RODERICK, THE LAST OF THE GOTHS. (continued 2)

There sate a woman like a supplicant, Muffled and cloak’d, before Pelayo’s gate, Awaiting when he should return that morn. She rose at his approach, and bow’d her head, And, with a low and trembling utterance, Besought him to vouchsafe her speech within In privacy. And when they were alone, And the doors closed, she knelt and claspt his knees, Saying, a boon! a boon! This night, O Prince, Hast thou kept vigil for thy mother’s soul: For her soul’s sake, and for the soul of him Whom once, in happier days, of all mankind Thou heldest for thy chosen bosom friend, Oh for the sake of his poor suffering soul, Refuse me not! How should I dare refuse, Being thus adjured? he answer’d. Thy request Is granted, woman, ... be it what it may, So it be lawful, and within the bounds Of possible atchievement: ... aught unfit Thou wouldst not with these adjurations seek. But who thou art, I marvel, that dost touch Upon that string, and ask in Roderick’s name!... She bared her face, and, looking up, replied, Florinda!... Shrinking then, with both her hands She hid herself, and bow’d her head abased Upon her knee, ... as one who, if the grave Had oped beneath her, would have thrown herself, Even like a lover, in the arms of Death. Pelayo stood confused: he had not seen Count Julian’s daughter since in Roderick’s court, Glittering in beauty and in innocence, A radiant vision, in her joy she moved; More like a poet’s dream, or form divine, Heaven’s prototype of perfect womanhood, So lovely was the presence, ... than a thing Of earth and perishable elements. Now had he seen her in her winding-sheet, Less painful would that spectacle have proved; For peace is with the dead, and piety Bringeth a patient hope to those who mourn O’er the departed; but this alter’d face, Bearing its deadly sorrow character’d, Came to him like a ghost, which in the grave Could find no rest. He, taking her cold hand, Raised her, and would have spoken; but his tongue Fail’d in its office, and could only speak In under tones compassionate her name. The voice of pity soothed and melted her; And when the Prince bade her be comforted, Proffering his zealous aid in whatsoe’er Might please her to appoint, a feeble smile Pass’d slowly over her pale countenance, Like moonlight on a marble statue. Heaven Requite thee, Prince! she answer’d. All I ask Is but a quiet resting-place, wherein A broken heart, in prayer and humble hope, May wait for its deliverance. Even this My most unhappy fate denies me here. Griefs which are known too widely and too well I need not now remember. I could bear Privation of all Christian ordinances, The woe which kills hath saved me too, and made A temple of this ruin’d tabernacle, Wherein redeeming God doth not disdain To let his presence shine. And I could bear To see the turban on my father’s brow, ... Sorrow beyond all sorrows, ... shame of shames, ... Yet to be borne, while I with tears of blood, And throes of agony, in his behalf Implore and wrestle with offended Heaven. This I have borne resign’d: but other ills And worse assail me now; the which to bear, If to avoid be possible, would draw Damnation down. Orpas, the perjured Priest, The apostate Orpas, claims me for his bride. Obdurate as he is, the wretch profanes My sacred woe, and woos me to his bed, The thing I am, ... the living death thou seest! Miscreant! exclaim’d Pelayo. Might I meet That renegado, sword to scymitar, In open field, never did man approach The altar for the sacrifice in faith More sure, than I should hew the villain down! But how should Julian favour his demand?... Julian, who hath so passionately loved His child, so dreadfully revenged her wrongs! Count Julian, she replied, hath none but me, And it hath, therefore, been his heart’s desire To see his ancient line by me preserved. This was their covenant when in fatal hour For Spain, and for themselves, in traitorous bond Of union they combined. My father, stung To madness, only thought of how to make His vengeance sure; the Prelate, calm and cool, When he renounced his outward faith in Christ, Indulged at once his hatred of the King, His inbred wickedness, and a haughty hope, Versed as he was in treasons, to direct The invaders by his secret policy, And at their head, aided by Julian’s power, Reign as a Moor upon that throne to which The priestly order else had barr’d his way. The African hath conquer’d for himself; But Orpas coveteth Count Julian’s lands, And claims to have the covenant perform’d. Friendless, and worse than fatherless, I come To thee for succour. Send me secretly, ... For well I know all faithful hearts must be At thy devotion, ... with a trusty guide To guard me on the way, that I may reach Some Christian land, where Christian rites are free, And there discharge a vow, alas! too long, Too fatally delay’d. Aid me in this For Roderick’s sake, Pelayo! and thy name Shall be remember’d in my latest prayer. Be comforted! the Prince replied; but when He spake of comfort, twice did he break off The idle words, feeling that earth had none For grief so irremediable as hers. At length he took her hand, and pressing it, And forcing through involuntary tears A mournful smile affectionate, he said, Say not that thou art friendless while I live! Thou couldst not to a readier ear have told Thy sorrows, nor have ask’d in fitter hour What for my country’s honour, for my rank, My faith, and sacred knighthood, I am bound In duty to perform; which not to do Would show me undeserving of the names Of Goth, Prince, Christian, even of Man. This day Lady, prepare to take thy lot with me, And soon as evening closes meet me here. Duties bring blessings with them, and I hold Thy coming for a happy augury, In this most aweful crisis of my fate.

