so silvery gray.
All might discern by that dim flame,
The grief that agonis'd his frame,
His bosom labouring past controlling,
Down his dark cheek the big tear rolling.
And ever as his upward eye
Glar'd on the night-cloud sweeping by,
On his stern front, and troubled mien
The conflict of his soul was seen,
Lines deeper far than those of age,
Furrows of vengeance, woe, and rage.

XIX.

But, motionless, like sculptured stone,
Her eye-lid clos'd, her colour gone,
Lay the pale Maiden, o'er whose brow
The father bow'd his locks of snow,
And spread his mantle to the wind,
To shield her from bleak gales unkind.

Faint gleam'd the torch above her head,
Dim as a taper o'er the dead.

XX.

Mark'd you, how o'er his speechless child
The father hung with anguish wild?
Unnerv'd the arm once wont to wield
The falchion, terror of the field;
Of friends, of fame, of hope bereft,
Nought but the vow of vengeance left,
“Curs'd be my corse, unwept my bier,
“If Pedro yield to Trastamere!”

XXI.

Thus, breathing rage, while Pedro past,
The beacons flaring in the blast,
Gave to his gaze the war-worn band
That knelt upon the sea-beat strand.
The Monarch paus'd to praise their worth;
But deep groans burst unbidden forth;
And all, in silent agony,
Wept, as their lord went hopeless by.

XXII.

Beneath the crags that overhung
The shelter of Corunna's bay,
The windings of the cliffs among
Deep in a cove a cavern lay;
The guard there slept not, night nor day.
Huge gates of steel its entrance clos'd,
And silence in its gloom repos'd:
There, the long toil of elder time
Smoothing the rocky channel wide,
Slow led the cheated foot to climb
Step after step its rifted side,
Till unperceiv'd the gradual steep
Clos'd in the castle's central keep.

XXIII.

Up the dark windings of the cave
The faithful warder leads the way;
Hush'd there the wind's tempestuous sway,
And the wild uproar of the wave
Sunk to a low and lulling sound,
A whisper in that vault profound:
The sufferers gain the castle keep,
And Constance wakes from death-like sleep.

XXIV.

Then—as the father o'er her hung,
And heard once more her angel tongue,
Lour'd his dark brow in deepest gloom:
“Priest!” he exclaim'd in accent wild,
“The father cannot soothe his child;
“Calm, holy Anselm! calm her breast,
“And lull her troubled soul to rest.
“I am a man with blood defiled;
“I go to bear my bitter doom;
“Shield me, Maria! in thy tomb!”
He spoke, and with wild mien aghast,
And hurried foot-step, onward past.

All the English knights, prior to the expedition of the Black Prince into Castile, at his summons left the usurper, and joined the banners of Aquitaine.

CANTO II.

I.

Hard is his heart, who never at the tomb
Of one belov'd, o'er the sepulchral urn
Has mus'd on days that shall no more return,
And call'd around from the funereal gloom
Shades of past joy, while tears that lenient flow
Seem to obliterate the sense of woe.

II.

Lo, on the mirror bright of former days
Whereon we love to gaze,

Repicturing the scene of happiness,
No forms unkind intrude.
O'er each harsh feature rude
Gathers the shadow of forgetfulness;
While all that minister'd delight
Floats like a blissful dream before the sight.

III.

'Tis as a pleasant land by moonlight seen,
Where each harsh form, that met the day,
In darkness dies away;
Smooth gleams, and tender shadows steal between,
While the pale silvery orb glides peaceful o'er the scene.

IV.

Within Corunna's guarded walls
A deep glen to the ocean falls,
Where broken crags encircling round
O'erhang a solitude profound;
Haunt where repentance might abide,
Or grief that seeks the tear to hide.

V.

There, in a rude and rocky cell,
Where from the roof large ice-drops slow

Burst on the fretted flints below,
And ceaseless feed a holy well;
The pilgrim yet explores the grot,
And kneeling on the hallow'd spot,
Dwells on the deeds in legends told,
On wonders of the days of old,
And calls on her, the sainted maid
Who o'er the healing water pray'd.

VI.

There Pedro, by that hallow'd wave,
Hid from rude gaze Maria's grave,
And hung the tomb with offerings holy
To feed and soothe his melancholy;
And there the mourner had endow'd
A dome to sainted Agnes vow'd:
Whence, to the grave, at hour of pray'r,
The sisters, each in turn, repair,
And day and night, at stated time,
Chaunt o'er the dead a holy rhyme.

VII.

Save at stated hour of pray'r
No wandering sister ventur'd there,

One lone lamp in its central gloom
Faintly glimmering o'er the tomb,
Shew'd darkness that more deep than night
Fell substantial on the sight.
The roof which arch'd that cell of woe,
The walls around, the stones below,
All marble, dark as ebony.
The sepulchre that held the dead,
Richly wrought with imag'ry,
Was form'd of granite deeply red,
In quarries hewn of Sinai's rock;
That, when the Temple rent its veil,
(So Eastern pilgrims told the tale,)
Shiver'd in the earth-quake shock.
Underneath the lamp's dim light,
The pale-ey'd sisters might behold,
Imag'd in alabaster bright,
A lady, and an armed knight;
And round their brows a crown of gold.

VIII.

That lady bore Maria's air,
Each living charm seem'd featur'd there:
Such her fine form, and placid mien;
Still on her lip a smile was seen,

As if a blessing on the dead
Had rested as the spirit fled.

IX.

But who the crown'd and armed knight?
Castillia's King there meets the sight.
Such the rich mail the Monarch wears,
So his right hand the war-axe bears;
His falchion slumbers at his side.
Yet more by bold demeanor known,
The features spake of kingly pride,
And the stern Monarch frown'd in stone.

X.

Thus as in breathing sculpture seen,
Lay Pedro and Castillia's Queen.
Love, in their bloom and beauty's flower,
O'ercanopied their nuptial bed,

At the age of eighteen, Pedro first beheld, and, according to his solemn declaration before the assembled States of Castile, was privately married to Maria de Padilla. Her origin was noble, and from one of the ancient families of Castile. See Note H. p. 255, vol. i. of Dillon's History of Peter the Cruel. By Maria de Padilla, Pedro had several children, who all died unmarried, except Constance, the heroine of the Poem, and Isabella first wife of Edmund Duke of York, fifth son of Edward III.

“In the year 1362, Peter convened the Cortes of his kingdom, and assured them, that Blanche of Bourbon had never been his legitimate wife, as, prior to his engagement with her, he had given a solemn promise of marriage to Maria de Padilla, and received her as his wife: though, from fear of the nobility, he had not ventured to proclaim it: that in the heat of youth he had set out for Valladolid, to consummate the nuptial ceremony with the Lady Blanche of Bourbon, after the promise previously given to Maria de Padilla, the witnesses of which were Diego Garcia de Padilla, then present, brother to the Lady Maria, and John Fernandez de Henestrosa, her uncle; also John Alfonso de Mayorga, keeper of the privy seal; and John Martinez de Orduna, abbot of St. Andero, his first chaplain, who were both present, and would certify the same to be true; which they swore on the holy Evangelists, as stated by the King. After that, Peter made a public declaration, that the Lady Maria de Padilla had been his true and wedded wife, and as such was Queen of Castile and Leon; that his son Don Alfonso, and three daughters, Beatrix, Constance, and Isabella, by the Lady Maria, were his legitimate issue.” Dillon's Hist. of Peter the Cruel, vol. i. p. 194.

And, never from that blissful hour,
The world, with all its woe, had pow'r
To dim the flame that Hymen fed.
Adversity but serv'd to bind
In closer union mind with mind,
Bad each from each the pang remove,
And drew from grief the balm of love.

Thus underneath the golden sky
That smiles on blissful Araby,
The balsam's lenient tear confin'd
Sleeps in the smooth unbroken rind,
But kindly flowing from the wound
Sheds life and healing fragrance round.

XI.

To realms of bliss Maria fled.
In the still refuge of the dead,
In that dim cave, that lonely spot,
The world, and all, save her, forgot,
On the cold stone whose vault contains
Entomb'd Maria's lov'd remains,
The Monarch hangs her image o'er,
And, dwelling on the days of yore,
Oft turns her features to retrace,
And weep upon her marble face.
A tear so shed could peace impart,
And, chast'ning, seem'd to soothe the heart.

XII.

Not now such tears could peace impart,
No chast'ning sorrow sooth'd his heart.

No—horror-struck, in desperate mood
The Monarch sought the solitude.
“This night, no sister venture there:
“I, I alone will breathe the pray'r,
“And trim the lamp, and watch the dead!”
'Twas thus the troubled Monarch spoke,
As slowly through the midnight gloom
The nun pac'd lonely to the tomb.
The sister, passing to her rest,
Nor told her beads, nor cross'd her breast.
On Pedro's cheek swift flushes broke,
Now—ghastly pale, now—fiery red,
As one by horror visited.

XIII.

The Monarch threw the portals wide,
Paus'd, and with wild'ring anguish cry'd,
“I enter not to seek repose:
“Who but the dead may hear my woes!”
He spake, and hurrying in aghast,
Clos'd the dark portals as he past.

XIV.

From his chill front big sweat-drops flow;
His trembling grasp has seiz'd the lamp

That gleams amid the cave of woe.
And now around each dark wall damp
Slowly he turns the lurid light;
All, all as wont, here meets his sight;
Now gazes on the marble floor—
Now eyes intent the sculptur'd scroll,
“Have mercy on Maria's soul:”
Thrice, thrice repeats it o'er and o'er—;
His heart beats lighter than before.
Now, kneeling on the hallow'd place,
Hangs o'er the lamp, more clear to trace
The features of Maria's face.
“'Tis, 'tis thyself—thy shape—thy mien;
“Still on thy lip the smile is seen,
“As if a blessing on the dead
“Had rested when the spirit fled.”

XV.

At once, as on a spot accurst,
The lightning flash'd, the thunder burst,
And 'mid the glimpses of the blaze
A phantom swam before his gaze.
“Demon! that riv'st the hallow'd stone,
“Hence!”—he exclaim'd—“fell fiend! begone!
“Ha! art thou Blanche, Castillia's queen?

“Thou, Bourbon, who in evil hour
“Fill'd'st with lament Sidonia's tow'r!
“Thy skin with spots is purpled o'er,
“And poison gushes from each pore.
“Far other once thy features seen
“Firing with love the wanton eye;
“Hence! spectre of deformity!”
He spake, and desperate drew his blade,
And, wild with horror, smote the shade.

XVI.

His dagger echoed from the grave,
The while the Form beneath his view
Slow from her shadowy finger drew
The nuptial ring that Pedro gave;
Then hung, in guise of pity, o'er
A pale knight weltering in his gore.
'Twas Pedro's steel that blood had spilt;
His blade seem'd bury'd to the hilt.

XVII.

“I know you,—fiends,”—the Monarch cry'd.
“Thou, too, thy nuptial gift behold;
“Behold thy present, faithless bride!
“This coil of hell around me roll'd.”

And Pedro back his mantle threw,
That hid a blood-stain'd belt from view.
“Look on the snakes that clasp me round,

“Roderic Sanchez de Arevalo, bishop of Palencia, who dedicated his chronicle to Henry IV. King of Castile, mentions, on the authority of Ptolomeo de Luca, that the hatred of King Peter to Queen Blanche proceeded from magic enchantment—conveyed to an elegant girdle given by the Queen to the King, which, when he wore it, presented to his sight an aspect as if he was surrounded by a squalid serpent.” Dillon's History of Peter the Cruel, vol. i. p. 256.

“See in my heart the festering wound!
“Count, as they hiss, th' envenom'd brood,
“Each crested asp that taints my blood.
“But death, fell fiend! shall set me free,
“This blow dispell the witchery.”

XVIII.

He spake, and dash'd upon the tomb
The lamp; and now, in darkest gloom,
Rais'd the self-murderer's desperate hand.
Lo! the sepulchral gates expand:
Bright on the tomb the quivering beam
Of noon-day pours its golden gleam:
And, radiant in the flood of light,
Fair Constance, and the holy sire,
Rush on the Monarch's dazzled sight.
Drops from his grasp the lifted brand;
Anselm the sacred cross upholds,
And quells stern Pedro's raging ire:
Constance around her father threw
The gather'd mantle's ample folds,
And veil'd the blood-stain'd belt from view.

XIX.

Like whispers of the viewless choir
That sigh along th' Æolian wire,
And on the summer night-air die,
Soft as a dream of melody:
Sweet Constance, bending o'er her sire,
Touch'd the low chords that woke the lyre,
And call'd Maria from above,
To soothe his soul to peace and love.

XX.

“Oh! ever gentle, ever kind,
“Maria! most belov'd,
“Whose mild look sooth'd the troubled mind,
“Whose voice each pang remov'd!
“Oh! if the sight of worldly woe
“May touch a soul at rest,
“Forget not him who weeps below,
“Spirit pure and blest!
“While to thy memory flows the tear
“More lov'd than all that life holds dear!”

XXI.

Such was the lay, that, ere its close,
Sooth'd Pedro's spirit to repose.

No more th' avenging fiend alarms,
Constance has clasp'd him in her arms,
And gently wept upon his brow,
And taught his tear like her's to flow.
And forth they lead the tranquil King
Where the waters murmuring,
The drops that feed the holy well,
The pure breeze, and the sunny sky,
And birds of peaceful melody,
Awhile all sense of woe repell.

CANTO III.

I.

But yesterday loud yell'd the ocean blast,
And to the roar of the tempestuous tide
The cliffs and all the mountain caves reply'd.
The spirit of the storm in darkness past,
And more than midnight gloom o'erhung the waters wide.

II.

Night and her stormy train are flown:
Peace and silence reign alone.

Fair Constance watch'd the dawning hour,
And lonely sought the eastern tow'r.
She went, as wonted, to inhale
The spirit of the vernal gale,
And to the Lord of life and day
Hymn on her lyre the matin lay,
Ere from the murmuring world below
Rose on the breeze the voice of woe.

III.

Yet—happier far the village maid
Who peaceful in her native shade,
Wakes at the gay bird's early call
And wreathes her dewy coronal:
Or where fresh flow'rs the turf o'erspread,
And wild thyme breathes beneath her tread,
Sports in the wood-lands, fancy-free,
And threads the green maze merrily,
Than Constance, at that fatal hour,
Who lonely sought the sea-girt tow'r.

IV.

Ah! lovely maid!—that face so fair,
That cheek soft-flush'd with vermeil glow,
The light wave of thy ebon hair
Shadowing that bosom's unsunn'd snow,

The vivid lightning of thy glance,
That form like Dian's in the dance:
These, still thy bane, thy misery prove,
And doom thee to Almanzor's love.
For thee, Castilian fair! again
The Paynim squadrons cross the main:
Thou, reckless, at the dawn of day
To the lone watch-tow'r shap'st thy way.

V.

Bright in the heav'ns one beauteous star
Shone, heralding Aurora's car,
When Constance, on th' embattled keep,
Hung o'er Corunna hush'd in sleep.
Beneath her, where the champaign spread,
From each deep glen, each mountain head,
Gray mists on mists began to rise
Wafting pure incense to the skies.
While lull'd on Ocean's heaving breast
Lay the wild winds in halcyon rest,
To fancy's ear the sea-maid's song
Came on the flowing of the tide,
Wave leading wave, soft stole along,
Touch'd the low level sands, and died:

Yet not a wave was seen to flow,
So thick the dun haze hung below,
Now slowly melting into day
Vapour and mist dissolv'd away,
And the blue world of waters round
Met the far heav'n's o'er-arching bound:
And, gleaming through the gorgeous fold
Of clouds, around his glory roll'd,
The orb of gold, far off, half seen,
Levell'd his rays of tremulous sheen,
That widely as the billows roll
Glanc'd quivering on their distant goal.

VI.

Enraptur'd Constance o'er the lyre
Bow'd to breathe forth her pray'r in song,
Her flying fingers woke each wire,
And in swift prelude swept along:
When a shrill watch-note on the gale
Warn'd of a swift advancing sail.
On to Corunna steers the prow.
What friend to Pedro ploughs the way?
If hostile, whence that bright array,
Tilting along in stately show,

From stem to stern bright banners gleaming,
And pomp of pennons widely streaming.
Borne by fair gales in fulness of the tide
Why proudly o'er the main yon painted galleys ride?

