The Funeral of the Count of Saldenha

All in the centre of the choir Bernardo's knees are bent,
Before him for his murder'd sire yawns the old monument.

His kinsmen of the Carpio blood are kneeling at his back,
With knightly friends and vassals good, all garb'd in weeds of black.

He comes to make the obsequies of a basely slaughter'd man,
And tears are running down from eyes whence ne'er before they ran.

His head is bow'd upon the stone; his heart, albeit full sore,
Is strong as when in days by-gone he rode o'er Frank and Moor;

And now between his teeth he mutters, that none his words can hear;
And now the voice of wrath he utters, in curses loud and clear.

He stoops him o'er his father's shroud, his lips salute the bier;
He communes with the corse aloud, as if none else were near.

His right hand doth his sword unsheath, his left doth pluck his beard;—
And while his liegemen held their breath, these were the words they heard:—

"Go up, go up, thou blessed ghost, into the arms of God;
Go, fear not lest revenge be lost, when Carpio's blood hath flow'd;

"The steel that drank the blood of France, the arm thy foe that shielded,
Still, Father, thirsts that burning lance, and still thy son can wield it."—