With sword and breast-plate, under rustic weeds Conceal’d, at dusk Pelayo pass’d the gate, Florinda following near, disguised alike. Two peasants on their mules they seem’d, at eve Returning from the town. Not distant far, Alphonso by the appointed orange-grove, With anxious eye and agitated heart, Watch’d for the Prince’s coming. Eagerly At every foot-fall through the gloom he strain’d His sight, nor did he recognize him when The Chieftain thus accompanied drew nigh; And when the expected signal called him on, Doubting this female presence, half in fear Obey’d the call. Pelayo too perceived The boy was not alone; he not for that Delay’d the summons, but lest need should be, Laying hand upon his sword, toward him bent In act soliciting speech, and low of voice Enquired if friend or foe. Forgive me, cried Alphonso, that I did not tell thee this, Full as I was of happiness, before. ’Tis Hoya, servant of my father’s house, Unto whose dutiful care and love, when sent To this vile bondage, I was given in charge. How could I look upon my father’s face If I had in my joy deserted him, Who was to me found faithful?... Right! replied The Prince; and viewing him with silent joy, Blessed the Mother, in his heart he said, Who gave thee birth! but sure of womankind Most blessed she whose hand her happy stars Shall link with thine! and with that thought the form Of Hermesind, his daughter, to his soul Came in her beauty. Soon by devious tracks They turn’d aside. The favouring moon arose, To guide them on their flight through upland paths Remote from frequentage, and dales retired, Forest and mountain glen. Before their feet The fire-flies, swarming in the woodland shade, Sprung up like sparks, and twinkled round their way; The timorous blackbird, starting at their step, Fled from the thicket with shrill note of fear; And far below them in the peopled dell, When all the soothing sounds of eve had ceased, The distant watch-dog’s voice at times was heard, Answering the nearer wolf. All through the night Among the hills they travell’d silently; Till when the stars were setting, at what hour The breath of Heaven is coldest, they beheld Within a lonely grove the expected fire, Where Roderick and his comrade anxiously Look’d for the appointed meeting. Halting there, They from the burthen and the bit relieved Their patient bearers, and around the fire Partook of needful food and grateful rest. Bright rose the flame replenish’d; it illumed The cork-tree’s furrow’d rind, its rifts and swells And redder scars, ... and where its aged boughs O’erbower’d the travellers, cast upon the leaves A floating, grey, unrealizing gleam. Alphonso, light of heart, upon the heath Lay carelessly dispread, in happy dreams Of home; his faithful Hoya slept beside. Years and fatigue to old Siverian brought Easy oblivion; and the Prince himself, Yielding to weary nature’s gentle will, Forgot his cares awhile. Florinda sate Beholding Roderick with fix’d eyes intent, Yet unregardant of the countenance Whereon they dwelt; in other thoughts absorb’d, Collecting fortitude for what she yearn’d, Yet trembled to perform. Her steady look Disturb’d the Goth, albeit he little ween’d What agony awaited him that hour. Her face, well nigh as changed as his, was now Half-hidden, and the lustre of her eye Extinct; nor did her voice awaken in him One startling recollection when she spake, So altered were its tones. Father, she said, All thankful as I am to leave behind The unhappy walls of Cordoba, not less Of consolation doth my heart receive At sight of one to whom I may disclose The sins which trouble me, and at his feet Lay down repentantly, in Jesu’s name, The burthen of my spirit. In his name Hear me, and pour into a wounded soul The balm of pious counsel.... Saying thus, She drew toward the minister ordain’d, And kneeling by him, Father, dost thou know The wretch who kneels beside thee? she enquired, He answered, Surely we are each to each Equally unknown. Then said she, Here thou seest One who is known too fatally for all, ... The daughter of Count Julian.... Well it was For Roderick that no eye beheld him now; From head to foot a sharper pang than death Thrill’d him; his heart, as at a mortal stroke, Ceased from its functions: his breath fail’d, and when The power of life recovering set its springs Again in action, cold and clammy sweat Starting at every