VII.

At anchor, in the deep, afar,
The bulk of many a vessel brave,
Each a sov'reign of the wave
Seem'd meditating war.
Chieftains there that wait the foe
Poise the lance and bend the bow,
These, the huge iron mace uprear,
Those, edge the steel that points the spear,
Or catch the sun-beam as it play'd
Along the bright Damascus blade.

VIII.

Deeply furrowing up the flood
The burden of the galleys rode.
'Twas joy to see each lifted oar
That to the cymbal's flash and chime
Duly told the measur'd time,
And as it glanc'd, stroke after stroke,
The mirror of the ocean broke,

And near and nearer to the shore
Through show'rs of golden sparks each painted galley bore.

IX.

The warriors from Corunna's height
Rush'd down the cliff in wild delight,
Now, shouting on the sea-beach stood,
Now, wav'd their signals o'er the flood,
Now, breathless paus'd a sound to hear,
That seem'd by fits to mock the ear,
The low of kine, and murmuring bleat,
That echoes of the rock repeat.

X.

Near, and more near each galley drew,
And freely gave its freight to view.
Gaunt famine fix'd his wishful gaze
On the pil'd grain, and yellow maize:
Its rind of gold the orange show'd,
The ripe pomegranate richly glow'd,
And clust'rous grapes of Libya's shore
Gleam'd with bright sun-beams purpled o'er.

XI.

All, joyous, hail'd the answ'ring band
Whose pinnace anchor'd on the strand.
All, save the Maid, who lonely bent
In anguish o'er the battlement,
And from the watch-tow'r's topmost brow
Saw, waving o'er the host below,
Bright in the sun's resplendent beam
Almanzor's silver crescent gleam.
Rush'd on her mind that fatal day,
When at her feet Almanzor lay,
And, Victor, claim'd the tourney prize,
That crown'd the proud solemnities.
Rush'd on her mind the Paynim host
That seized her on Corunna's coast:
Her guardian page, before her eyes,
Bath'd in his blood, her Julian lies.

XII.

“Be death my doom!”—the Virgin cried.
“Oh! be the ocean bed my grave,
“My shroud, th' unfathomable wave,
“Ere the Moor hail me Afric's bride!”
She spake, and turning from the view,
Swift to St. Agnes' cell withdrew.

XIII.

The trumpet sounds; along the strand,
A white flag waving in his hand,
Paces a Herald still and slow.
All know him by his turband brow,
A Saracen from Libya's shore.
Thrice sounds the trump their gates before.
“Christain!—safe conduct to thy King!
“Or peace, or war, his choice, I bring.”
The warder, as the draw-bridge falls,
Admits the Moor within the walls;
Victims of want and dire distress
Round him Corunna's warriors press.
“The Moor, the Moor shall yield relief,
“Or death for ever still our grief.”

XIV.

Pedro, the while, from all apart
Heard a dire tale of bitter woe:
Tears, that like the life-blood start,
Down his dark cheek were seen to flow.
Before him bows an aged man,
His friend, his faithful Castellan,

“All the barons and knights of Spain, save Ferdinand de Castro, deserted Pedro, in favour of his brother the bastard.” Froissart, vol. i. p. 675.

“Don Fernando de Castro, after the death of King Peter made his escape into Portugal, and afterwards retired to Guyenne, where he died. Over his tomb was placed the following inscription: AQUI YACE DON FERNANDO PEREZ DE CASTRO TODA LA FIDELIDAD DE ESPANA.” Dillon's History of Peter, vol. ii. p. 119.

A far-fam'd chief, by day by night
In iron harness rudely dight.

Since Pedro loos'd th' adventurous sail,
Castro had neer unclasp'd the mail.

XV.

He tells—how ruthless Trastamere
Pour'd desolation on the coast,
While treachery, avarice, and fear,
Had thinn'd Corunna's host.—
Tells—how the ships of Arragon
Had join'd the foe, and triumphs won,
While Bocca-negra's rebel fleet
Heap'd tribute at th' usurper's feet.
How—Beau-jeu had his pow'r defied,
And Bourbon—to Queen Blanche allied.
“Curse on the Bourbon!”—Pedro cried.
“No more of Blanche—but, say, brave chief!
“Where, at this hour of hopeless grief,
“When Fate's dark storms my brow surround,
“Where Julian, once so faithful found?
“Why, from his King now basely flown?
“Faith dwells with thee—and thee alone.”
And Pedro closely to his breast
The chief in bitterest anguish prest.

XVI.

“Oh King! in Julian's soul enshrin'd,
“Firm faith, and grateful love are join'd.
“At midnight, at the secret hour,
“Ere thy brave bark recrost the main,
“Julian, alone of all thy train,
“Adventurous left Corunna's tow'r;
“And shrouded in a palmer's gown,
“Dar'd the dread host, and ways unknown
“That lead to Bourdeaux' far-fam'd Lord.
“Thy fate now hangs on Edward's word.
“His Heralds far and wide around
“(Corunna's turrets heard the sound)
“Summon each knight from tow'r and hall
“To Bourdeaux' solemn festival.
“Save to the dark-mail'd Victor's court,
“Where shall dethroned Kings resort?
“But—if fell death lay Julian low,
“Nor Edward's arm thy crown sustain,
“Oh King! resistance all is vain.
“The brave, who yet withstand the foe,
“Worn out by vigils, want, and woe,
“Must perish by one common doom,
“And famine close the warrior's tomb.”

XVII.

Pierc'd to the soul with Castro's tale,
As grief, and rage the King assail,
The Paynim Herald entrance sought,
And thus Almanzor's mandate brought.
“Once more, oh Monarch! Afric's pow'r
“Seeks thee in misery's trying hour.
“Or peace, or war, thy choice I bring,
“This hostile spear, or nuptial ring.
“Now, yield consent, too long denied,
“This ring proclaims Almanzor's bride.
“If thou refuse, Almanzor's spear
“Flames in the van of Trastamere.”—
He spake, and laid before the King
The hostile spear and nuptial ring.

XVIII.

And lo! that hapless King around,
All, whom Corunna's tow'rs contain;
Like captives, suppliant on the ground,
Before him kneel the loyal train.
To Pedro each faint hand is rais'd,
Each haggard eye on Pedro gaz'd,
Around him rung one bitter cry,
“Save!—for thou canst—for thee we die!”

XIX.

The Paynim steps before the King,
And holds on high the spear and ring.
Pedro, rooted on the spot,
Seem'd as one who mark'd him not,
Then—with agony o'erprest
Sunk on brave Castro's faithful breast.
Conflicting storms his soul divide:
A Father's love, a Monarch's pride,
High honour for th' heroic train
Whose swords Castillia's throne sustain.
Shall Pedro's soul revenge forego?
Shall Castile crown the usurper's brow?
Yet—wed the Moor!—his daughter dies:
His child the public sacrifice!
How act?—what friend?—whose counsels guide?
Constance alone shall all decide.

XX.

Fair victim!—in St. Agnes' gloom
Thou mourn'dst the while thy bitter doom,
In hopeless anguish mourn'dst—alone—
Thy soothing friend—thy Julian—gone—
Gone each fair hope whose flattering beam
Illum'd thy birth with golden gleam.

XXI.

“Why”—thou exclaim'dst—“why, o'er my brow,
“When the hoar prophet breath'd the vow,
“His voice exulting hail'd the day,
“When o'er Castile my dawning ray
“Should beam, and happiest influence breathe,
“Like heav'n's fair orb, on all beneath?
“Ah! from that hour, when o'er thy bier,
“Blest Mother! fell my farewell tear,
“Deep woe, and ever-during night
“Have quench'd my inauspicious light.
“Where now shall Constance seek relief?
“Thou sleep'st in peace, nor hear'st my grief.
“Thy Julian too, the orphan child,
“On whom thy lip maternal smil'd,
“Who, with thy Constance fondly prest,
“Found refuge on thy fostering breast,
“Julian—the brother of my soul,
“Whose voice, whose look could woe control,
“Now—haply—dies—or, friendless, lone
“For Constance roams far lands unknown,
“While o'er me direst ills impend.
“Oh, holy Agnes! sainted maid!
“Here let my youth's fleet blossom fade;
“E'en now, as at thy shrine I bend,
“O'er me the shade of death extend!”

XXII.

Thus, at the shrine the hopeless Maid
Knelt, and in bitter anguish pray'd,
When—hark—a voice that rent the air,
Cry of Corunna's deep despair,
The tumult of the war-worn train
Fill'd with lament St. Agnes' fane.
“Lady!—Corunna's warriors save
“From famine, from th' unpitying grave.
“Shall Castile's King, thy lord, thy sire,
“The father for his child expire?”

XXIII.

Constance uprose, and o'er her threw
A veil that hid her charms from view,
Dark as a cloud at starless night
Shrouding the moon's o'ershadow'd light.

XXIV.

Amid Corunna's suppliant throng
As the fair victim rush'd along,
Again the Moor before the King
Held up the spear and nuptial ring,
Again round Pedro rung the cry,
“Save!—for thou can'st—for thee we die!”

“Live, warriors, live!”—the Virgin cried—
“My doom is fix'd—Almanzor's bride.
“Hear me, ye blessed saints in heav'n!
“Be to my lip the chalice giv'n,
“Constance the bitter cup shall drain:
“Nor then—these tears shall stream in vain.”
At once the warriors at the word
Rose, and unsheath'd their battle sword,
Hail'd with loud shout th' heroic Maid,
And clash'd, exultant, blade on blade

XXV.

But Pedro, at that dreadful time,
He, whose stern spirit, unreclaim'd,
Nor age had sooth'd, nor terror tam'd,
Felt all the horrors of his crime.
Heav'n's chast'ning vengeance touch'd his breast,
And tears his deep remorse exprest,
While o'er the victim's dark-veil'd brow
Burst from his soul the voice of woe.

XXVI.

“Thou, image of a saint above,
“Sole relic of Maria's love,
“Last column of Pelayo's line,
“Bow'd down by weight of guilt, not thine!

“Till Heav'n the blissful hour restore,
“And thou, redeem'd, shalt weep no more,
“Thus, underneath this shroud of night,
“Hid be thy charms from human sight,
“No daring hand thy veil remove,
“Doom'd victim of Almanzor's love.”
Then—with loud groan the Monarch cried,
“Moor, give the ring!”—the Moor complied.
“Paynim! ere yet yon sun go down,
“Store, amply store Corunna's town,
“Then—tell thy lord—if, ere the year
“Close o'er my head its fleet career,
“No Christian knight of royal race
“On Pedro's brow the crown replace,
“Nor claim, sole guerdon of his arms,
“My peerless daughter's rescu'd charms,
“The monkish cowl my woe shall hide,
“And Afric hail the plighted bride.
“Such the sole terms—all else are vain—
“These, these alone the bride obtain.
“Paynim! consent—by Mahmoud swear,
“Then—to thy lord this signet bear!”
“King! great Almanzor's bride I hail!”
He spake, and prostrate touch'd the veil.

CANTO IV.

I.

Knights, and fair dames, train after train,
Pass in their pomp to Aquitaine.

Through the wide world, wherever fame
Dwelt on the dark-mail'd Victor's name,
Wherever minstrel at high feast
With monarchs sat, an honour'd guest,
Where'er before a nation's eyes
Beauty to valour gave the prize,
His Heralds far and wide around,
Had spread, from realm to realm, the sound:

The voice went forth to tow'r and hall
That Bourdeaux' solemn festival,
Throughout the moon's whole course should view,
Day and night their sports renew;
Each day be tilt and banqueting,
Each night be mirth and caroling,
Mask and dance, and choral song,
And mysteries that delight prolong,
Till Aurora, blushing red,
Or bright suns, light the guests to bed.

II.

Tow'r rings to tow'r: the slow-pac'd sun
Sunk, ere the revel pomp begun.
Taper and cresset flaming bright
Flung on the rafter'd roof their light,
And show'd, throughout St. Andrew's hall,
Marshal'd at solemn festival,
Knight after knight, in due degree,
Flow'r of Christian chivalry:
Each, a lady at his side,
Radiant in pomp and beauty's pride.

III.

Hail! barons bold, who liege-men wait
On Aquitaine's superior state,
Lords of Guyenne and Gascony,
Of Poictou and fair Angoumois,
Saintonge, along whose pastures wide
Swift Charente's silver waters glide,
And fiefs, where Adour, winding down,
Joins distant Tarbe to far Bayonne.

And ye! the pride of Albion's coast,
High chieftains of th' heroic host:
Warwick, whose far-fam'd puissance led
The van when routed Poictiers bled:
Fitzwalter, foremost in the field,
Spenser, unknowing how to yield,
Manny, who wading deep in gore,
Onward the flag of conquest bore,
And, terror of the northern bounds,
Earl Percy, grac'd with glorious wounds.

IV.

Brave Gallia's high-born chieftains came,
Free homagers to Edward's fame.
Proud Bourbon, Anjou there behold,
Young Burgundy, belov'd, and bold.

Tonnere, whose mail, of verdant stain,
Was died with blood on Auray's plain:
Lo! Chatillon, whose eagle shield
Marshals the bowmen to the field,
Heroic Vienne, whose deathless name,
Thy sons, proud Calais, yet proclaim,
And Ribaumont, the bold, the brave,
Crown'd with the wreath that Edward gave,
When, thrice, the King, beneath his blow
Bow'd, ere his prowess fell'd the foe.

From Brittany brave Montfort led
Fam'd peers, who in his quarrel bled,
(His falchion flaming in the van)
Knight, Seneschal, and Castellan.

V.

I pass the gracious boons untold
That splendour shed on feasts of old;
Captives ransom'd, Virgins dow'r'd,
Gifts on the crowd profusely show'r'd,
Presents to each princely guest,
Armour, and steed, and ermine vest,
Girdles of silk and jewels rare,
And pearls, to braid their ladies' hair.

VI.

I pass unsung the pomp of state,
Huge ewers of embossed plate,
Flaggons with spiced wine o'erflowing,
Trumpets braying, clarions blowing,
Banners, that streaming round the hall
Deeds and adventures high recall,
And, trophies of the well-fought plain,
Shields of brave chiefs in battle slain,
That gleam before the Victor's eye,
And add fresh zest to revelry.

VII.

Leaders of note I pass unsung,
Audeley and Howard, heirs of fame,
And either Bohun, deathless name.
But who, the gallant guests among,
Who first in fame, in pomp, in pow'r,
Tow'r'd o'er each chief that grac'd the board?
'Tis Britain's boast, tis knighthood's flow'r,
'Tis Lancaster, high-honour'd lord,
In youth, in beauty's blooming prime,
Proud hope and glory of his time.

VIII.

Edward's brave race, a warrior band,
Were arrows in a giant's hand:
'Mid these, fam'd Lancaster uprose,
The terror of his father's foes,
And England rested on his sword,
As on thy prowess, dark-mail'd Lord.

IX.

Lord of the feast, in royal state
Edward, amid his barons bold,
Brothers of arms, by fame enroll'd,
With his fair bride, Joanna, sate.
From guest to guest flow'd gaily round
The cup, by youth and beauty crown'd:
And gay their converse; ladies' charms,
Love, and the chase, and tilt, and fight,
Adventures rare, and feats of arms,
And fame of each far-summon'd knight,
Who, on the Baptist's hallow'd morn,
To grace Joanna's elder born,
Should Arthur's warlike sports recall,
And crown and close the festival.

X.

“Long on that day shall minstrels dwell;
“The harp”—heroic Edward cried,
“The harp to other times shall tell
“That mask'd in honour of my bride,
“Like peers and paladins renown'd
“Who Arthur's feasts at Camelot crown'd,
“England and France in Edward's sight
“Rivals of glory, grac'd the fight.
“England shall Arthur's fame maintain,
“France the renown of Charlemagne.
“Strike, harpers—minstrels! tune the rhymes
“To Arthur's consecrated times.”

XI.

Madoc, master of the choir
With lofty prelude swept the wire,
Silenc'd the sound of mirth and glee,
And shook the roof with minstrelsy.

