The Reliquary By Bernard and Lucy Barton. With A Prefatory Appeal for Poetry and Poets |
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| II. |
THE CORONATION OF INEZ DE CASTRO. |
 | The Reliquary |  |
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THE CORONATION OF INEZ DE CASTRO.
“In the year 1350, six years after her interment, the remains
of Donna Inez de Castro were taken out of her tomb, and she
was proclaimed Queen of Portugal, in the church of Sancta
Clara, by order of her husband, Don Pedro.”
Through windows richly dight
The mellow'd sunbeams shine
But sadly falls their light
On Sancta Clara's shrine.
The mellow'd sunbeams shine
But sadly falls their light
On Sancta Clara's shrine.
The king and court are there,
With priests and knights in mail;
But every head is bare,
And every cheek is pale.
With priests and knights in mail;
But every head is bare,
And every cheek is pale.
The young and gay are met,
The brave and haughty come,
But eyes with tears are wet,
And lips with awe are dumb.
The brave and haughty come,
But eyes with tears are wet,
And lips with awe are dumb.
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In pomp of regal pride
There sits enthroned a queen;
Don Pedro at her side
Beholds the solemn scene.
There sits enthroned a queen;
Don Pedro at her side
Beholds the solemn scene.
Though grief is on his brow,
Yet tearless is his eye,
He hears each plighted vow
With spirit stern and high.
Yet tearless is his eye,
He hears each plighted vow
With spirit stern and high.
Yet even he must feel
Far more than speech could own,
As one by one they kneel
Before that silent throne.
Far more than speech could own,
As one by one they kneel
Before that silent throne.
As one by one they take
That passive hand to kiss!
What thoughts and feelings wake
Dreams of departed bliss!
That passive hand to kiss!
What thoughts and feelings wake
Dreams of departed bliss!
For oh! no life-blood warm
That frame may animate,
But wasted is the form
Thus thron'd in solemn state.
That frame may animate,
But wasted is the form
Thus thron'd in solemn state.
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The glittering crown of gold
Rests on a lifeless head,
The broider'd robes enfold
The reliques of the dead.
Rests on a lifeless head,
The broider'd robes enfold
The reliques of the dead.
Those robes are but a pall
However bright their sheen,
She sits before them all
The spectre of a queen.
However bright their sheen,
She sits before them all
The spectre of a queen.
They bear her back to earth
And close the fearful rite,
And not one thought of mirth
The pageant should excite.
And close the fearful rite,
And not one thought of mirth
The pageant should excite.
For by it may be seen,
In its glory and its gloom,
How brief the space between
The proud throne and silent tomb.
In its glory and its gloom,
How brief the space between
The proud throne and silent tomb.
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