pore suffused his frame. Their presence help’d him to subdue himself; For else, had none been nigh, he would have fallen Before Florinda prostrate on the earth, And in that mutual agony belike Both souls had taken flight. She mark’d him not, For having told her name, she bow’d her head, Breathing a short and silent prayer to Heaven, While, as a penitent, she wrought herself To open to his eye her hidden wounds. Father, at length she said, all tongues amid This general ruin shed their bitterness On Roderick, load his memory with reproach, And with their curses persecute his soul.... Why shouldst thou tell me this? exclaim’d the Goth, From his cold forehead wiping as he spake The death-like moisture; ... Why of Roderick’s guilt Tell me? Or thinkest thou I know it not? Alas! who hath not heard the hideous tale Of Roderick’s shame! Babes learn it from their nurses, And children, by their mothers unreproved, Link their first execrations to his name. Oh, it hath caught a taint of infamy, That, like Iscariot’s, through all time shall last, Reeking and fresh for ever! There! she cried, Drawing her body backward where she knelt, And stretching forth her arms with head upraised, There! it pursues me still!... I came to thee, Father, for comfort, and thou heapest fire Upon my head. But hear me patiently, And let me undeceive thee; self-abased, Not to arraign another, do I come; I come a self-accuser, self-condemn’d To take upon myself the pain deserved; For I have drank the cup of bitterness, And having drank therein of heavenly grace, I must not put away the cup of shame. Thus as she spake she falter’d at the close, And in that dying fall her voice sent forth Somewhat of its original sweetness. Thou!... Thou self-abased! exclaim’d the astonish’d King; ... Thou self-condemn’d!... The cup of shame for thee! Thee ... thee, Florinda!... But the very excess Of passion check’d his speech, restraining thus From farther transport, which had haply else Master’d him; and he sate like one entranced, Gazing upon that countenance so fallen, So changed: her face, raised from its muffler now, Was turn’d toward him, and the fire-light shone Full on its mortal paleness; but the shade Conceal’d the King. She roused him from the spell Which held him like a statue motionless. Thou too, quoth she, dost join the general curse, Like one who when he sees a felon’s grave, Casting a stone there as he passes by, Adds to the heap of shame. Oh what are we, Frail creatures as we are, that we should sit In judgement man on man! and what were we, If the All-merciful should mete to us With the same rigorous measure wherewithal Sinner to sinner metes! But God beholds The secrets of the heart, ... therefore his name Is Merciful. Servant of God, see thou The hidden things of mine, and judge thou then In charity thy brother who hath fallen.... Nay, hear me to the end! I loved the King, ... Tenderly, passionately, madly loved him. Sinful it was to love a child of earth With such entire devotion as I loved Roderick, the heroic Prince, the glorious Goth! And yet methought this was its only crime, The imaginative passion seem’d so pure: Quiet and calm like duty, hope nor fear Disturb’d the deep contentment of that love; He was the sunshine of my soul, and like A flower, I lived and flourish’d in his light. Oh bear not with me thus impatiently! No tale of weakness this, that in the act Of penitence, indulgent to itself, With garrulous palliation half repeats The sin it ill repents. I will be brief, And shrink not from confessing how the love Which thus began in innocence, betray’d My unsuspecting heart; nor me alone, But him, before whom, shining as he shone With whatsoe’er is noble, whatsoe’er Is lovely, whatsoever good and great, I was as dust and ashes, ... him, alas! This glorious being, this exalted Prince, Even him, with all his royalty of soul, Did this ill-omen’d, this accursëd love, To his most lamentable fall betray And utter ruin. Thus it was: The King, By counsels of cold statesmen ill-advised, To an unworthy mate had bound himself In politic wedlock. Wherefore should I tell How Nature upon Egilona’s form, Profuse of beauty, lavishing her gifts, Left, like a statue from the graver’s hands, Deformity and hollowness beneath The rich external? For the love of pomp And emptiest vanity, hath she not incurr’d The grief and wonder of good men, the