XII. Minstrel Song.

For the subject of this song, see the ballad of King Arthur's death in the third volume of the collection of Ancient Poems published and admirably illustrated by the Bishop of Dromore.

“Heard ye afar the storm of war?
Saw ye Camlan's crimson plain?

Fiercely the kindred squadrons met,
Britain's sun in blood is set
Beneath the western main.

Chill'd is valour's glowing breath,
Hush'd the traitor's yell:
Slow sail'd on silent pinion Death,
And over all the blasted heath
His giant shadow fell.

Ah! who the bleeding King shall bear
From Camlan's fatal ground?
No friend, no living man is there,
Save one, his bosom's grief to share,
Or staunch each welling wound.

Lone Gloster gaz'd in speechless woe—
Can friendship aid impart?
The death-drops stand on Arthur's brow,
And scarce the lingering currents flow
That feed his lion heart.

Bear thou my sword to yonder strand,
And o'er the wild waves cast.”

From ocean sprung a shadowy hand,
Thrice wav'd in air the charmed brand.
The wond'rous vision past.

The dying King was seen no more:
But airy harpings rung,
The winds, the waves, forgot to roar,
And Echo, from the ocean bore,
The note a fairy sung.”

XIII. Fairy Song.

“Softly blow the wreathed shell,
Wind the ocean melody!
Sea-gods! answering to my spell,
Cleave the liquid canopy!
Rise! with tuneful conch and song
Lead the charmed bark along.

Answer from your coral cave,
Sea-maids! who in season fair
Warbling on the glassy wave,
Braid with pearl your yellow hair!
Nymphs! responsive to my lay
Rise! and smooth with song the way.—

Welcome, to the fairy shore!
Bear the King to charmed bowers
Crown'd with wreath of elfin flowers!
Ocean-choir! your charge is o'er:
Long as Echo holds the strain,
Dance, like sun-beams, on the main,
Or moon, in morris of the night
Silvering the sea with gleams of light!”

XIV.

While thus in lulling cadence low
Soft fairy notes were heard to flow,
And the charm'd spirit, rapt on high,
Hung on the breath of melody:
The loud tramp of an iron hoof
Battering the flinty court below,
Burst the deep cloister's vaults along,
Flung its harsh discord on the roof,
And rudely drown'd the harp and song.

CANTO V.

I.

Clear was the sky, the moonshine bright
Had fill'd the cloister-court with light.
A Stranger, clad in palmer's weed,
Leapt from a spent and panting steed.
Onward the guest unbidden came,
And loud his gingling rowels rung
As up the marble steps he sprung.
The warder wide the portals threw,
Nor ask'd his office, rank, or name:
From Edward none unheard withdrew.

II.

The Stranger, at the banquet door,
As one well-wont to state and place,
Check'd the rude swiftness of his pace:
And, casting off the palmer's gown
On the fresh reeds that strow'd the floor,
In graceful guise, bow'd lowly down,
And stood before each wondering guest
A page in royal livery drest.
Nor boy, nor man, in bloom of life
When youth and manhood seem at strife.
A royal page:—'twas clear to view—
Velvet his mantle, crimson hue;
With ring and broach his kirtle grac'd,
And gold the sash that girt his waist.
Yet—like the lily's beauteous flow'r,
That lowly droops beneath the show'r,
And hanging o'er its humid bed
Seems from its cup a tear to shed:
So wan his hue, so fair his face,
Where woe had left its lingering trace.

III.

Lancastria's ardent chief advanc'd,
And his bright eye on Edward glanc'd:

“Some bold adventure dawning here,
“From slumber calls my idle spear.
“Hear! gracious lord! th' emprize I claim,
“And court the toils that wait on fame.”

IV.

The page, mean-while, on bended knee,
As one o'er-weigh'd with misery,
Sunk silent at Joanna's feet:
Not slow her speech the youth to greet.
“Speak, hapless stranger! tell thy tale,
“What wrongs thy tender years assail.
“At Bourdeaux' throne redress obtain:
“None to her sov'reign sue in vain.

V.

“Oh pardon! that uncall'd I came
“To Bourdeaux, drawn by Edward's fame.
“Who ventures thus unknown to kneel
“Is page to Constance de Castile.
“Julian.—I boast no other name.”

VI.

Edward his plaintive accent heard,
And sooth'd him thus with gentle word:

“No page of Constance de Castile
“Shall in my hall unhonour'd kneel.
“Thou'rt welcome for thy office, page!
“Thou'rt welcome for thy tender age:
“Thrice welcome for thy lady fair:
“Freely the festive banquet share.”

VII.

But worn with woe, with toil o'erspent,
Faint on bow'd knee pale Julian bent.
Joanna, all compassionate,
Regardless of her high estate,
Rais'd him, and seating at her side,
With gracious hand his food supplied.
And, as his colour 'gan to rise,
And lustre lighten'd in his eyes,
Gay Lancaster his cup would fill,
And pledg'd it to the fair Castile.
But—at the mention of her name
A death-like hue o'er Julian came.

VIII.

Impatient, ere the banquet's close
In act to speak as Julian rose,

And turn'd the starting tear to hide:
“Pause, youth!”—the Prince benignly cried,
“If fitter hour, or needful rest,
“Or other audience suit thee best:
“Though fain would Edward fully know
“Of Constance, and her tale of woe.
“Fain hear Castillia's page unfold,
“If true, what rumour widely told
“Of the fell Paynim's ruthless host,
“That seiz'd her on Corunna's coast,
“And slew the youth who strove to aid—
“Say, breathes she yet, that far-fam'd Maid?”

IX.

“She lives—yet lives”—the page replied—
“The wonder of her sex, and pride:
“Matchless in person, and in mind,
“A saint, in beauty's temple shrin'd.
“Her harp, the music of the sky,
“Her voice, the breath of melody:
“Gifted herself to frame the lay,
“And lead by song the soul away,
“To force the unwilling tear to flow,
“Or, soothing, turn the tide of woe,
“Or Love's enchanted dream inspire,
“Or kindle Fame's heroic fire.”

X.

By glory, valour, love inflam'd,
Lancastria's gallant lord exclaim'd,
“Oft has this roof with Constance rung,
“With Castile's charms by minstrels sung:
“Oft at these feasts, the stranger knight
“Dwelt on her beauty, passing bright.
“Julian,—if mortal arm can aid,
“Mine shall avenge the peerless Maid.”

XI.

“Prince”—Edward answer'd—“warrior bold,
“Pause, till the youth his tale unfold.—
“And thou, Castillian page, declare
“What wrongs oppress thy Lady fair—
“But—for thy sovereign,—hapless Page!
“For Pedro, who will battle wage?
“ 'Tis widely voic'd, that fiends have pow'r
“To vex the Monarch's haunted hour;
“ 'Tis widely voic'd, that gouts of gore
“Still spot the belt the Monarch wore,
“When in Sidonia's blasted wood
“The spectre rose, denouncing blood.”

XII.

Pierc'd to the soul with Pedro's shame,
The youth's pale cheek seem'd flush'd with flame:
“Th' usurper, rebel Trastamere,
“With Pedro's guilt fills every ear.
“If true such tales, saints only know,
“But, sooth, his soul is bow'd with woe.—

“Oh, my kind Master! all defame,
“All load with harsh reproach thy name;
“But still the sun-shine of thy pow'r
“Beam'd on me from my natal hour.
“Pedro, methought, my Sire had been,
“My mother, Castile's honour'd Queen.
“An orphan at her breast I fed:
“She too, is number'd with the dead.—

“Might Julian's death his sovereign aid,
“And free the fair Castillian Maid,
“How gladly would I bless my grave!
“These tears are theirs—'tis all I have.”

XIII.

Rude and unkind that churl had been,
Who with stern eye had Julian seen.
His form, his face, his noble mien,

The sweetness of his touching tone,
His feeling heart so simply shown,
Such gratitude for Pedro's care,
Devotion to his Lady fair;
Such gifts of mind, such gentle grace,
Proclaim'd him of no common race.

XIV.

“Page! for thy honour'd Lady's sake,
(With gracious smile Joanna spake)
“Freely before these guests relate
“What dangers threat Castillia's state.—
“Full oft we list from morn till eve
“To tender tales of feigned woe,
“While tears, not undelightful, flow.
“ 'Tis sweet, with those who mourn, to grieve,
“Most sweet the mourner to relieve.”—
Julian, so urg'd, no more delay'd;
And thus Joanna's voice obey'd.

XV.

“A wizard, vers'd in Merlin's rhymes,
“Prescient of fate and future times,
“O'er Constance in the cradle hung,
“And Castile heard his prophet tongue.

“He trac'd, in signs to us unknown,
“Dark evils gathering round the throne.
“He said—‘When rebel chieftains wave
“‘Their banner o'er Castillia's grave,
“‘Constance in beauty shall arise,
“‘A day-star beaming in the skies,
“‘And lead beneath her radiance fair
“‘A British lion from his lair,
“‘Who, flesh'd with Castile's foe-men slain,
“‘Should shake o'er Navaret's fated plain,
“‘Thick blood-drops from his brindled main.’—
“But—Constance, unavenged weeps!”
Lancastria's ardent lord arose,
“Here, here the British lion sleeps.—
“Edward! arise from deep repose!—
“Fair Page! if other friends are gone,
“Look on this face, and challenge one.”

XVI.

Julian exclaim'd, “Heroic knight!
“For Constance gird thy sword of might:”
Then—calm pursu'd—“I pass the time
“Of her gay childhood's fair career
“Unsullied yet with sigh or tear:
“And trace, in beauty's loveliest prime,

“Fair Constance on her natal day,
“(Two years sithence have flown away)
“When first before the nation's eyes
“Castillia's heiress gave the prize
“That crown'd the high solemnities.—

“Shame on the Christians!—Afric's lord,
“Fir'd by her beauty, won the day;
“Almanzor's lance, and giant sword,
“Bore from our knights the prize away.
“With trembling hand the Princess bound
“Her diamond zone his brow around.

“Castile beheld proud Afric's lord
“Lay at her feet his crown and sword.
“In vain—thrice-scorn'd, Almanzor su'd,
“And fruitless vows of love renew'd.

“The evil days now vex'd the land:
“Brother 'gainst brother arm'd his hand:
“The evil days, when Trastamere
“Fill'd with base tales the public ear;
“And all, save bold Corunna's tow'r,
“Bow'd to the stern usurper's pow'r.—
“Our King, abandon'd of his train,
“Spread his lone sail for Lusitane,
“Vow'd swift return, and fix'd the day
“When Victory should confirm his sway.

“Castro the brave, Corunna kept.
“The day sped by, slow moons past o'er,
“Castillia's King return'd no more.
“I sooth'd the tear when Constance wept,
“I, at her side, the live-long day,
“Oft, till dim twilight died away,
“Watch'd on Corunna's rocky shore;
“But—Castile's King return'd no more.
“One eve, beneath the rising star
“A pinnace glimmer'd from afar,
“And in the dim and doubtful light
“(Fond hope, alas! deceiv'd our sight)
“Bore semblance of Castillia's sail.—
“But—why—why lengthen out the tale?
“It was Almanzor's ruthless band:
“The Paynims rush'd upon the strand,
“And rudely seiz'd the royal Maid.
“Round me the Moors infuriate prest,
“And plung'd their poniards in my breast:
“Heav'n gave my arm unwonted aid:
“I fell not, till Corunna's host,
“Rous'd by my outcry, gain'd the coast,
“Chas'd the fell Paynims from our shore,
“And Constance back in triumph bore.

“But—what avails that blissful hour
“Which freed her from Almanzor's pow'r?
“Corunna's sons desert their town,
“All knees to Trastamere bow down,
“Save Castro, and the faithful few,
“To Constance, arms, and honour true.
“No sail salutes Corunna's coast:
“Our fleet has join'd the rebel host,
“And now, on foreign conquest gone,
“Obeys the pow'r of Arragon.

“Avails it, then, that, unsubdu'd,
“Constance, with fearless fortitude,
“Attendant on the Castellan,
“Cheers on his watch each toil-worn man,
“Binds up the wound, fresh zeal inspires,
“And lights anew the warrior's fires?
“No—vain her ardour: vain our woes:
“Famine must soon the sufferings close.

“Twelve days now past, to all unknown,
“Save the brave Castellan alone,
“In secret, at the midnight hour,
“I left, disguis'd, Corunna's tow'r,
“Fam'd Conqueror! to implore thy aid.
“Free—for thou canst—the peerless Maid.

“Save, Hero!—gracious Lady! save
“Fair Constance from th' untimely grave.”
Then—kneeling to Lancastria's Lord,
Thus suppliant Julian spake the word:
Thou said'st, “When other friends are gone,
“Look on this face, and challenge one.
“From famine, from th' untimely grave,
“The heiress of Castillia save!”

XVII.

“By my great father's fame I swear,
(With words of fire the Hero said)
“This votive sword shall free the fair!”
He spake, and kist the unsheath'd blade,
And rais'd the suppliant from the ground.
Loud acclamation burst around:
Joanna, rising, still'd the sound.
“By glory's call, by pity's tear,
“Resistless Edward! Constance aid!
“Hero! the rights of kings revere!
“Fix on her throne the royal Maid!”

XVIII.

“Thrice-honour'd fair,”—brave Edward cried;
“Such suit by knight was ne'er denied.—

“Pontchardon, Burley, Loring, hear
“Words welcome to the warrior's ear.
“At Bayonne moor'd my vessels ride:
“Archers, and men at arms provide.
“Lord Felton, lead the chosen band,

“Sir William Felton was ordered to take the command of the expedition; and the Prince asked Sir Richard Pontchardon, Sir Nele Loring, and Sir Simon Burley, to accompany it. The armament was to consist of twelve vessels, which were to be filled with archers and men at arms.” Vide Johnes's Froissart, vol. i. p. 681.

“Bear, as ourselves, supreme command.
“To Bourdeaux, to Joanna, bring
“The daughter of Castillia's King.
“Lord Chandos, here thy host array:

This illustrious chieftain was Constable of Aquitaine. His glory is indelibly recorded in the victories of Crecy, Poictiers, Auray, and Navaret.

“Brother of Lancaster! again
“Call out the pow'r of Aquitaine.
“Julian, at Bourdeaux peaceful stay,
“Or with Lord Felton speed thy way.”

XIX.

Julian with eager voice replied,
“The waves are fickle, wide the sea,
“The winds at list blow changefully.
“To-morrow, at the dawn of day,
“Fresh with bright hopes and spirits gay,
“Fleet as the air shall Julian ride,
“And in the palmer's weed again,
“Unnotic'd, pass the hostile plain.”

XX.

“Brave youth!”—Lancastria's chieftain cried,—
“My fleetest, favourite roan bestride.
“My pow'r shall Castile's page defend,
“My herald on thy course attend.

“Ho! Harcourt! to Corunna speed,
“To Julian give my fleetest steed.
“Castillia's heiress lowly greet,
“And lay my portrait at her feet.
“Say,—in the solemn tourney fight,
“When, arm'd like Paladins of old
“England and France high contest hold,
“Lancastria's Lord, her honour'd Knight,
“Champion of fair Castillia's charms
“For Constance dares the world in arms.”
He spake, and from his breast unwound
The chain that on his mantle hung;
The wreath of gold o'er Julian flung,
And clasp'd the links his neck around.

XXI.

Joanna bade the page draw near,
And scarce withheld a farewell tear.
“This cross to Lady Constance give.
“And, Julian, gentle page, receive

“This bracelet from Joanna's arm.
“Its portrait deem a sacred charm,—
“'Tis his, who lives within my heart.
“Fair page! to soothing rest depart—
“Sweet be thy sleep—thy visions gay,
“And guardian angels guide thy way!”
So Julian left the banquet hall:
And mirth prolong'd the festival.

CANTO VI.

I.

At Edward's call, to Bayonne's port
Mail'd knights, and men at arms resort.
The anchor's weigh'd, unfurl'd the sail:
In vain:—still adverse blows the gale.

“The Lord Felton having prepared all things convenient for the voyage, went to Bayonne, where the fleet was detained by the wind.” Collins's Life of the Black Prince, p. 180.

