Fra Dolcino, and other poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

In his dim palace hall at the close of day
Alonzo, the King of Asturias, lay
On a couch, with a wolf-skin over it thrown—
Himself slew the wolf in the days that were flown.

127

A cross and a broadsword were fixed o'er his head,
And a long, heavy war-lance leaned by the bed.
Above on the wall hung his ponderous mail,
Whose deep-dinted plates told a wild war tale,
With its huge iron bosses the joints to guard,
The carved, gilded gorget and cuirass hard.
As relics they hung, for their service was done—
All wakeful and watchful his hollow eye shone
'Neath a brow deeply ridged with thought and pain,
From the strain of the body, the throbs of the brain.
And the haughty warrior and despot sage
Was a tree that's stripped bare, not bent by age.
For still on that forge of the brain the will
Was shaping deep schemes with an artist's skill,
And knew to his purpose all means to bend,
And fine them and point to a piercing end.
They kept him ever alone and apart,
The deep-working head and untrusting heart.

Queen Bertha sat by with her broidery fair,
And the Queen's niece stood by the ivory chair.
All listened and waited and nought was said,
For their hearts were suspended 'twixt hope and dread.

The horn's blast was heard and the herald was seen,
And he told how a battle at Lugo had been,
Of the Moorish chief's fall, and his hosts' overthrow,
And Bernardo's return with the spoils of the foe.
And the King's ashy visage was strongly stirred
With the shadows of feelings that spoke not in word.

128

A subtle misgiving, the tyrant's doubt,
Thro' the gleam of applauding joy stole out.
Estella in silence listened the while
With her dark dewy eyes and the tender smile,
That spoke her sweet thoughts, and face kindled as though
That silence were music—then softly and slow
She bent to the Queen, and in low pleading strain
She murmured, “O help me but once to gain
Yon turret mysterious and secret cell,
For I have a mission—I needs must tell
The poor Count in his loneliness there how his son
His glorious duty hath gloriously done.
Full fain would I catch, as he turns them on me,
Those eyes ever watching that cannot see,
The glimpse of a blessedness longed for thro' years—
The praise of a Son in a Father's proud tears.”

An iron-sheathed man from head down to heel,
From morion to greaves and gauntlets of steel,
Bernardo strode in and greeted the King,
Who proffered high thanks and a rich jewelled ring;
Nor betrayed by one sign that Saldaña's son
Was hated yet worse for the service done.
But statelier still was the youth in his pride,
And carelessly scornful the gift put aside;
“No guerdon, O King, I accept,” he replied,
“Till my work is accomplished; too rash is thy trust
That the scorpion of Afric is crushed in the dust.
Mohammed is fallen; Alhakem remains,
With the fierce Eastern passion all hot in his veins.

129

The Frank too is waiting the moment to seize
To pour thro' the passes of yon Pyrenees,
Thus swelled on all sides will the flood, tenfold grown,
Roll over thy borders and boil round thy throne.”