gibes Of vulgar ribaldry, the reproach of all; Profaning the most holy sacrament Of marriage, to become chief of the wives Of Abdalaziz, of the Infidel, The Moor, the tyrant-enemy of Spain! All know her now; but they alone who knew What Roderick was can judge his wretchedness, To that light spirit and unfeeling heart In hopeless bondage bound. No children rose From this unhappy union, towards whom The springs of love within his soul confined Might flow in joy and fulness; nor was he One, like Witiza, of the vulgar crew, Who in promiscuous appetite can find All their vile nature seeks. Alas for man! Exuberant health diseases him, frail worm! And the slight bias of untoward chance Makes his best virtue from the even line, With fatal declination, swerve aside. Aye, thou mayest groan for poor mortality, ... Well, Father, mayest thou groan! My evil fate Made me an inmate of the royal house, And Roderick found in me, if not a heart Like his, ... for who was like the heroic Goth?... One which at least felt his surpassing worth, And loved him for himself.... A little yet Bear with me, reverend Father, for I touch Upon the point, and this long prologue goes, As justice bids, to palliate his offence, Not mine. The passion, which I fondly thought Such as fond sisters for a brother feel, Grew day by day, and strengthen’d in its growth, Till the beloved presence had become Needful as food or necessary sleep, My hope, light, sunshine, life, and every thing. Thus lapt in dreams of bliss, I might have lived Contented with this pure idolatry, Had he been happy: but I saw and knew The inward discontent and household griefs Which he subdued in silence; and alas! Pity with admiration mingling then, Alloy’d and lower’d and humanized my love, Till to the level of my lowliness It brought him down; and in this treacherous heart Too often the repining thought arose, That if Florinda had been Roderick’s Queen, Then might domestic peace and happiness Have bless’d his home and crown’d our wedded loves. Too often did that sinful thought recur, Too feebly the temptation was repell’d. See, Father, I have probed my inmost soul; Have search’d to its remotest source the sin; And tracing it through all its specious forms Of fair disguisement, I present it now, Even as it lies before the eye of God, Bare and exposed, convicted and condemn’d. One eve, as in the bowers which overhang The glen where Tagus rolls between his rocks I roam’d alone, alone I met the King. His countenance was troubled, and his speech Like that of one whose tongue to light discourse At fits constrain’d, betrays a heart disturb’d: I too, albeit unconscious of his thoughts, With anxious looks reveal’d what wandering words In vain essay’d to hide. A little while Did this oppressive intercourse endure, Till our eyes met in silence, each to each Telling their mutual tale, then consciously Together fell abash’d. He took my hand And said, Florinda, would that thou and I Earlier had met! oh what a blissful lot Had then been mine, who might have found in thee The sweet companion and the friend endear’d, A fruitful wife and crown of earthly joys! Thou too shouldst then have been of womankind Happiest, as now the loveliest.... And with that, First giving way to passion first disclosed, He press’d upon my lips a guilty kiss, ... Alas! more guiltily received than given. Passive and yielding, and yet self-reproach’d, Trembling I stood, upheld in his embrace; When coming steps were heard, and Roderick said, Meet me to-morrow, I beseech thee, here, Queen of my heart! Oh meet me here again, My own Florinda, meet me here again!... Tongue, eye, and pressure of the impassion’d hand Solicited and urged the ardent suit, And from my hesitating hurried lips The word of promise fatally was drawn. O Roderick, Roderick! hadst thou told me all Thy purpose at that hour, from what a world Of woe had thou and I.... The bitterness Of that reflection overcame her then, And choak’d her speech. But Roderick sate the while Covering his face with both his hands close-prest, His head bow’d down, his spirit to such point Of sufferance knit, as one who patiently Awaits the uplifted sword. Till now, said she, Resuming her confession, I had lived, If not in innocence, yet self-deceived, And of my perilous and sinful state Unconscious. But this fatal hour reveal’d To my awakening soul her guilt and