Th' impatient chiefs a bark prepare,
A light-arm'd bark, with pliant oar
To cut the waves and coast the shore,
And to Castillia's heiress bear

The greetings of their gallant band.
The light-arm'd bark has left the land,
And the brave rowers night and day
Ply, ceaseless, to Corunna's bay.

II.

But swifter than the pliant oar,
That cuts the wave, and coasts the shore,
The Page and Herald press the steed,
And urge, o'er hill and dale, their speed,
Pass, unoppos'd, the tented plain,
And greet Corunna's steel-clad train.

III.

“Hoa!—warder, hear!—'tis Julian calls—”
At his known voice the draw-bridge falls.
All welcome give; for every heart
In Julian bore a brother's part.
Constance speeds forth her Page to meet,
The soother of her soul to greet,
And as his voice again she hears
Forgets the veil that hides her tears.

IV.

True to their charge, the warriors bring
The Herald to Castillia's King.
“Monarch”—he said—“the changing breeze
“Shall fill with Bayonne's fleet the seas.
“For thee the pow'r of Aquitain
“Shall spread its terror o'er the main;
“Our chiefs the rights of kings maintain.
“If valour may uphold thy cause,
“Edward the sword of victory draws.”

V.

The while, fair Constance and her Page
Meet in her bow'r from all apart;
And fain would Julian's voice assuage
Her plaint, that vibrates on his heart.
Ah!—though the heroine had supprest
Her woe to yield Corunna rest,
Now, lone, withdrawn from every eye
Save Julian's, Constance heaves the sigh.

VI.

“Ah, wherefore, Julian! why, unkind,
“Thou soother of my soul”—she cried—

“By more than kindred ties allied,
“In weal, in woe to Constance join'd,
“Why didst thou venture forth alone,
“Dare the dread foe, and ways unknown?
“Yet happier far thy fate had been
“Hadst thou no more thy Constance seen.
“Julian, each blissful hour is past,
“Dream of delight too sweet to last,
“When by Maria fondly prest,
“Our day was joy, our night was rest.
“Alone remains, mid dark despair,
“The memory of the days that were,
“And keen regret, that deeper throws
“A shadow o'er surrounding woes.”

VII.

“For thee I knelt”—replied the page—
“To Edward, glory of the age.
“At Bourdeaux' feast, Lancastria's lord,
“Prince, like the dark-mail'd chief, ador'd,
“Champion of beauty's peerless charms,
“For Constance dares the world in arms.”

VIII.

While with glad voice thus Julian spoke,
And hope's bright dawn o'er Constance broke,
Lancastria's Herald entrance sought,
And thus his Lord's high greetings brought:
“Lady, at Aquitania's court,
“Proud chivalry's supreme resort,
“When peers and paladins of fame
“Chaste beauty's sovereignty proclaim,
“In solemn jousts their valor prove,
“Challenge the world, and win their love:
“Fir'd by thy fame, brave, gallant, gay,
“Castillia's champion shall advance,
“And by the prowess of his lance,
“In triumph on that glorious day
“For Constance bear the prize away.
“View in this portrait—faintly seen
“The grace and grandeur of his mien,
“The spirit of his speaking eye,
“And brow, the throne of majesty.”

IX.

Fair Constance on the portrait gaz'd,
Mark'd the bold warrior's radiant eye,
And brow, the throne of majesty—
His voice exulting Harcourt rais'd:
“England's high hope, Lancastria's lord,
“To Castile consecrates his sword.
“The hero shall enthrone the King,
“Shall free thee from that fatal ring,
“The veil that hides thy charms remove,
“Then, crown'd with conquest, own his love.”

X.

Burnt her veil'd cheek with fervent glow,
As from her beauteous arm of snow
The heiress of Castile unbound
The braid of pearls that wreath'd it round,
Then, gracefully, to Harcourt gave:
“Speed, Herald! ere that solemn fight,
“Round the plum'd helm of Castile's knight
“These wreaths entwine!—so crown the brave—
“Oh! may his lance resistless prove,
“None but thy Lord this veil remove!”

XI.

Harcourt, high-grac'd, elate withdrew:
Hope's golden dreams round Constance flew,
And Julian with Lancastria's fame
Fann'd in her breast love's virgin flame.
Did friendship Julian's bosom move,
Or pin'd the youth with hopeless love?
The tale of faithful Julian hear,
Yield to his grief a soothing tear.

XII. Julian's Tale.

Julian!—to woe untimely born,
A mother wept thy natal morn.
The mother, who that infant bore,
Was Pedro's sister, Ellenor,
The loveliest lady Spain had seen,
Save fair Maria, Pedro's Queen.

XIII.

She lov'd a youth of low degree,
But form'd by heav'n for sov'reignty.
Dire proof had rank'd Alonzo's name
With peers and paladins of fame.

Spain's high-born chiefs his valour prais'd,
On him Spain's high-born damsels gaz'd:
But Ellen only charm'd his sight;
Who but Alonzo Ellen's knight?
No frown of her's his flame reprov'd,
Too fatally the lovers lov'd.

XIV.

But how stern Pedro's voice obtain,
How bend the majesty of Spain?
By peerless deeds of glory won,
And triumph o'er proud Arragon.
With war the rival nations rung,
Their Kings the gage of battle flung,
And wide proclaim'd th' eventful day
Whose issue shall decide the fray.

XV.

All lonely, in the secret grove,
The eve of that decisive fight,
Fair Ellen met her mailed knight;
Heav'n and the conscious moon above
Sole witness of their mutual love.

XVI.

On Ellen's hand Alonzo vow'd
In chains before Castillia's throne
To lead the lord of Arragon,
Or—perish in the field of blood.—
From Love, from Ellen's plighted charms,
The war-trump summons him to arms.
Like death, amid the mortal fray
Alonzo rush'd, the foe gave way.—
The Hero turn'd the battle's tide,
And front to front the King defied.
Dire was the contest, dread the blow
That laid awhile the Monarch low.—
And now Alonzo from the plain
The hostile King had captive led,
When a wing'd shaft, at random sped,
Pierc'd the brave Knight's unguarded head,
And stretch'd him senseless on the slain.
The foe prevails, the field is won,
The victory rests with Arragon.

XVII.

Fair Ellen's charms bade contest cease,
Her hand the price and pledge of peace.—
The day was fix'd—ah!—ere it came,
Loud rumour told of Ellen's shame.—

Told—that fair Ellen clasp'd her Knight
Yet bleeding on the field of fight;
That Ellen laid him on his shield,
Borne by her pages from the field;
That Ellen came, when others slept,
Hung o'er his couch, and watch'd, and wept,
Still'd him with soft assuasive sound,
And heal'd with gentle touch his wound.—

XVIII.

The youth reviv'd; reviv'd to prove
How constant, woman's vow of love.—
From his wan cheek the rose is flown,
And reason, lost, for ever gone:
All suffer'd change that charm'd before,
Save the heart, which beat for Ellenor.—

XIX.

The Knight, in pastoral weeds array'd,
(So Fancy on his vision play'd)
A wandering swain, day after day,
O'er hill and dale would lonely stray:
No haunt allur'd him, save the grove,
The bow'r of Ellenor and love.

XX.

There Ellen stole from pomp and pow'r
To wreathe around his crook the flow'r,
And at the day-light's dewy fall
Oft sooth'd him with soft madrigal.—

XXI.

Lapt in sweet visions, night and day,
In the green woods Alonzo lay,
Pip'd his delight to hill and dale,
And every stranger heard his tale.

The shepherd lad, the village maid,
Where'er the harmless wanderer stray'd,
Spread to his choice their simple feast,
And cheer'd with welcome smile their guest.

XXII.

Must I proceed?—The day was known
When Ellen weds stern Arragon.
Sad Ellen told each moment o'er:
—Must she ne'er see Alonzo more?
Who, in the bow'r of bliss and love,
Who, where yon pines that meet above

And murmur o'er the water-fall,
Shall Ellen's soothing voice recall?
Who form of golden moss his seat,
Green rushes, and the meadow-sweet?
Who, when no wanderer ventures nigh,
Wind round his brow the wild-flow'r wreath,
And, lowly bending, o'er him breathe
Soft notes that close in peace the eye?

XXIII.

Avails it now her love to hide?—
Ellen has cast her pomp aside:
In Hubert's cell the mourner kneels,
And thus her secret soul reveals.

“Breathe, holy father! breathe a pray'r
“O'er Ellen, victim of despair,
“Who thus disguis'd in lowly weeds,
“In pennance for unhallowed deeds,
“Shall tend Alonzo's sore distress,
“And sooth him in his wretchedness.

“My guilt on him heaven's vengeance draws,
“Ellen alone the fatal cause.—
“Fondly I wreath'd his victor brow:
“Shall I in grief forsake him, now?

“Never.—The ills that round him wait,
“But bind me closer to his fate.
“In winter's cold, in summer's heat,
“Long as the pulse of life may beat,
“Shall Ellen at Alonzo's side
“By day, by night, the wanderer guide.
“On mine, his wearied brow shall rest,
“And sweet his sleep on Ellen's breast.
“So may long years of penitence
“In shadow veil each past offence,
“Ellen his fixed eyelid close,
“Then—peaceful—in his grave repose.”—

XXIV.

But all in vain sad Ellen roves
By day, 'mid unfrequented groves;
In vain, by night, the mountain cave
To wearied Ellen refuge gave:
Vain her breath'd woe, her mute despair;
Pedro's stern guards have seiz'd the Fair,
And sever'd by the cloister pale,
Sad Ellen weeps beneath the veil.—

XXV.

The rumour smote Alonzo's ear:
His frantic cry demands the Bride,
The echoing caves alone replied.
'Twas agony his shriek to hear,
While madness imag'd demons near;
And loud his laugh was heard to rave,
As dashing through the pathless wood,
He scal'd the cliff that crown'd the flood,
Then plung'd into the whelming wave.—
One moment seen, and never more:
Till, many a distant day past o'er,
His body by the tempest thrown
Lay on the beach a corse unknown,
Save yet upon the finger seen,
A plaited ring of rushes green,
And on his breast a gem, that bore
The name of lovely Ellenor.

XXVI.

Ellen, the while, a cloister'd Nun,
Ne'er look'd upon the cheerful sun:
At dawn, at night, her first, last breath,
“Oh hide me in the gloom of death!”

Ere the due time her babe is born:
Her hour of death, his natal morn.
Sad Ellen, with life's latest pray'r,
The Mother's yearnings linger'd there,
To Pedro's Bride her babe bequeath'd;
And calling on Maria mild,
To shield from wrong her helpless child,
A blessing o'er the Orphan breath'd;
Then kist him with a mother's kiss,
Pray'd on his lip, and died in bliss.—

XXVII.

'Twas, when Maria sunk to rest,
The new-born Constance on her breast,
When Pedro o'er her fondly hung,
The blessing trembling on his tongue,
From the last kiss of Ellenor,
The Nuns her hapless Orphan bore.
Laid on Maria's couch, the child
Look'd on her face, and sweetly smil'd.
“Hence!—the stern Monarch fiercely cried—
“Hence! with some nameless peasant place
“That stain of the Castillian race.”

Maria's sigh alone replied.

She thought on Ellen, dead and gone,
And the orphan in a world alone;
Then—clasp'd to her maternal breast
The babes, caressing and carest,
Their arms in innocence entwin'd.—
That sight o'erpower'd stern Pedro's mind,—
“So, peaceful, on that bosom rest!
“So pass,”—he cried—“your infant year!”
And blest them with a Father's tear.

XXVIII.

Thus, peaceful, past year after year:
One was their smile, and one their tear.
Nor ever since the infants met,
The sun had on their parting set.
And whether 'twas the force of blood
That in their kindred channels flow'd,
Or the strict tie that closely binds
In sympathy congenial minds,
You would have thought each twin-born flow'r
Had blossom'd on one roseate bow'r;
Soft vernal airs from fav'ring heav'n
To both like bloom and fragrance giv'n.

And yet, at times, a tender shade,
A twilight between dawn and day
Dissolving gradually away,
Its chast'ning hue o'er Julian laid.
More bright the beams of fancy play'd
Like cloudless sunshine on her mind;
The boy, he knew not why, inclin'd
To pensive pleasures meek and mild,
And lonely musing charm'd the child.

XXIX.

The day that told him Ellen's tale
Saw on his cheek the rose grow pale,
Proud thoughts and high-born hope supprest,
And fix'd the chaste cross on his breast.
Never shall hapless Julian's race
The tale of Ellenor retrace.
His mind to heav'n all dedicate
Save thoughts that on sad Constance wait.
Ah—but for Constance, long ago
The cloister'd cell had hid his woe.
But how, when ruthless ills invade,
Unsolac'd leave the mournful Maid?
If anguish wound her gentle breast,
What cell had yielded Julian rest?

XXX.

So, view him ever at her side,
Or weal or woe, whate'er betide.
No wavering wish, sigh undefin'd
Stain'd the pure mirror of their mind.
One was their smile, their tear the same:
Union of souls without a name.

CANTO VII.

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!

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.—

III.

Yet, gentle spirits of the air
Who to the couch of woe repair,
And in a dream of bliss impart
The balm that heals a bleeding heart,
On guardian wing their vigils kept,
Where innocence and Constance slept.
In vision, to her charmed sight
Blue ocean show'd its mirror bright;
There, 'mid fair gales, a galley brave
In shadow dancing on the wave,
Loos'd every sail for voyage spread,
And Julian there the Virgin led,

103

Led to her Knight array'd in arms:
And o'er the veil that dimm'd her charms
A voice in dream was heard to say,
“Speed, gentle Virgin! speed thy way!
“I will the dark eclipse remove,
“Or die thy willing victim, Love.”
So blissful visions wing'd the night,
And bright hope watch'd the dawn of light.

IV.

Still, still the adverse breeze unkind
At Bayonne England's host confin'd.
Day after day, hour after hour,
The Monarch, on Corunna's tow'r,
Heard but the ceaseless tempest blow,
And ocean roll its surge below.
A bright oar sparkles on the main.
“Blow, warder! blow the welcome strain!
“Tell the glad tidings o'er and o'er:
“A sail salutes Corunna's shore,
“A galley anchors on the strand:
“A shout—'Tis England's!—hails the land.
“Castro! on thee thy Monarch calls:
“Brave chief! defend thy native walls!

104

“While yet consenting winds prevail
“Yon bark shall freely spread the sail,
“Ere close the jousts and festive day
“To Bourdeaux Castile's King convey:
“And Constance, fairest of the fair,
“High-honour'd, greet her champion there.”

V.

Along the bosom of the deep,
Love, o'er thy charge strict vigils keep!
Lo! where yon rock embays the tides
The Paynim's watchful galley rides.
Oh, turn the hostile prow aside,
From the stern Moor fair Constance save!
Be thou the helm's-man, smooth the wave,
And to her knight the Virgin guide!
While proudly heralding her way
Once more I strike the minstrel lay,
The pomp of antique days recall,
And jousts at solemn festival!

VI.

Mid the vast champaign where Garonne
Rolls his majestic waters down,

105

High o'er yon tents, whose stately rows
The circuit of the lists enclose,
While all the strength of Aquitaine
In gay confusion throngs the plain,
A proud pavilion seen afar
O'erlooks the field of mimic war.
Mail'd knights, and beauteous dames around
Glitter in festive splendour crown'd.
On storied tapestry, these repose,
On flower'd brocade and tissue, those,
And, o'er them, in Damascus spun,
Rich shadowy silks subdue the sun.

VII.

There, girt with crown of sovereignty,
Beneath a gorgeous canopy,
'Mid blazon'd banners widely streaming,
And pennons in the sun-beam gleaming,
Bourdeaux' high Lord in pomp of state
Enthron'd with fair Joanna sate.

VIII.

Bright on the canopy was seen
Rich broidery wrought by England's Queen,
A present to that festive hour,
A gift to Aquitania's pow'r.

106

IX.

Aye, since her Boy's triumphant day,
When first he won his spurs of gold,
The heroine on that broidery bold

Philippa of Hainault, the glorious consort of Edward the Third, and the mother of a race of heroes—of her heroic spirit, and native tenderness, no other proofs are requisite, than the victory of Nevil's Cross, where the King of Scotland was taken prisoner, and her pathetic pleading for the condemned burghers of Calais.

