Upon the Bastion of Castille There stood an aged knight, He sadly viewed the crumbling walls That still defied the might Of Moslem foes, who fiercely urge The stern, revengeful fight. He looks on Corradino's hill, And on San Salvador, He hears the trumpet's summons shrill, He hears the cannons roar, And all the deep recesses fill Along the rocky shore. St. Elmo's walls are levelled now, Its brave defenders dead, But still Il Borgo raises up A shield above his head, While wildly beat without its gates The waves of battle red. While gazing on the scene of strife It faded from his glance, And, in its place, he saw the fields Of well-beloved France; The years were lost that made him old, And youth was in the trance. He stands within his father's halls— A maiden form is near— The heavy tread of legioned men Falls on a listless ear. The aged chief in that sweet dream One only voice can hear. He often heard it in the clash And clangor of the field, When, headlong thro' the Paynim ranks, His chivalry had reeled: He heard it, too, in midnight aisles, When solemn anthems pealed. The spectre of that parting hour Clings to his mem'ry yet: Again he hears the gentle words Of parting and regret— "The knight who vows himself to God Must Home and Love forget." He sees her stand beside him now, Behind that deadly breach, While the light flashes on his brow From spears within his reach, When, suddenly, with chorus loud, The blaring trumpets screech. He grasps his sword while up the slope The turbaned demons spring, As, from the summit of the wall, The lighted torches fling A glare upon the coming host, While bells alarums ring. Annuciata's spectral spires The frantic sounds repeat, As up and down throughout the town Echo the hurrying feet, Till at the old Grand Master's side The thronging heroes meet. From out the gloom the Moslems rise With shout and battle cry, But, in the breach, the levelled spears Still breast them back to die, Like waves that beat against the rocks To break in foam and fly. Amid the madness of the strife, In gloom, and blinding glare The Master sees amid His knights A shadow still and fair, Though lance, and sword, and scimitar Meet wildly—it is there. And through the horrid noise of war There comes to La Vallette A voice, he cannot cease to hear, In accents of regret— "The knight who vows himself to God Must Home and Love forget." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE MIDNIGHT SKATERS by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN ON THE HOME GUARDS; WHO PERISHED ... LEXINGTON, MISSOURI by HERMAN MELVILLE THE CRISIS by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER TO CHILDREN: 1. FAIRY SONG by WILLIAM ROSE BENET TIME'S REVENGES by ROBERT BROWNING EPISTLE TO ROBERT GRAHAM OF FINTRY (2) by ROBERT BURNS OPEN THE DOOR TO ME, OH! by ROBERT BURNS IN THE ROMAN FORUM by AMELIA JOSEPHINE BURR OBSERVATIONS IN THE ART OF ENGLISH POESY: 12. TROCHAIC VERSE: THE EIGHTH EPIGRAM by THOMAS CAMPION |