shame; And in those agonies with which remorse, Wrestling with weakness and with cherish’d sin, Doth triumph o’er the lacerated heart, That night ... that miserable night ... I vow’d, A virgin dedicate, to pass my life Immured; and, like redeemëd Magdalen, Or that Egyptian penitent, whose tears Fretted the rock, and moisten’d round her cave The thirsty desert, so to mourn my fall. The struggle ending thus, the victory Thus, as I thought, accomplish’d, I believed My soul was calm, and that the peace of Heaven Descended to accept and bless my vow And in this faith, prepared to consummate The sacrifice, I went to meet the King. See, Father, what a snare had Satan laid! For Roderick came to tell me that the Church From his unfruitful bed would set him free, And I should be his Queen. O let me close The dreadful tale! I told him of my vow; And from sincere and scrupulous piety, But more, I fear me, in that desperate mood Of obstinate will perverse, the which, with pride And shame and self-reproach, doth sometimes make A woman’s tongue, her own worst enemy, Run counter to her dearest heart’s desire, ... In that unhappy mood did I resist All his most earnest prayers to let the power Of holy Church, never more rightfully Invoked, he said, than now in our behalf, Release us from our fatal bonds. He urged With kindling warmth his suit, like one whose life Hung on the issue; I dissembled not My cruel self-reproaches, nor my grief, Yet desperately maintain’d the rash resolve; Till in the passionate argument he grew Incensed, inflamed, and madden’d or possess’d, ... For Hell too surely at that hour prevail’d, And with such subtile toils enveloped him, That even in the extremity of guilt No guilt he purported, but rather meant An amplest recompence of life-long love For transitory wrong, which fate perverse, Thus madly he deceived himself, compell’d, And therefore stern necessity excused. Here then, O Father, at thy feet I own Myself the guiltier; for full well I knew These were his thoughts, but vengeance master’d me, And in my agony I cursed the man Whom I loved best. Dost thou recall that curse? Cried Roderick, in a deep and inward voice, Still with his head depress’d, and covering still His countenance. Recall it? she exclaim’d; Father, I come to thee because I gave The reins to wrath too long, ... because I wrought His ruin, death, and infamy.... O God, Forgive the wicked vengeance thus indulged, As I forgive the King!... But teach me thou What reparation more than tears and prayers May now be made; ... how shall I vindicate His injured name, and take upon myself.... Daughter of Julian, firmly he replied, Speak not of that, I charge thee! On his fame The Ethiop dye, fixed ineffaceably, For ever will abide; so it must be, So should be: ’tis his rightful punishment; And if to the full measure of his sin The punishment hath fallen, the more our hope That through the blood of Jesus he may find That sin forgiven him. Pausing then, he raised His hand, and pointed where Siverian lay Stretch’d on the heath. To that old man, said he, And to the mother of the unhappy Goth, Tell, if it please thee, ... not what thou hast pour’d Into my secret ear, but that the child For whom they mourn with anguish unallay’d, Sinn’d not from vicious will, or heart corrupt, But fell by fatal circumstance betray’d. And if in charity to them thou sayest Something to palliate, something to excuse An act of sudden frenzy when the Fiend O’ercame him, thou wilt do for Roderick All he could ask thee, all that can be done On earth, and all his spirit could endure. Venturing towards her an imploring look, Wilt thou join with me for his soul in prayer? He said, and trembled as he spake. That voice Of sympathy was like Heaven’s influence, Wounding at once and comforting the soul. O Father, Christ requite thee! she exclaim’d; Thou hast set free the springs which withering griefs Have closed too long. Forgive me, for I thought Thou wert a rigid and unpitying judge; One whose stern virtue, feeling in itself No flaw of frailty, heard impatiently Of weakness and of guilt. I wrong’d thee Father!... With that she took his hand, and kissing it, Bathed it with tears. Then in a firmer speech, For Roderick, for Count Julian and myself, Three wretchedest of all the human race, Who have destroyed each other and ourselves, Mutually wrong’d and wronging, let us pray!