Ceas'd not to trace his peerless way;
And ever as the sable mail
Arose conspicuous on her sight,
While the maternal cheek turn'd pale,
Shed tears of wonder and delight
O'er Crecy's rout, o'er Poictier's flight.

X.

Throughout, Philippa had display'd
Her son in sable mail array'd.
His barb's wide nostrils breath'd forth war,
And thick the blood-drops from his mane
That floated on the gale afar,
Stream'd o'er pale chiefs that strow'd the plain
Round Alenson and Flanders slain.

On their blind King, in death's cold sleep,
There, at each side, a brave knight lay:
And still they seem'd their charge to keep;
So past their gallant souls away.

“The King of Bohemia was the son of Henry of Luxemburgh, Emperor of Germany, and a soldier of great reputation. He was now almost blind with old age, and the loss of one of his eyes in the Italian wars. He said to the commanders of his forces, before the battle of Crecy, ‘Gentlemen, you are my men, my companions and friends in this expedition: I only now desire this last piece of service from you, that you would bring me forward so near to these Englishmen, that I may deal among them one good stroke with my sword.’ They obeyed him, and that they might not be separated, fastened their horses' bridles together, and so were found the next day, slain on the body of their King.” Collins's Life of the Black Prince, p. 19.

107

Here, 'mid his warriors, on a brow
Whose height o'er-look'd the host below,
Crown'd Edward, pointing to his Son,
Seem'd wondering at the battle won.

There, while stern Woodland

“Sir John Chandos said to the Prince, ‘Sir, sir, now push forward, for the day is ours: God will this day put it in your hand.’ The Prince replied; ‘John, get forward; you shall not see me turn my back this day, but I will always be among the foremost.’ He then said to Sir Walter Woodland, his bannerbearer, ‘Banner, advance, in the name of God and St. George.’ The knight obeyed the commands of the Prince.” Johnes's Froiss. vol. i. p. 430.

wav'd on high
His banner red with victory,
And round the prince his barons stood,
And wav'd their falchions dropping blood,
The Conqueror in his close embrace
Clasp'd Audeley, weak with many a wound,

I cannot, for the honour of chivalry, resist the insertion of the following extract from Froissart. “When the army at Poictiers was drawn up in order of battle, the Lord James Audeley said to the Prince, ‘Sir, I have ever served most loyally your father, and yourself, and shall continue so to do as long as I have life. Dear Sir, I must now acquaint you, that formerly I made a vow, if ever I should be engaged in any battle where the King your father or any of his sons were, that I would be the foremost in the attack, and the best combatant on his side, or die in the attempt. I beg therefore most earnestly, as a reward for any services I may have done, that you would grant me permission honourably to quit you, that I may post myself in such wise to accomplish my vow.’ The Prince granted his request, and holding out his hand to him, said, ‘Sir James, God grant that this day you may shine in valour above all other knights.’ The knight then set off, and posted himself at the front of the battalion, with only four squires whom he had detained with him to guard his person. The Lord James Audeley, with the assistance of his four squires, was always engaged in the heat of the battle. He was severely wounded in the body, head, and face: and, as long as his strength and breath permitted him he maintained the fight, and advanced forward: he continued to do so until he was covered with blood: then, towards the close of the engagement, his four squires, who were as his body guard, took him, and led him out of the engagement, very weak and wounded, towards a hedge, that he might cool and take breath. They disarmed him as gently as they could, in order to examine his wounds, dress them, and sew up the most dangerous. After the victory, the Prince enquired if any one knew what was become of Lord James Audeley: ‘Yes, Sir,’ replied some of the company, ‘he is very badly wounded, and is lying in a litter hard by.’ ‘By my troth,’ replied the Prince, ‘I am sore vexed that he is so wounded. See, I beg of you, if he be able to bear being carried hither: otherwise I will come and visit him.’ Two knights directly left the Prince, and coming to Lord James, told him how desirous the Prince was of seeing him. ‘A thousand thanks to the Prince,’ answered Lord James, ‘for condescending to remember so poor a knight as myself.’ He then called eight of his servants, and had himself borne in his litter to where the Prince was. When he was come into his presence, the Prince bent down over him and embraced him, saying, ‘My Lord James, I am bound to honour you very much: for by your valour this day, you have acquired glory and renown above us all, and your prowess has proved you the bravest knight.’” Johnes's Froiss. vol. i.

And kist him fainting on the ground:
A smile was on brave Audeley's face.

Beneath them, labouring through the throng
That swarm'd tumultuously along,
Warwick, and Cobham's out-stretch'd lance
Shielded from insult captive France.

XI.

Thus, all came out, and met the eye
In bold and beauteous imag'ry:
Flow'r-de-luces twin'd between,
All, the broidery of the Queen.

108

XII.

At noon, before the shouting train
Uprose the Lord of Aquitaine,
And wide the signal flag unroll'd.
Here, Arthur's mailed knights advance,
There, the paladins of France:
Burns the bright field with floating gold.

XIII.

And lo! each combatant before
A lady starr'd with jewels o'er,

A lady of her beauty vain,
With hooded falcon on her hand
Leads one by one the knightly band,

Like captives, in a silver chain.
A dwarf and page at either side
Rein in her palfrey's foaming pride.
A herald, ushering in, declares
Whose blazon'd arms each warrior bears,
Pomp and pageantry attending,
Truth with sweet illusion blending,
And minstrels, whose accordant rhymes
Wing fancy back to antique times.

109

XIV.

Led by the harp, and choral strain,
First, Arthur's pageant fill'd the plain.

Arthur's pageant is composed from the old romances of Lancelot du Lac, and the Morte Arthur, and to those, passim, I must refer the reader for a more intimate acquaintance with the fair but frail Guinever, the gigantic Ryence, the enchanter Merlin, and Sir Gawain, and Sir Lyonel, and Sir Galahad, and the renowned knights of the round table.

High on a throne of golden hue,
Towr'd Guinever, in jewell'd sheen:
Twelve monarchs chain'd her chariot drew,
Gigantic Ryence at their head,
His stole with beard of kings o'erspread.
There, Merlin, the enchanter, seen,
With quaint device, and subtile sleight,
Shifting his shapes before the sight.
Whatever form the juggler wore,
Fell from his lip prophetic lore,
And many a wild and wondrous lay
Accompanied his changeful way.

XV.

Now, softly flow'd the slumbrous spell
That charm'd the tow'rs of Tintagel,
And on the Castle's sea-girt keep
Seal'd the warder's eye in sleep,
When Uther in Gorlois' arms
Deceitful clasp'd Igerne's charms.

See chap. xix. of Thompson's Translation of Jeffrey of Monmouth:

Tum gravidum Arturo fatali fraude Jogernen;
Mendaces vultus, assumptaque Gorlois arma,
Merlini dolus.

Milton, Epitaphium Damonis.

Now, loudly rung the magic strain
That Merlin pour'd on Sarum's plain,

110

When from green Erin's wondering isle
The wizard wing'd the mountain pile,

“No man knowes, saith Huntingdon, how, or why they came here. The cause thus take from the British story: Hengist, under colour of a friendly treaty with Vortigern at Amesbury—there trayterously slew CDIX. noble Bretons, and kept the King prisoner. Some thirty years after, King Ambros, to honour with one monument the names of so many murdred worthies, by help of Uterpen-dragon's forcies, and Merlin's magique, got them transported from off a plain, (others say, a hill) neare Naas in Kildare in Ireland, hither, to remain as a trophy, not of victory, but of wronged innocence. This Merlin persuaded the King, that they were medicinall, and first brought out of the utmost parts of Afrique, by giants, which thence came to inhabit Ireland.” Notes on Drayton's Poly Olbion, p. 50.

That erst with magic drugs embu'd
Lone 'mid the wilds of Afric stood:
Then pois'd the rocks on Sarum's heath,
And call'd the slain that groan'd beneath
To curse the spot where Britons bled,
And vex the shade of Hengist dead.

XVI.

Thus swell'd the pageant on the sight,
And England's chiefs, knight after knight,
Came mask'd in mail of heroes old:
Gawain in storied rhymes enroll'd,
Sir Lyonel, and Agravane,
Brave Gareth, fam'd in minstrel tale,
And far-renowned Aglovale.
There Lamorake's renowned might:
And Ewain's strength, who turn'd away
Thy vengeful sword, Morgan la Faye!
And that adventurous errant knight
Who trac'd the questing monster's flight,
Regardless of the deaf'ning roar:
And Percival of Pellenor.

111

Lo Galahad at heav'n's high call
Whose faith atchiev'd the Sangreall:
And Tristan, gallant, gay, and bold.—

XVII.

Round Tristan, clad in vesture green,
Tall youths like foresters were seen:

The Morte Arthur tell us, “that Tristan laboured ever in hunting and hawking, so that we never read of no gentleman more that so used himself therein. And as the book saith, he began good measures of blowing of blasts of venery, and of chace, and of all manner of vermins.” See p. 257 of Sir Tristrem, a metrical romance, delightfully illustrated by my friend Walter Scott, the enthusiastic minstrel of the present day, and who unites the accuracy of the antiquarian to the genius of the poet.

Their quivers graceful swung behind,
Their bow-strings whistled in the wind.
These, on high the boar-spear rais'd,
Before them, blood-hounds earthward gaz'd:
Those, in the slip fleet grey-hounds led,
Or held the hawk in Norway bred.
And some, with artful change of sound,
And strain of cunning melody,
(The hunter knows its mystery,)
The horn and wreathed bugle wound,
And widely blew the wood-notes round.
Yet, ever-more, before his way,
A plaintive harp tun'd Tristan's lay.
Fair virgins bow'd the neck to hear,
Their bosoms heaving to the story
Of Yseud's charms, and Tristan's glory,
How both, in beauty's bright career,

112

Perish'd like buds of April blowing
In the sweet season of their growing.

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—

113

Harcourt, before him, in his pride
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.

XIX.

Like Paladins of Charlemain,
Earl Roland, Olivier the bold,
Fierce Ogier, far-renowned Dane,
And peers in glory's page enroll'd,
Gaul arm'd her warriors mail'd in gold.

XX.

While the rivals in their might
Couch 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

“Stay, daring youth!”—arm'd guards in vain
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.

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.

115

XXII.

But—who art thou, whose welling wound
Bathes with blood the tourney ground?
Thou, whose deep groan, whose thrilling cry,
Whose voice of wilder'd agony
Bade Lancaster fair Constance save?
'Twas Julian—Julian stem'd the wave,
And while his wounds distain'd the tide
Unwearied gain'd the Garonne's side.

Ah, hapless Page! how chang'd thy mien
That in the van of battle seen
Glow'd with the fire which nerv'd thy arm,
When 'mid the Paynims, bath'd in blood,
Thy breast 'twixt death and Constance stood.—
Her danger, like a magic charm,
Transform'd thy nature, and endued
With more than mortal hardihood.

XXIII.

Where Bourdeaux' tow'rs o'erlook the tide,
Th' encount'ring vessels, side by side,
With dreadful clamour, heard afar,
Clash in the hideous shock of war.
Mail'd Edward, issuing from the tow'r,
His galley arms, arrays his pow'r.

116

XXIV.

Speed, Conqueror,—speed!—the Paynims fling
Their fetters round Castillia's King,
And rudely seize the captive Maid.
What earthly pow'r shall Constance aid?
Lo!—Lancaster high waves the blade,
And bold the peerless fair to save,
Or, greatly perish in the wave,
Spurs down the stream his foaming steed.
Fill'd with his fire, with lightning speed,
The rival chiefs, knight urging knight,
Stem the deep flood, and join the fight.

XXV.

But—foremost, in Castillia's view
To the fair Maid her champion flew.
'Twas love—'twas beauty's virgin charm
Brac'd with resistless strength his arm.
In vain their ranks the Paynims clos'd,
Wing'd arrowy clouds in vain oppos'd:
Thick on his helm the tempest rung,
Through clashing blades the hero sprung;
This hand on high the buckler held,
That, arm'd with death, the Moors repell'd;

117

While like a lion, who in ire
Bristling the horrors of his mane,
With eye that rolls in living fire
Springs on the herd, and wastes the plain:
Thus, conqu'ring in Castillia's sight,
Her champion turn'd the foe to flight.
The hero has yon chieftain slain,
Has freed the king from servile chain,
Then, at thy feet, enchanting Maid,
The homage of his falchion laid.

XXVI.

'Tis beauty, 'tis heroic fame,
Heart, answering heart, that fann'd the flame,
And from their kindling glances stole
The look that melted soul with soul.

XXVII.

And, sooth to say, a form more fair
Ne'er claim'd heroic valor's aid.
Was it a vision of the air,
A gay illusion floating there
In fancy's loveliest hues array'd?
All loose, and lightly on the gale

118

Stream'd her dark tresses freely flowing,
And to and fro the fluttering veil
Deepen'd her blush divinely glowing:
While, from its shade, more beamy bright
By fits her beauty flash'd on sight,
And gave a grace that varying play'd
Like changeful magic o'er the Maid.

XXVIII.

Rung never yet from town or tow'r
Freed from harsh yoke of foreign pow'r,
Shout, such as echo'd far and wide
From ranks that throng'd the Garonne's side,
When Constance, 'mid the knightly band,
Leant graceful on her champion's hand,
Sprung with light foot on shore, and hail'd the stranger land.

XXIX.

Yet—as the Virgin past along
Through the arm'd chiefs, and gathering throng,
While choirs of youths and maidens gay
Fresh garlanding with flow'rs the way,
Before her foot-step laurels flung,
And tow'r to tow'r exultant rung:

119

Oft heav'd her sigh, and many a tear
For Pedro spake a daughter's fear.

XXX.

Onward with stately paces slow
Stept the proud King in gloomy woe.
In vain, 'mid shout and minstrelsy,
A herald on his bended knee
Gave solemn greeting, and implor'd
Castile to grace the banquet board:
Pedro exclaim'd with mournful air,
“To Bourdeaux' lord commend me fair!
“To-morrow at his throne I plead:
“Never—till Castile's cause succeed,
“Our lips the festive banquet share.”
He spake, and from the public view
With Constance, sad and slow, withdrew.

121

CANTO VIII.

123

I.

Whence that deep groan?—what dream unblest
Forbids the brow of guilt to rest,
And, borne on midnight's gloomy wing,
Shakes horror o'er Castillia's King?

In slumber, vision'd on his sight
Tow'r'd Montiel, and its rocky height:

The separate pictures in this vision are all copied from the real circumstances attendant on the capture and assassination of Pedro. See Johnes's Froissart, vol. i. p. 768.

Le Begue de Villaines seized Pedro in his attempt to escape by night from Montiel: and the Viscount de Rocaberti held him by the legs while he was poniarded in the tent by Henry of Trastamere.

The dream its antique castle show'd,
The flood that round its bulwarks flow'd,
The battlements that crown'd its brow,
And Trastamere encamp'd below,

124

Thick-gathering shades o'erhung the plain,
And pale stars gleam'd o'er warriors slain.

Sir Bertrand de Guesclin has by some authors been accused (but I believe unjustly) of the capture, and dishonourable murder of Pedro.

II.

It seem'd, at midnight's silent hour
A chief stole lonely from the tow'r.
The Monarch heard the flinty road
Ring to the mule the knight bestrode,
As pac'd along its dull hoof slow.—
From ambush sprung an armed foe,
Seiz'd the lone knight, and captive led.
—Montiel, and all its scenery fled.

III.

In vision, now, a tent arose:
There lay the captive, girt with foes.
In armour to that guarded tent
With hurried step a chieftain went.
Castillia's robes his hauberk grac'd,
Castillia's crown his helm embrac'd.
'Twas Henry—sceptred Trastamere.
The captive, as th' usurper came,
Leapt up, and boldly own'd his name—
“Pedro—Castillia's rightful lord.”—
Loud, in that dream, his haughty word,

125

Each haughty word, distinctly clear,
Like thunder burst on Pedro's ear.

IV.

