Page:Felicia Hemans in The New Monthly Magazine Volume 14 1825.pdf/24

Then starting from the ground once more, he seized the monarch's rein,
Amidst the pale and wilder'd looks of all the courtier-train,
And with a fierce o'ermastering grasp the rearing war-horse led,
And sternly set them face to face—the king before the dead!

"Came I not forth upon thy pledge, my father's hand to kiss?
—Be still, and gaze thou on, false king! and tell me what is this?
The voice, the glance, the heart I sought!—give answer! where are they?
—If thou wouldst clear thy perjured soul, send life through this cold clay!

Into these glassy eyes put light!—be still! keep down thine ire!
Bid these white lips a blessing speak—this earth is not my sire!
Give me back him for whom I strove, for whom my blood was shed!
—Thou canst not?—and a king!—his dust be mountains on thy head!"

He loosed the steed—his slack hand fell—upon the silent face
He cast one long deep troubled look, then turn'd from that sad place.
His hope was crush 'd, his after-fate untold in martial strain,
—His banner led the spears no more amidst the hills of Spain.
F. H.