James and Mary Ford, eds. Every Day in the Year. 1902.
November 28Eleanor of Castile
By Anonymous
O
Shed upon western skies,
Was the blush of that sweet Castilian
With the deep brown eyes;
As her happy heart grew firmer
In the strange bright days of yore,
When she heard young Edward murmur
“I love thee Eleanor!”
Away o’er the Midland Main,
Through the golden summer weather,
To Syria’s mystic plain.
Together, toil and danger
And the loss of their loved ones bore,
And perils from Paynim, stranger
Than death to Eleanor.
Soar high o’er the vales of Trent,
Their lives were torn asunder,
To her home the good queen went.
Her corse to the tomb he carried,
With grief at his heart’s stern core,
And wherever at night they tarried,
Rose a cross to Eleanor.
By a line of silver rain,
As ye trace a royal sunset
By streaks of a saffron stain,
So to the minster holy
At the west of London’s roar,
Mark ye how sadly, slowly,
Passed the corse of Eleanor.
Straight back, by tower and town,
By hill and wold and river,
For the love of Scotland’s crown;
But ah! there is woe within him
For the face he shall see no more;
And conquests can not win him
From the love of Eleanor.
In his tent by the Solway sea,
With the breezes of Scotland flying
O’er the gray sands wild and free,
His dim thoughts sadly wander
To the happy days of yore,
And he sees in the blue sky yonder
The eyes of his Eleanor.
Raised by the poet king;
But as long as the blue sea tosses,
As long as the skylarks sing;
As long as London’s river
Glides stately down to the Nore,
Men shall remember ever
How he loved Queen Eleanor.