Onward the hostile Monarchs prest,
And seem'd to grapple breast to breast.
Then Pedro saw his arm prevail,
And Henry's strength beneath him fail:
Saw, as his semblance seiz'd the blade,
In act to strike pale Henry's shade,
A knight, stern-visag'd, unaware,
Spring like a tiger from his lair,
Seize him with sudden grasp, and bind
His limbs by giant force confin'd.

V.

With stedfast hand, before his view
Now Trastamere a poniard drew,
Mark'd with keen eye the mortal part,
Thrice sheath'd his blade in Pedro's heart,
Then, pointing to each hideous wound,
Smil'd, as the life-blood gush'd around.
The King, in agony of woe,
Groan'd, as his bosom felt the blow.

126

His groan of death the vision broke,
Bath'd in chill dew the Monarch woke,
And gazing on day's golden beam,
Shook at the horror of a dream,
The dread of that prefigur'd doom,
And Henry crown'd on Pedro's tomb.—

VI.

Thron'd in St. Andrew's holy walls,
Edward each summon'd warrior calls,
Knight, banneret, and baron bold,
Who of his realm high tenure hold.
There, too, in pomp of priestly state,
Albert, the mitred abbot, sate.

VII.

Around the throne, a numerous band,
Natives, and knights of every land.
'Mid these, in golden armour drest,
Tow'r'd an unknown mysterious guest,
Whose barred helm was ne'er unclos'd,
Whose rank no blazon'd shield expos'd,
Pennon nor broider'd surcoat show'd
From what pure fount his lineage flow'd,

127

Yet—his proud port, his stately pace
And stature, mark'd no common race.

VIII.

Apart, amid the princely train
Who join'd the feast at Aquitaine,
The knight ne'er pledg'd the social bowl.
Haply, some vow had bound his soul,
Pennance, that none on earth had pow'r
To loosen, ere the appointed hour.
Haply, his mistress had enjoin'd
A deed that harrow'd up his mind:
Haply, 'twas conscience-haunted guilt,
Blood of the brave, unjustly spilt.
There stood the knight, and high his brow
Tow'r'd, helmeted, o'er all below.—

IX.

Edward his solemn court addrest:
“Peers! on whose strength I firmly rest,
“Unblemish'd honour to maintain,
“And knighthood guard from earthly stain;
“And thou, oh holy father! hear!
“No common suppliants claim our ear,

128

“An exil'd King—a royal Maid,
“Imploring valour's votive aid—
“Knights! shall we trust the glowing rage
“That fires our souls dire war to wage?
“Yet—blood is charg'd on Pedro's brow:
“Or, Heav'n, well pleas'd, had heard my vow
“To lead our host in Castile's cause,
“And on his native throne once more
“The King to rightful sway restore—
“Edward the sword of justice draws.”

X.

He spake—when, lo! with stedfast mien,
Firm look compos'd, and pace serene,
As one who in the trying hour
Rests on his own self-center'd pow'r,
Pedro advances—pomp nor train
Of royal state his rank sustain.
But, on each side the Monarch, stood
A mourner by deep woe subdu'd;
Here, Constance, hid beneath the veil,
There, Julian, wounded, faint, and pale.
Nor voice, nor motion silence broke,
While thus Castillia's Monarch spoke.

129

XI.

“Forc'd from my throne, and native land,
“Conqueror!—and ye, high chiefs! whose fame
“Fills the wide world with England's name,
“I, Castile's King, your aid demand.
“Treason usurps Castillia's throne:
“And none to aid their sov'reign, none,
“Save these, whose strength is in the tears
“That, shed for me, in secret flow:
“Whom misery more and more endears,
“And closer binds in mutual woe.”

XII.

He spake, and warmly to his breast
The dark-veil'd Maid and Julian prest.
Each in mute woe before him bent,
As round the court a murmur went
Of chiefs to Pedro's cause inclin'd—
The murmur sooth'd his troubled mind.
Silent awhile the Monarch stood,
As one who, fix'd in thoughtful mood,
Gathers the train of years gone by;
Then rais'd his voice in agony.

130

XIII.

“Here be my guilt—my sufferings—told—
“Far—better far th' avowal bold,
“Than tales half-rumour'd, half-conceal'd,
“Where malice spreads her mists between,
“And dark suspicion clouds the scene,
“Swelling each form to giant size.
“Here be my life's whole course reveal'd,
“Nor art, nor gloss the truth disguise.

“And thou from whom I boast my blood,
“Monarch rever'd! thou saint in heav'n!

“Look down, Alfonzo, great and good,
“And be thy hapless son forgiv'n,
“Who o'er the lustre of thy fame
“Reluctant casts the veil of shame.
“Yet, not the less shall glory raise
“A column to Alfonzo's praise.
“Ask of your fathers: they can tell:
“They saw him smite the infidel
“When Derby's sword, and Salisbury's host
“Spread triumph o'er Castillia's coast.
“Ask of your fathers: they can tell
“Of Salado, where myriads fell.
“Have you not heard, in Teba's fight
“How Douglas tow'r'd, array'd in might?

At the battle of Salado in 1340, Alfonzo defeated Alboacen, the King of Morocco, and slew 200,000 of the infidels. Vide Mariana's History of Spain, book xvi. chap. iv.

“Considerable succours came to him (at the siege of Algezira) from England, France, and Navarre. From England the Earls of Derby and Salisbury.” Mariana, book xvi. chap. v.

For the interesting account of the dying injunctions of Robert Bruce, King of Scotland, and of the bequest of his heart to the gallant Lord James Douglas, to be embalmed, and deposited by him at the Holy Sepulchre, the reader is referred to Johnes's Froissart, vol. I. chapter xx.

Douglas, on his voyage to Jerusalem, hearing that Alfonzo was waging war against the Saracen King of Granada, landed at Valentia, and joined the Spanish host. The issue of the combat is thus related by Lord Hailes in the Annals of Scotland, anno 1330. “The detached troops fought with equal advantage, and the Moorish cavalry fled. Douglas with his companions, eagerly pursued the Saracens. Taking the casket from his neck, which contained the heart of Bruce, he threw it before him, and cried, ‘Now pass thou onward, as thou was wont, and Douglas will follow thee, or die!’ The fugitives rallied: surrounded and overwhelmed by superior numbers, Douglas fell, while attempting to rescue Sir William St. Clair of Roslin, who shared his fate. Robert, and Walter Logan, both of them knights, were slain with Douglas. His friend, Sir William Keith, having had his arm broke, was detained from the battle. His few surviving companions found his body in the field, together with the casket, and reverently conveyed them to Scotland. The remains of Douglas were interred in the sepulchre of his fathers, in the church of Douglas, and the heart of Bruce was deposited at Melros.”

131

“And, when suspended conquest hung,
“A casket from his neck untwin'd
“That the brave heart of Bruce enshrin'd,
“And 'mid the Paynim squadrons flung:
“Then, rush'd to rescue it, or die,
“And perish'd, crown'd with victory?”

XIV.

The Monarch ceas'd awhile: applause
Of ardent chiefs supplied the pause.
Flush'd o'er his cheek the fiery glow,
Ere burst the bitter voice of woe.

XV.

“It may not—must not be conceal'd:
“Yea—Guzman! be thy shame reveal'd!
“Thou, fruitful in thine own disgrace,
“Vile mother of th' adulterous race
“On whom my sire all honours show'r'd.

Leonora de Guzman, called la Richa Donna, was descended from one of the most noble families of Castile. “Alfonzo the XI. totally deserted his Queen, and for the rest of his days devoted himself to the lovely Leonora. Besides Henry Count of Trastamere, and Don Frederic de Castilla, master of the military order of St. James, Leonora bore several other children to King Alfonzo. Such were, at Pedro's accession, the inauspicious prospects of the Castillians, over whom the influence of Leonora de Guzman prevailed, and to whose friends a strong party was attached.” Dillon's History of Peter the Cruel, vol. i. chap. i. passim.

“Fell serpents! that Castile devour'd!
“Such was my country's hapless doom
“What time I rais'd Alfonzo's tomb:
“Then treason, hydra-headed, rose,
“And Guzman's race were Pedro's foes.

132

“Tello and Frederic grasp'd the spear
“To crown aspiring Trastamere,
“And crush the boy—the youthful King,
“In blossom of his fifteenth spring.
“But, in his son, Alfonzo reign'd;
“I, the crown'd boy, my sway maintain'd.
“Mean-time, my states were met; their aim
“To raise my kingdom's ancient fame,
“And on the throne of Castile place
“A bride of Bourbon's high-born race.
“Then, while my conquering host repos'd,
“And war awhile its horror clos'd,
“I, o'er far lands, with hawk and hound,
“Oft in keen chase my bugle wound.
“It chanc'd, that following in his flight
“My falcon o'er the mountain's height,
“As from my train apart I stray'd,
“And sought, o'er-tir'd, a forest glade,
“All unadorn'd, in simple dress,
“In guise a mountain sheperdess,
“Yet beauteous as a Seraph bright,
“Maria glanc'd before my sight.

“Brief let me be:—of gentle race
“Her sire, amid those wood-lands wild,

“In that lone spot, his native place,

133

“Rear'd up in innocence his child,
“Where peace on his late evening smil'd.
“We met, we lov'd:—mind link'd to mind,
“And heart with heart were intertwin'd.
“And I, beneath a feigned name,
“(Say, was the youthful King to blame?)
“In secret union with my bride
“Cast, in her arms, the world aside.
“So months in dream of rapture fled,
“Ere yet a gathering rumour spread,
“That Gallia, at a nation's pray'r,
“Had sent the fairest of her fair,
“The high-born daughter of Bourbon,
“Blanche, to adorn Castillia's throne.
“I went, inflam'd by worldly pride,
“I woo'd—oh guilt accurst!—the bride—
“I to the altar Bourbon led;
“Horror o'ercanopied our bed.
“View'd I fair Bourbon with delight?
“No—'twas a fiend appall'd my sight,
“A threat'ning fiend that stood alone
“Between Maria and my throne.
“To love, to meek Maria's arms,
“I flew from pomp and Bourbon's charms.
“There, too, on meek Maria's breast

134

“Fell Blanche, disquieting my rest,
“Haunted my couch with dreams unblest.
“Year after year dissension reign'd,
“Yet still my pow'r its rule maintain'd:
“Seville, in distant times unknown,
“Shall bid her sons revere the stone,
“Where, thron'd beneath the golden day,

“Near the western entrance of the Alcazar, or royal palace of Seville, was formerly to be seen a stone seat, with its canopy supported by four pillars, where that severe judge, Don Pedro, sat to decide causes. His justice was so very inflexible, that in those days of feudal anarchy, it was deemed cruelty and tyranny: and hence, perhaps, much of the obloquy bestowed on him by historians. In Andalusia, where he fixed his residence, his memory is not held in abhorrence: and the Sevillian writers, instead of the appellation Pedro el Cruel, distinguish him by that of El Justiciero.” Swinburne's travels through Spain, p. 255.

“Firm Pedro bad the realm obey,
“And justice, at his sceptred hand
“Held her pois'd balance o'er the land.

“Now burst the storm: adulterous love
“And fraud their coil around me wove,
“Drew from the rocks fell Trastamere,
“And couch'd again war's rebel spear.
“My host, by traitorous Frederic led,
“Ingloriously the battle fled.
“Again his King in evil hour
“Arm'd him in plenitude of pow'r,
“When to my throne a rumour came
“Of Frederic's guilt, and Bourbon's shame.

“Don Pédre épouse Blanche de Bourbon; et la première nouvelle qu'il apprend de sa femme quand elle est arrivée à Valladolid, c'est qu'elle est amoureuse du grand-maitre de St. Jâques, l'un de ces mêmes batards qui lui avaient fait la guerre. Il y a encore une famille en Espagne qui se vante d'être issue de ce commerce, c'est celle des Henriques.” Voltaire, Essai sur les Mœurs. Tome III. p. 179.

“These eyes beheld—spare, spare the rest!—
“I sheath'd my blade in Frederic's breast.
“Blanche o'er the base adulterer hung,
“Blanche to his bleeding bosom clung.

135

“My arm was rais'd in vengeful mood.
“—Oh! that this hand had shed her blood!
“I shed not blood—but—ere her hour—
“Blanche—perish'd—in Sidonia's tow'r—
“And the sharp curse that hangs o'er crime
“Yet haunts me from that fatal time.
“Lo the dire proof—this belt I wear,
“These drops of gore the curse declare.”
And Pedro back his mantle threw,
And gave the ensanguin'd belt to view.
His fixed eye-ball on the blood
Glar'd, and his hair uplifted stood.
And, fearfully, on all around
Amazement fell, and awe profound.

137

CANTO IX.

139

I.

While in mute awe the warriors hung,
Deep anguish burst from Pedro's tongue.
“The day when Bourbon's spirit fled,
“Before my train I joyful sped
“Maria's honour'd brow to crown,
“And hail her Queen on Castile's throne.

“As mid Sidonia's wood my way
“Through a dark glen's deep covert lay,
“A form, surpassing human height,
“Terrific, tow'r'd before my sight,

“It was said that Pedro caused Queen Blanche to be poisoned in prison. And there is a report, that the King, when hunting near Medina Sidonia, was there met by a shepherd of a terrible aspect, threatening him.” Mariana, Hist. of Spain, p. 279.

140

“And loud and awful as the roar
“Of ocean bursting on the shore,
“‘Murderer!’—exclaim'd—‘in mercy sent,
“‘I warn of woe to come—repent!—
“‘Deem not, like shadows of the night
“‘I pass, and vanish from the sight:
“‘The belt that hapless Bourbon wove,
“‘Present and pledge of nuptial love,
“‘Shall, yearly, on the fatal day,
“‘What time her spirit past away,
“‘Harass thy soul with sights unholy,
“‘And fill with wild'ring melancholy.
“‘Lo! at my touch, 'tis stain'd with gore:
“‘No pow'r its lustre shall restore,
“‘Nor art, nor force of mortal hand
“‘Unclasp th' inextricable band,
“‘Till deep remorse mourn Bourbon slain,
“‘And contrite tears efface the stain!’
“The Phantom vanish'd from my view.
“Urg'd by strange terror, on I flew.
“Then—at that hour—th' internal flame
“Prey'd on Maria's sinking frame,
“Her brow was bath'd in icy dew.
“As o'er her speechless lip I hung
“The last, last pang her bosom wrung.

141

“With mine was mix'd her farewell breath,
“On mine her eye yet gaz'd in death,
“Nor earth sithence a solace gave
“Save lamentation o'er her grave.
“Yet—ere my worldly sufferings close,
“Ere yet the tomb conceal my woes,
“Reft of my crown though here I stand,
“An exile in a stranger land,
“Castillia's rightful King, I claim
“Reverence for great Pelayo's fame,
“And honour due to kings alone
“Through me appeals to Edward's throne.

“Say, heir of England's greatness, say,
“Shall earth a rebel's nod obey,
“Shall realms at will revoke the vow
“That binds them to th' anointed brow?
“But—if regardless of the crown
“From sire to son transmitted down,
“Edward forgets that gracious heav'n
“Sceptre and sway to kings has giv'n:
“I, warriors, in Castillia's right
“Dare Trastamere to mortal fight.
“Conquest once more shall Pedro grace,
“Or close in blood my earthly race.

142

“Tell then the sons of other times,
“I fell for unattoned crimes.
“So shall my sufferings guilt appall,
“And awe-struck kings mourn Pedro's fall!”

II.

He spake, and with clasp'd hands uprais'd,
In speechless anguish heav'n-ward gaz'd,
Down his dark cheek the big tear stole,
And strong contrition shook his soul.

III.

Deep silence reign'd: when, solemn, slow,
In mercy to the man of woe,
The mitred Abbot onward came:
The crosier propt his feeble frame,
And, ringing on the pavement, told
Step after step by age controll'd.

IV.

He stood, and, bent o'er Pedro's brow,
Beheld his tear in silence flow,
And thus the contrite man addrest:
“Repentance yet thy soul may save,

143

“And lead thee to eternal rest.
“Son! on this hallow'd relic, vow,
“O'er Blanche, o'er hapless Bourbon's grave
“A gifted chantry to endow:
“And lead thyself a sacred band
“To combat in the holy land.—
“Then—heav'n vouchsafe his servant, pow'r
“To free thee from the torturing hour!”

