Metrical essays :: :: University of Virginia Library

Inès de Castro, dame d'honneur de la princesse Constance, premiere femme de Don Pèdre, ou Pierre Premier, Roi de Portugal, inspira un violent amour à ce prince, qui n' étoit encore qu'infant. L'infant Don Pèdre epousa Inès en secret, et en eut Jean le Premier; Alfonso IV. son pere, fut instruit de cette union; et comme il desiroit une alliance plus illustre, il prit le parti de sacrifier Inès à la politique. Don Pèdre furieux, s' unit d'interêt avec Ferdinand et Alvarès de Castro, frères de sa maitresse. Il prend les armes contre son pere, et met tout à feu et à sang dans les provinces où les assassins avoient leurs biens. Alfonse ne put le calmer qu' en les bannissant de son royaume. Dès que Don Pedre fut sur le trône, il chercha à se venger des meurtriers de son épouse. Don Pèdre fit exhumer le corps d' Inès. On le revêtit d' habits superbes, ou lui mit une couronne sur la tête et les principaux seigneurs du Portugal vinrent rendre hommage à ce cadavre, et reconnoitre Inès pour leur Souveraine.” Dictionnaire Biographique.

I

Morn on the glorious dome,
On the red vines waving bright,
On the streams which sweep from their mountain home,
On the flowers of dewy light;
Morn on the chesnut glades,
On the lemon's living gold,
On the joyous brows of the village maids,
Which Love's own hand did mould.

II

There is music in the halls,
In the palace halls of state,
Haught banners hang the frowning walls,
Where gallant warriors wait;
And the horn is heard again;
While, quick from east and west,
Comes the gathering tread of martial men,
Dark plume, and golden crest.

III

There sits a princely form,
To his foot proud knees are bent,
But his look is like a deep'ning storm,
O'er a sun-lit element;
And in his full black eye
Lives a strong, undying woe;
Night hath watch'd long and silently,
His tears like rain-drops flow.

IV

He looks on one whose frame
Hath risen from pall and shroud;
And he calls her softly by her name—
He calls—and weeps aloud—
Oh Inez! never more thy voice
May pour its mellow strain;
How would my grieving soul rejoice
To hear thee speak again!

V

Death sits upon thy lip,
On thy graceful lip, where oft
Thy husband, Inez, sweets did sip,
While fond arms pillow'd soft;
As then thou look'st; I see thee yet
In all that life and bloom.
O God! that we had never met,
Or fill'd the same cold tomb.

VI

Rose of our lovely land,
Soon thou died'st—alas! for me;
For me—and by a father's hand—
That hand of cruelty:
The seraphs, from their cloud built seat,
Thy murderer's doom have given;
My father! can'st thou, dar'st thou, meet
The lightning eyes of heaven?

VII

Be loud the trumpet blown—
Bid the cannons' thunders peal;
Upon her forehead place the crown—
Bid lords and warriors kneel.—
'Tis done; and o'er the solemn scene
Waves many a laurel wreath,
And the lords and warriors hail their queen,
Who sits there dark in death.

VIII

Be loud the trumpet blown—
Bid the cannons' thunders peal,
Upon his forehead place the crown—
Bid lords and warriors kneel.—
'Tis done; the skies with voices ring,
And banners stately wave;
And the lords and warriors hail their king,
And pray the gods him save.

IX

He stands amid the best
And the bravest of his land;
In robes of regal purple drest,
With sceptre in his hand;
He stands with marble cheek—
While every whisper sleeps;
He strives—but all in vain—to speak—
The king, the monarch, weeps!

X

'Tis o'er; he moves as wont,
And the storm of grief is gone;
Upon his proud and warlike front,
Is seen the king alone:
The throne of state he leaves,
He leaves his death-cold queen;
And if the monarch's heart still grieves,
It is no longer seen.