Deep as dark death and keen as death to smite,

To where on peak or moor or plain

His heart and song and sword were one to strike for Spain.

13.

Resurgent at his lifted voice and hand

Pale in the light of war or treacherous fate

Song bade before him all their shadows stand

For whom his will unbarred their funeral grate.

The father by whose wrong revenged his land

Was given for sword and fire to desolate

Rose fire-encircled as a burning brand,

Great as the woes he wrought and bore were great.

Fair as she smiled and died,

Death's crowned and breathless bride

Smiled as one living even on craft and hate:

And pity, a star unrisen,

Scarce lit Ferrante's prison

Ere night unnatural closed the natural gate

That gave their life and love and light

To those fair eyes despoiled by fratricide of sight.

 Prev. P 13/114 next