V.

Pedro before him lowly bow'd,
And on the cross submission vow'd.
The prelate rais'd his hands, and shed
The solemn blessing on his head.
“Arise absolv'd—I loose the zone—
“King! urge thy claim at Edward's throne.”

VI.

While every eye on Edward turn'd,
And his bright cheek with glory burn'd,
And his brave hand, by justice sway'd,
Had half unsheath'd his shining blade:
Pedro by ardent hope inflam'd
Rose, and, o'er Constance, thus exclaim'd,

144

“Warriors! the voice of honour hear!
“For love, for glory couch the spear.
“Champion! arise—unsheath the sword:
“Free this fair Maid from Afric's lord:
“The veil that hides her charms remove,
“By valour win the Virgin's love:
“And, conqu'ring, on the field of fame
“Thy bride, Castillia's heiress, claim.”

VII.

At once, ere Pedro's closing word,

Up from their seats the warriors sprung,
Leapt from each sheath th' avenging sword,

The roof with martial clangour rung:
Brave Lancaster, before the rest,
Exultant to the Virgin prest,
His hand now hover'd o'er the veil:
When in the thunder of his mail,
With light'ning speed, with eye of fire
Baring his brow in scornful ire,
The stranger knight before him flew,
His outstretch'd arm a dagger drew,
Shook o'er the Maid in vengeful mood:
“Hence! or this poniard drinks her blood.

145

“Behold Almanzor, Afric's King,
“Afric's wide realms my sceptre own:
“Their Monarchs kneel before my throne.
“I claim my bride: lo mine the ring!
“Sheath your vain swords, I scorn your pow'r,
“My word, like Fate, o'er-rules the hour.
“Touch but this veil, the Virgin dies,
“My life the willing sacrifice,
“While reeking from the victim slain
“This dagger cleaves my heart in twain.

“Almanzor to the world proclaims
“The passion that his soul inflames.
“Thrills Europe at the voice of love?
“Does Afric's pulse less fiercely move?
“Love bad me quit my native throne,
“Love fix'd me lingering here unknown.
“Where, but at far-fam'd Edward's court
“Would Castile's King for aid resort?
“Love wing'd my sail, love arm'd the train
“That sought my bride across the main;
“Love bids me crown the Christian Maid,
“Or—in her breast, now, plunge my blade.”
He spake, and rais'd his arm on high.

'Mid the loud burst of agony,

146

Bold Lancaster, with thundering sound,
Cast his steel gauntlet on the ground:
“Fame vaunts thy strength, and giant force
“Dwells on the thunder of thy course,
“Thy spear's vast weight, thy bulk of shield,
“And mace no arm but thine can wield.
“Yet—Lancaster defies thy might:
“Take up my gauntlet, join the fight,
“Or, recreant, shun the beams of day.
“Paynim! come forth—I lead the way.”

VIII.

“Death meets thee there”—Almanzor cried.
“Lead to the lists my plighted bride.”
Each fiercely strode, and wav'd the blade.
Julian leads on the hapless Maid.
Lo! Edward, Pedro, Constance plac'd,
The lists with Crecy's conquerors grac'd;
Mail'd, on fierce steeds, beneath their sight
The rivals arm'd for mortal fight
Invoke the fair Castillian's name,
And couch the spear with deadly aim.

147

IX.

As when fierce winds their force oppose,
And clouds, dark-charg'd with ruin, close,
Peal echoing peal, loud thunders roar,
And lightnings gleam the welkin o'er,
Thus clash'd the knights in 'mid career,
Shivering in sparks of fire the spear.

X.

No sparkle of another lance
Shall from their bruised helmets glance.
Each seizing from the saddle bow
A mace that aims no second blow,
Around the ponderous weapon swung:
And harsh the clang of armour rung,
As onward gor'd to madd'ning speed
Clash'd, front 'gainst front, each fiery steed.
The prostrate coursers breathless lie:
The sword decides the victory.

XI.

Oh! it were long to tell each wound,
And how they wheel'd and travers'd round;
How, from each blow, the batter'd shield
And hauberk, piece-meal, strow'd the field:

148

How, each, throughout the dubious fray
By turns advanc'd, by turns gave way,
And what the Moor's gigantic might,
And Lancaster's address in fight.

Swift on the Christian's helm descends
The Paynim's blade, and cuts in twain
The wreath of pearls that strow the plain.
Lo! on bow'd knee the warrior bends:
That wreath—so seen—fresh force inspir'd:
Fame, vengeance, love each champion fir'd.
Blade rings on blade, wound follows wound,
And the warm life-blood spouts around.

XII.

Almanzor storms, his soul's on fire:
“Thus, thus, I conquer, or expire!”
He spake, and centering in one blow
Resistless strength to crush the foe,
Fiercely with high-rais'd falchion sprung.
While, pois'd in air, aloft it hung,
While yet the Paynim onward prest,
His keen-ey'd rival mark'd the wound
That stain'd with gushing blood his breast,
Peirc'd with swift stroke th' unguarded part,
And sheath'd the weapon in his heart.

149

The Moor falls thundering on the ground,
And rolling wild his eyes around
Clos'd them for ever on the day,
And, struggling, groan'd his soul away.

XIII.

“Heroic conqueror!”—Pedro cried—
“From Constance cast the veil aside,
“In triumph to her kingdom lead
“The Virgin by thy prowess freed.
“The way is barr'd by rebel foes:
“Danger and death thy course oppose:
“Danger and death thy faith shall prove,
“And crown the omnipotence of love.
“Go forth, and on the field of fame
“Thy bride, Castillia's heiress, claim.”

XIV.

The hero cast her veil aside,
And knelt before the blushing bride.
But—how?—what words,—what glowing lay
The feelings of her soul display,
Each mingled passion that imprest
Its tumult on the Virgin's breast,

150

When Constance in betrothed charms
Burst from the dark eclipse of night,
And, like an angel, rob'd in light,
To heav'n uprais'd her snowy arms,
While Fame's resounding voice proclaim'd her Champion's might?

151

CANTO X.

153

I.

The war-trump sounds—where-e'er the summer long,
Under the noiseless sky,
Or leaves of lulling melody,
I wind the Muse's peaceful haunts among,
And meditate heroic minstrelsy;
“The war-trump speaking to the armed throng”
Rings on the troubled air, and mingles with my song.

Gaul, on yon fortress'd height,
Mail'd in gigantic might,
The beacon flaring in his outstretch'd hand,
Points to these blissful bow'rs,
Proud domes, and stately tow'rs,
Invokes the fiend of war, and waves the blazing brand.

154

Yet on the western isle
Where freedom guards her flame,
Uncrush'd fair Albion's flow'rets smile
To wreathe her warrior's fame.

Still Britain's sons prevail,
Still claim th' heroic strain
That fir'd the harp with Crecy's tale,
And Poictier's conquer'd plain.

On Acre's ruin'd wall
'Twas Albion's Christian knight
Wav'd his proud flag, when recreant Gaul
Fled from his arm of might.

Ask Nile's triumphant shore
Whose squadrons strow'd the flood,
When heav'n with war-fires vaulted o'er
Glar'd on a sea of blood?

Who, on the Ægyptian plain
Gaul's dragon rage subdu'd?
Whose footstep trac'd o'er warriors slain,
At Maida, Gaul pursu'd?

155

“Oh for a Muse of fire!”—arm, Britain! arm
Albion's heroic band.
The war-trump raise, that blowing wide alarm
O'er Talavera's plain,
Bad, awfully suspense, Iberia stand,
While Britain thundering down amain
Thrice brake the battle's strength, and swept o'er Gallia slain.

II.

From Aquitaine's heroic throne
A voice rekindling war is gone.
Gaul, and du Guesclin, Edward braving,
Their banners in defiance waving,
Exultant on Castillia's coast
Gather their numbers, host on host.

There, the liege-lords of Arragon,
Circled with many a war-train'd son,
St. Venant, there, his flag displaying,
De Bergettes, here, his strength arraying,
Le Begue de Villiers arms this train,
That, headed by the stern Villaine,
There, Ferrand, Gauvain de Baillueil,
And chiefs of Hainault's ancient rule,
Lord d'Antoign, and the brave Brisueil.

156

These the usurper's force sustain:
Edward upholds the throne of Spain.

III.

At Edward's voice, at glory's call,
The barons from their banner'd hall
Seize the triumphant spear and shield,
And fearless seek the unequal field.
Never, ere yet the battle bled,
Reck'd England's host by Edward led
What numbers dar'd their chief oppose:
They sought but to confront their foes,
Nor deign'd to count, till Mercy staid
The havoc of his slaughtering blade,
And Conquest pointing to the slain
Bad Pity ransom half the plain.

IV.

Fair beams on Bourdeaux' tow'rs the day
That marshals Edward's mail'd array.
High Chandos leads the steel-clad train,
The lords of Partnay and Pinane,
Quercy, Rochelle, and bold Bigorre,
And Saintonge's war-resounding shore.

157

V.

For Castile arm'd, Majorca's King,
Knowles, and high Armagnac renown'd,
And Albert proud their battle bring;
De Buch in perils foremost found;
Neville, whose valour from Auray
Bore many a blood-stain'd spoil away:
Fierce Calverley, whose dauntless train
Triumph'd when Charles de Blois was slain;
D'Ambreticourt has seiz'd the lance,
Bohun and Chatellheraut advance,
Causton, and Roche-chouart poise the spear,
And Clayton calls on Boutelleire.

VI.

Stern Pedro, ere the rebels bleed,
Impatient, spurs his coal-black steed,
Robes his bright mail with purple fold,
And crests his helm with crown of gold.

VII.

Constance a milk-white palfrey rode:
Whose rich and rare caparison
Powder'd with pearls and jewels shone.
Profusely from his high-arch'd crest

158

His mane in waving ringlets flow'd,
As the gay champing of his pride
Scatter'd the foam from side to side
That bath'd like flakes of snow his breast.

VIII.

Julian Castillia's standard bore,
And wav'd its pomp fair Constance o'er.
Unmov'd by pow'r, unsway'd by fame,
Alone for Constance Julian came.
His vow, the van of war to lead,
For Constance, for his King, to bleed,
Perish in arms, or seek the cell,
And bid Lancastria's bride—farewell.—

IX.

Gay-balancing with flexile grace
The cadence of his courser's pace,
On his barb'd roan in martial pride
Castillia's champion woos the bride,
And wins her with heroic tale
Of wars where youthful knights prevail,
Deeds of renown for beauty done,
And realms, for love of ladies, won.

159

'Twas Constance, 'twas her subtile thread
That o'er his belt its broidery spread;
'Twas her fair hand its fancies wove,
Emblem of bliss and nuptial love.
Where the bright texture richly glow'd,
In silver wave the ocean flow'd.
There floating in a pearly shell
Whence light as from a rain-bow fell,
Went Hymen veil'd, and gaily wreath'd
A garland where fresh roses breath'd.
Cupid here play'd the pilot's part,
His rudder was a diamond dart:
Wide wav'd his plumes, each wing a sail,
Fluttering its feathers in the gale.
An emerald its centre shone,
And changeful opals clasp'd the zone.

X.

Why sound the clarions far and wide,
Why kneel the chiefs on either side?
St. George's banner onward guiding
The noon-breeze in its strength dividing,
In broad and beautiful display
Proclaims the dark-mail'd Victor's way.

160

The radiance of his lance afar
Beam'd like the sparkle of a star,
That glances through the gloom of night:
And, like the eagle's wing on flight,
The plumage o'er his helm of gold
Spread to the gale its feathers bold.

XI.

“Brother of arms,”—the hero cried.
As far-fam'd Gaston bow'd the knee

See a very instructive note on the subject of “Les fraternités d'armes,” in the “Mémoires sur l'ancienne Chevalerie,” p. 272.

“The Earl of Foix (Gaston Phœbus) came to pay his respects to the Prince his lord, who shewed him much honour for his readiness to serve him; but, because of his known valour and conduct, as also that he was generally beloved in the country, he gave him in charge the defence of his dominions in his absence, desiring him to reside in Aquitaine till his return, together with his high seneschal, the Lord James Audeley. This, the Earl was well “contented with, and after returning thanks to the Prince, for the honour of that trust, rode to Bourdeaux, where the Princess, and the Lord Audeley were.”—Collins's Life of the Black Prince, p. 194.—Of Gaston, see a highly interesting account, in Froissart, vol. iii. ch. xxxi.

Before the lord of Gascony:—
“All honour wait on Gaston's name!
“Brother of arms! thy aid I claim.
“While Castile forth my puissance leads,
“And in far realms the battle bleeds:
“Forget awhile thy gay resort,
“And feasts of Foix' unrivall'd court.
“Thron'd in my pow'r supremely reign
“Sov'reign of guarded Aquitaine.
“Edward to Gaston dares confide
“His realm, his heir, and peerless bride.”

XII.

Proud Gaston bow'd the willing knee,
And pledg'd the faith of chivalry.

161

Bourdeaux with acclamation rung.
Then, as each eye on Edward hung,
The Hero, turning to Castile,
Cried with loud voice, and grasp'd his hand,
“Edward his faith in blood shall seal.
“Thou, King! within thy native land
“Crown'd on Castillia's throne shalt reign,
“Or Edward slumbers with the slain.
“On, warriors! lift your banners high!
“Onward to death or victory!”

XIII.

The banners wave, the signal's giv'n,
Wide clangour rends the vault of heav'n.

From Bourdeaux' tow'rs the long array
Swells onward through the crowded way,
And shouts of joy, and sighs of woe
Pursue the warriors winding slow.

Along the realm of Gascony
Passes the flow'r of chivalry,
'Mid champaigns, o'er whose fertile bed
Free streams, and winding waters spread,
And from their mountain cradle pour
On earth's green lap their gather'd store:

162

Plains,—where the pipe of evening leads
Fair flocks amid luxuriant meads,
Where autumn carols as the swain
Shakes from full sheaves the golden grain,
And sees down each sun-purpled brow
Oil, and the jocund vintage flow.

XIV.

Now the green vales are left behind:
Slowly the length'ning battles wind
Through glens, where wolves at random prowl,
And bay the moon with ceaseless howl.
More slow the toilsome march ascends
Where the bold mountain range extends,
Where eagles in their aerie rest
On the top cliff's ice-mantled crest,
And famine on her bleak domain
Frowns o'er the rocks that barrier Spain.
The minstrels lead the host along,
And cheer the march with harp and song.

XV.

Beneath the boundary mountain's brow
Where winter smites the realms below,

163

Crests the gigantic peaks with frost,
Or veils in night of vapours lost,
With hideous chasm the pass divides,
And cleaves with floods its shatter'd sides,
Nature had sweetly form'd a scene
That bloom'd the snow-capt rocks between,
And shelt'ring from each bitter blast
O'er it perpetual verdure cast.

XVI.

There bosom'd in a pine-crown'd wood
O'er a dark glen a grotto stood,
Where in the still repose of age
Alvarez sought the hermitage.
His sires, renown'd in wars of old
Their lineage from Pelayo told.
He, too, in youth, o'er warriors slain
Had triumph'd in the tented plain:
Granada's Kings had sanguine made
The breadth of his Castillian blade,
And valour in the front of war
Furrow'd his breast with many a scar.

164

XVII.

Congenial to his musing mood,
The warrior hermit's solitude
O'erlook'd the memorable dell
Where Roland and his heroes fell.

“Between St. Jean Pied de Port and Pampeluna are the defiles and strong passes of Navarre, which are very dangerous; for there are a hundred situations among them, which a handful of men would guard and shut up against a whole army.”—Froiss. vol. i. 711.—Among these defiles, in the Pyrennean mountains separating France and Spain, is the celebrated pass of Ronceval.— Through these the Black Prince led his army at the latter end of February, 1366.

It is difficult to escape from the passages crowding on the memory at the mention of Roland, and Ronceval:—but I must content myself with the mere recital of the historical fact, on which the Romancers and Poets have erected their delightful fictions.

