He loosed the steed,—his slack hand fell;—upon the silent face
He cast one long, deep, troubled look, then turned from that sad place:
His hope was crushed, his after fate untold in martial strain:—
His banner led the spears no more, amidst the hills of Spain.
Mrs. Hemans.
CLXXV.
BERNARDO AND KING ALPHONSO.
With some good ten of his chosen men,
Bernardo hath appeared,
Before them all in the palace hall,
The lying king to beard;
With cap in hand and eye on ground,
He came in reverend guise,
But ever and anon he frowned,
And flame broke from his eyes.
"A curse upon thee," cries the king,
"Who com'st unbid to me!
But what from traitor's blood should spring,
Save traitor like to thee?
His sire, lords, had a traitor's heart,—
Perchance our champion brave
May think it were a pious part
To share Don Sancho's grave."
—"Whoever told this tale,
The king hath rashness to repeat,"
Cries Bernard, "here my gage I fling
Before the liar's feet!
No treason was in Sancho's blood—
No stain in mine doth lie:
Below the throne what knight will own
The coward calumny?
"The blood that I like water shed,
When Roland did advance,
By secret traitors hired and led,
To make us slaves of France;
The life of king Alphonso
I saved at Roncesval—
Your words, Lord King, are recompense
Abundant for it all.
"Your horse was down—your hope was flown—
I saw the falchion shine
That soon had drunk your royal blood,
Had I not ventured mine;
But memory soon of service done
Deserteth the ingrate;
You've thanked the son for life and crown
By the father's bloody fate.
"Ye swore upon your kingly faith
To set Don Sancho free;
But, curse upon your paltering breath!
The light he never did see;
He died in dungeon cold and dim,
By Alphonso's base decree;
And visage blind and stiffened limb,
Were all they gave to me.
"The king that swerveth from his word,
Hath stained his purple black;
No Spanish lord will draw his sword
Behind a liar's back;
But noble vengeance shall be mine,
And open hate I'll show—
The king hath injured Carpio's line,
And Bernard is his foe!"