Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, ed. Poems of Places: An Anthology in 31 Volumes.
Spain, Portugal, Belgium, and Holland: Vols. XIV–XV. 1876–79.
The Coronation of Inez de Castro
By Felicia Hemans (1793–1835)T
From a royal fane it rolled;
And a mighty bell, each pause between,
Sternly and slowly tolled.
Strange was their mingling in the sky,
It hushed the listener’s breath;
For the music spoke of triumph high,
The lonely bell,—of death!
A sound of many feet;
But they fell with a muffled fearfulness
Along the shadowy street:
And softer, fainter grew their tread,
As it neared the minster gate,
Whence a broad and solemn light was shed
From a scene of royal state.
In the centre of the nave,
Where the folds of a purple canopy
Swept down in many a wave,
Loading the marble pavement old
With a weight of gorgeous gloom;
For something lay midst their fretted gold,
Like a shadow of the tomb.
High on a glittering throne,
A woman’s form sat silently,
Midst the glare of light alone.
Her jewelled robes fell strangely still,—
The drapery on her breast
Seemed with no pulse beneath to thrill,
So stone-like was its rest!
Shook e’en the dust below,
When the burning gold of the diadem
Was set on her pallid brow!
Then died away that haughty sound;
And from the encircling band
Stepped prince and chief, midst the hush profound,
With homage to her hand.
Over each martial frame,
As one by one, to touch that hand,
Noble and leader came?
Was not the settled aspect fair?
Did not a queenly grace,
Under the parted ebon hair,
Sit on the pale still face?
Unto the eye of life?
Is not each pulse of the quick high breast
With thy cold mien at strife?
—It was a strange and fearful sight,
The crown upon that head,
The glorious robes, and the blaze of light,
All gathered round the dead!
One with a brow as pale,
And white lips rigidly compressed,
Lest the strong heart should fail:
King Pedro, with a jealous eye,
Watching the homage done
By the land’s flower and chivalry
To her, his martyred one.
Which once his star had been;
To every form his glance was turned
Save of the breathless queen:
Though something, won from the grave’s embrace,
Of her beauty still was there,
Its hues were all of that shadowy place,
It was not for him to bear.
The treasures of the earth,
And the priceless love that poured those gifts,
Alike of wasted worth!
The rites are closed,—bear back the dead
Unto the chamber deep!
Lay down again the royal head,
Dust with the dust to sleep!
A requiem sad and slow,
As the mourners through the sounding aisle
In dark procession go;
And the ring of state, and the starry crown,
And all the rich array,
Are borne to the house of silence down,
With her, that queen of clay!
King Pedro led the train;
But his face was wrapped in his folding robe
When they lowered the dust again.
’T is hushed at last the tomb above,—
Hymns die, and steps depart:
Who called thee strong as Death, O Love?
Mightier thou wast and art.