On Charlemain's triumphant return from the defeat of the Saracens in Spain in 778, Montfaucon, on the authority of Eginard, adds, “Il revint à Pampelune, dont il fit abattre les murs pour lui ôter les moiens de se revolter— Lorsqu'il repassoit les Pyrenées, les Gascons attaquerent la queüe de son armée dans les lieux escarpez et dans des rochers, où les François armez de pied en cap avoient peine à se soutenir, au lieu que ces Gascons armez à la legere, avoient tout l'avantage. Il y eut là bien des gens tuez, et des gens même de la premiere qualité; entre autres, Egarth Maître de la table du Roi, Anselme, Comte du Palais, et Roland, Prefet des Frontieres de la Bretagne Armorique. Cet échec fit bien de la peine au Roi Charles. Il auroit bien souhaité de châtier ces Gascons: mais après l'action, ils étoient tellement dispersez dans leurs rochers et montagnes, que pas un ne paroissoit.” Montf. Mon. de France. Vol. I. p. 209.

Eginard's expression is, “Cujus vulneris (sc. Rolandi) accepti ratio magnam “partem rerum feliciter in Hispania gestarum, in corde Regis obnubilavit.”

Alvarez' hand had fenc'd the ground,
And with the cross their relics crown'd.
And ever, there at noon of day
The lone enthusiast wont to pray;
There, o'er the dead, an offering laid,
With peaceful requiem sooth'd their shade,
And scattering wild flow'rs on the grave.
Hallow'd the sod that tomb'd the brave.

XVIII.

'Twas noon:—harsh clangour round him rung,

The deep dell shook with strange alarms,
The trumpets bray'd, the minstrels sung,

The measur'd march of men in arms,
The neighing steed, the rattling car
Pour'd on his ear the rush of war.
Alvarez caught the heroic flame,
And as the minstrels onward came,
With solemn mien, and outstretch'd hand
Advancing, stay'd the awe-struck band.

165

XIX.

It seem'd, a saint in amice gray
Came forth to bless them on their way,
So peace sat pictur'd on his brow,
And white, as flakes of feathery snow
That fall when every wind has rest,
His beard descending swept his breast:
And lowly from his girdle hung
A cross that to his slow pace swung.

XX.

His outstretch'd hand commands the choir:
“Pause, minstrels! lowly bending down,
“Pause on this monumental stone!
“Here swell the dirge, here strike the lyre:
“Where earth in many a hillock thrown
“Heaves o'er heroes dead and gone!
“Yon mighty bones that press the plain
“Still speak of the gigantic train
“Who quell'd the Paynims in their pride.
“Swell the dirge where Roland died!—
“Lo! on this spot Earl Roland fell:
“The mountain shepherds know it well,
“And yearly on the fatal day
“Pluck from the stones the weeds away.

166

“Minstrels! in recording rhymes
“Say on the harp to other times,

“Yon high rock saw Gaul's proud career,
“Saw the plum'd crest of Charlemain
“In van of his triumphant train,

“The war-cloud dark'ning on the rear.

“These pathless dens, and caverns rude
“Pour'd forth a nameless multitude.
“Vain the hauberk, vain the mail,
“Vain the terror of the spear:
“Tow'r'd on the cliff the mountaineer,
“And roll'd the tempest on the field,
“Burying the helm and bruised shield.
“Then Roland's blade was found to fail,
“The edge of dreaded Durindale:

“Then first from Roland's lip in vain
“The voice of the enchanted horn
“Down the steep mountains slowly borne

“Reach'd the far ear of Charlemain.

Roland, alone, bleeding to death with four mortal wounds, amid the rocks of Ronceval, thus concludes his apostrophy to Durindale, and sounds for the last time his warning horn:—“Gran dolor siento en dexarte, y mucho mayor si pensase que quedabas en poder de paganos: mas por sacar mi alma de cuidado, quiero hacer que no te goce Moro, ni Judio, ni Christiano: y entonces se levantó con gran trabajo, y la tomó con entrambas manos, y dió con ella en la pen̄a tantos gólpes, que la hundió hasta el suelo, sin que en la espada hiciese mella ni sen̄al alguna; y viendo que no podia quebrarla, tomó su cuerno para hacer sen̄al á algun Christiano si en el monte se hubiese escondido: y tan̄ó dos veces, y la segunda se abrió todo de cabó á cabó, y se le abrieron las llagas y las venas de su cuerpo: llegó aquella voz á oidos del Emperador, que estaba dos leguas de alli.”—Hist. de Carlo Magno.

Charlemaigne feit embasmer le corps de Roland, et emporter en leglise Saint Romain de la ville de Blayes, et au pie de son tumbeau feit mectre son cor dyvoire, qu'il portoit en guerre, et au chef son espee durandal.—Bouchet, F.42, b. 72.—See the Anotaciones a Don Quixote, Seg. Parte.

“The Monarch, rushing to the call,
“Saw but the rocks of Ronceval,
“And stretch'd upon their flinty bed
“Earl Roland, and his warriors dead.

“These rocks a solemn strain inspire:
“Here swell the dirge, here strike the lyre!

167

“So shall the shades of heroes rest,
“And Roland in the grave be blest!”

If the reader be not immoderately curious, the following list of some of the renowned swords from the armoury of the warriors of romance, will not leave him wholly ungratified.

“Entonces Fierabras cin̄ó su espada, Ilamada Ploranza, y tenia otras dos al arzon de la silla, la una se Ilamaba Baptisto, y la otra Graban. Hicieron estas espadas tres Hermanos, y cada uno hizo tres;” the names of the three fraternal sword-makers, were Galfus, Munisicans, and Ausiax. Ausiax made the three above-mentioned. “Munisicans” hizo las espadas Ilamadas “Durandal,” the possessor of which was Roland: (Orlando, the nephew of Charlemagne—) He also made “Salvagina, y Cortante, estas hubo Oger de Danoys. Galfus hizo las espadas Ilamadas Flamberge y Altaclara, estas tenia Oliveros: y Joyosa, esta tenia Carlo Magno.”—Hist. de Carlo Magno.

XXI.

In solemn measure, sad and slow
The minstrels swell'd the dirge of woe.

It fell on Edward's heart the strain:
He view'd his chieftains in their pride,
Who oft had turn'd the battle tide:

His glory call'd them forth again:
Hope proudly plum'd each warrior's crest,
And valour flam'd from breast to breast.

So Roland from victorious fight
Past, and perish'd in his might.
Treason might lead his warriors on:
Navarre, another Ganelon.

Ronceval, and the territory on each side adjoining, were at that time possessed by Charles, justly surnamed “le Mauvais,” king of Navarre. His avaricious bargain with Pedro for the opening of the passes, his treacherous conduct, and desertion of the Black Prince, (vid. Froissart, passim) brand him in history with the detestable mark of the false Peer of Charlemain, Ganelon, who “por “avaricia vendió los Caballeros, los doce Pares de Francia, en quien jamas faltó “virtud y nobleza.” Hist. de Carl. Mag.

XXII.

Brave Edward leaning on his spear
Shed on the funeral stone a tear.
There, prostrate, hoar Alvarez pray'd,
There, his mute harp the minstrel laid.
And Constance, at her champion's side,
Knelt on the spot where Roland died.

168

The barons bold their lord around
Hung o'er their shields in gloom profound,
And where the hero breath'd his last
The banners of their glory cast.
While nought was heard, nor speech, nor sound,
Save the long sighing of the blast,
Or where the rushing torrents stray'd
A voice of many waters past:
Uprose Castillia's royal Maid,
By high heroic impulse fir'd,
And seiz'd the harp as one inspir'd;
Smote the loud chords, bade triumph flow,
And turn'd to joy the tide of woe.

XXIII.

“Weep not the dead at Ronceval!

“Weep not the sons of glory!
“They live, the chiefs who bravely fall,

“In Fame's eternal story!
“Weep for the youth to virtue dying
“In pleasure's shameful fetters lying.
“Strow the flow'r, and shed the tear
“O'er age unhonour'd in the bier,
“The tears that drop, the flow'rs that die
“Shall picture his mortality.

169

“Weep those whom never valour lov'd,
“Nor patriot zeal, nor honour mov'd,
“Nor the trumpet's voice most musical
“Like those who fell at Ronceval.

“Weep no more th' immortal dead!

“Their country's blessing guards their bed.
“See, in the crimson realm of war
“Rises again Earl Roland's star.
“Earl Roland on Castillia's plain
“In high-born Edward lives again,
“Live all the peers of Charlemain
“In high-born Edward's knightly train.

“Spirits of elder chivalry
“Ye beckon us to victory!
“'Tis ours to follow glory's call;
“And greatly live, or nobly fall,
“Like those who died at Ronceval!”

XXIV.

“To arms—to arms!”—the warriors cried,
And wav'd their flaming falchions wide.
O'er Edward's brow the chiefs on high
Their banners rais'd triumphantly:
Their voice, the shout of victory.

170

It ceas'd—in silent awe, amaz'd,
The warriors on Alvarez gaz'd,
While swift before his heav'n-fix'd eye
Swept visions of futurity.

XXV. The Hermit's prophetic Ode.

“War blows the trump on Navaret.
“Like the vext sea in tempests roll'd
“The foemen, host on host, unfold.
“Advance! the battle ranks are set.
“Sparkling spears, and helmets bright
“Quiver in the golden light.
“Fix'd like rocks whose strength outbraves
“The deep with all its weight of waves,
“Stern, silent, still, the Britons stand.
“Why smile the chiefs in scornful mood?
“The sword that flam'd o'er Poictiers arms their hand,
“Pale Crecy's shadowy slain before them float in blood.

XXVI.

“Like cataracts from the mountain brow
“Clash the couch'd lances in their rest,
“Squadron on squadron, breast on breast.

171

“Who breaks the shield, the sword, the bow?
“Whose voice pours thunder on the gale?
“Whose war-hoofs, red with slaughter, crush the foe?
“Like Death, with terror crown'd, dark tow'rs the sable mail.

XXVII.

“Lone in his might the conqueror past.—
“They fly—the foes, thrice rallied, fly!
“Hark, hark!—St. George and victory!

The Black Prince closed his career of victory at Navaret. In that decisive battle, fought on the 3d of April, 1367, the conqueror of Crecy and Poictiers defeated, with immense slaughter, the disproportioned numbers of the Usurper. Henry of Trastamere fought with desperate resolution; thrice rallied his broken ranks, nor resigned the contest, till the flight of his brothers, and the capture of Du Guesclin, in himself a host, rendered all resistance ineffectual.

Trastamere fled to France, and under more auspicious circumstances, and when no longer opposed by the Black Prince, defeated and murdered Pedro, and maintained possession of the kingdom, against the claims of John of Gaunt, titular king of Castile and Leon.

“Chiefs on their bucklers breathe their last.
“Weave the wreath. the war is o'er,
“Najara's torrent foams with gore,
“And Fear o'er Gaul's tumultuous flight
“Wide waves his banner dark as night.
“Navaret! weave the laurel wreath!
“Glory's peerless course is run.
“Edward! repose!—the sword of victory sheathe.
“Rest! in thy splendour rest—so sets yon golden sun.

XXVIII.

“Change the song and martial measure
“To notes of joy and nuptial pleasure:
“War's blood-stain'd path with flow'rets hide;
“Lead to Lancastria's lord the bride.

172

“Long o'er thy realms, exultant Spain!
“In peace their sceptred race shall reign.

The sole issue of the union of John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, with Constance, the heiress of Castile, was Katherine, who, by marriage with the grandson of Trastamere, Henry III. became mother of John II. father of Isabel, “married to Ferdinand, King of Arragon, surnamed the Catholique, by whom she had issue, Joan, espoused to Philip, Archduke of Austria, in her right King of Spain, father of the Emperor Charles V., father of Philip II., who had issue Philip III., father of Philip IV., father of Charles II., who died in 1700.” —Sandford's Geneal. Hist. Kings of England, p. 253.

“Yet—stay!”—

Why pause, prophetic Seer?
Why bursts th' involuntary tear?
The fire, that glow'd thy cheek, why flown,
Why silenc'd, joy's triumphant tone?

“Return”—he cried—“Thou vision bright!
“Fall'n is the banner that, unfurl'd
“By conquest, claim'd another world;
“The flag that wav'd o'er Pavia's fight.
“Spaniard!—Iberia's glories fade.

“Ah!—what art thou,—gigantic shade!
“Terror of earth, enthron'd sublime,
“Who, crown'd by horror, fraud, and crime,
“O'erlook'st the world, an idol god?
“O'er Gaul, th' avenger lifts the rod,
“Shivering the sceptres of the globe,
“And dies in blood of kings his robe.

“Thou, too, my hapless country! thou
“Shalt at the idol's altar bow;
“Thou, by thy native sons betray'd,
“By scepter'd vice and folly sway'd:
“Thy nobles slav'd, thy princes sold,
“Thy ruler under yoke of gold,

173

“Thy warriors on the frozen main
“Fetter'd beneath the Gallic chain.

“What now shall save a sinking land?
“I see in arms a people stand,
“Stand where their great fore-fathers bled,
“While Rome and all her legions fled,
“And o'er their consecrated grave
“The rescu'd flag of Freedom wave.

“Hark! 'tis the empress of the main
“Speaks, as she casts her shield o'er Spain:
“‘Beneath my trident strike the blow,
“‘And boldly grasp the Gallic prow.
“‘Beneath my trident free thy host,
“‘Unyoke their strength on Funen's coast,
“‘Assert the birth-right of the brave,
“‘Conquer, or claim a patriot's grave!
“‘With thee his sword the Briton draws:
“‘Freedom is thine and Britain's cause.

“‘Spain! though the ruthless fiend of war
“‘Wheel o'er thy realm his scythed car,
“‘Level with iron mace thy tow'rs,
“‘And waste with flame thy peaceful bow'rs:
“‘Though smoke with blood thy untill'd ground,
“‘Palace and altar blazing round,

174

“‘All is not lost: yet, yet remains
“‘Valour, that slavery's yoke disdains,
“‘Honour remains, that nurs'd thy sires,
“‘Vengeance that rous'd Saguntum's fires:

The inhabitants of Saguntum, (near Murviedro, in Valencia,) besieged by Hannibal, preferred perishing in the flames with their wives and children, rather than submit to ignominious terms. On referring to the account in Livy, it is impossible to resist the insertion of a passage which equally describes some features of the resistance that has immortalised, in our days, the heroic defenders of Saragossa.—“Inter ruinas muri tectaque urbis modico distantia intervallo constiterant.—Hinc spes, hinc desperatio animos irritat: Pœno cepisse jam se urbem, si paululum adnitatur, credente: Saguntinis pro nudata mœnibus patria corpora opponentibus. Nec ullo pedem referente, ne relicto à se loco hostem immitteret. Itaque quo acrius et confertim magis utrimque pugnabatur, eo plures vulnerabantur, nullo inter arma corporaque vano intercidente telo.”—Liv. lib. xxi.

“‘To want, to woe, to death resign'd
“‘Remains th' unconquerable mind:
“‘The rocks, th' eternal rocks remain
“‘The bulwark of Pelayo's reign:

Pelayo was descended from the regal blood of the Goths. After the fatal battle near the river of Guadaleta, where the Moors under Tarif, in 714, totally defeated the Goths, and wrested the sceptre from Roderick, Pelayo retired to the mountains of Asturias, and by inflexible perseverance and heroic courage, gradually prepared the re-establishment of the Christian monarchy.

“‘The starry cope, the cold bleak sky
“‘Sheltering the sons of liberty.
“‘On every mount the weapon lies
“‘That gain'd the Gothic victories,
“‘Freedom!—to man in birth-right giv'n,
“‘Guard it—the rest confide to Heav'n.’”

He spake, and led the mail'd array
Through Ronceval's dark-winding way,
Nor sought his peaceful cell again,
Till Navaret, on her conquer'd plain,
Saw Edward hang his banner high,
And sheathe the sword of victory.

It is scarcely necessary to add, that on the death of Charles the Hd. of Spain, the war of the Succession commenced, which, at the peace of Utretcht, 1713, seated on the throne of Spain Philip the Vth, the grandson of Lewis XIV., and of Maria Theresa, daughter of Philip the IVth of Spain.