Twelve weary days with unremitting speed, Shunning frequented tracks, the travellers Pursued their way; the mountain path they chose, The forest or the lonely heath wide-spread, Where cistus shrubs sole-seen exhaled at noon Their fine balsamic odour all around; Strew’d with their blossoms, frail as beautiful, The thirsty soil at eve; and when the sun Relumed the gladden’d earth, opening anew Their stores exuberant, prodigal as frail, Whiten’d again the wilderness. They left The dark Sierra’s skirts behind, and cross’d The wilds where Ana in her native hills Collects her sister springs, and hurries on Her course melodious amid loveliest glens, With forest and with fruitage overbower’d. These scenes profusely blest by Heaven they left, Where o’er the hazel and the quince the vine Wide-mantling spreads; and clinging round the cork And ilex, hangs amid their dusky leaves Garlands of brightest hue, with reddening fruit Pendant, or clusters cool of glassy green. So holding on o’er mountain and o’er vale, Tagus they cross’d where midland on his way The King of Rivers rolls his stately stream; And rude Alverches wide and stony bed, And Duero distant far, and many a stream And many a field obscure, in future war For bloody theatre of famous deeds Foredoom’d; and deserts where in years to come Shall populous towns arise, and crested towers And stately temples rear their heads on high. Cautious with course circuitous they shunn’d The embattled city, which in eldest time Thrice-greatest Hermes built, so fables say, Now subjugate, but fated to behold Ere long the heroic Prince (who passing now Unknown and silently the dangerous track, Turns thither his regardant eye) come down Victorious from the heights, and bear abroad Her banner’d Lion, symbol to the Moor Of rout and death through many an age of blood. Lo, there the Asturian hills! Far in the west, Huge Rabanal and Foncebadon huge, Pre-eminent, their giant bulk display, Darkening with earliest shade the distant vales Of Leon, and with evening premature. Far in Cantabria eastward, the long line Extends beyond the reach of eagle’s eye, When buoyant in mid-heaven the bird of Jove Soars at his loftiest pitch. In the north, before The travellers the Erbasian mountains rise, Bounding the land beloved, their native land. How then, Alphonso, did thy eager soul Chide the slow hours and painful way, which seem’d Lengthening to grow before their lagging pace! Youth of heroic thought and high desire, ’Tis not the spur of lofty enterprize That with unequal throbbing hurries now The unquiet heart, now makes it sink dismay’d; ’Tis not impatient joy which thus disturbs In that young breast the healthful spring of life; Joy and ambition have forsaken him, His soul is sick with hope. So near his home, So near his mother’s arms; ... alas! perchance The long’d-for meeting may be yet far off As earth from heaven. Sorrow in these long months Of separation may have laid her low; Or what if at his flight the bloody Moor Hath sent his ministers of slaughter forth, And he himself should thus have brought the sword Upon his father’s head?... Sure Hoya too The same dark presage feels, the fearful boy Said in himself; or wherefore is his brow Thus overcast with heaviness, and why Looks he thus anxiously in silence round? Just then that faithful servant raised his hand, And turning to Alphonso with a smile, He pointed where Count Pedro’s towers far off Peer’d in the dell below; faint was the smile, And while it sate upon his lips, his eye Retain’d its troubled speculation still. For long had he look’d wistfully in vain, Seeking where far or near he might espy From whom to learn if time or chance had wrought Change in his master’s house: but on the hills Nor goat-herd could he see, nor traveller, Nor huntsman early at his sports afield, Nor angler following up the mountain glen His lonely pastime; neither could he hear Carol, or pipe, or shout of shepherd’s boy, Nor woodman’s axe, for not a human sound Disturb’d the silence of the solitude. Is it the spoiler’s work? At yonder door Behold the favourite kidling bleats unheard; The next stands open, and the sparrows there Boldly pass in and out. Thither he turn’d To seek what indications were within; The chesnut-bread was on the shelf, the churn, As if in haste forsaken, full and fresh; The recent fire had moulder’d on the hearth; And broken cobwebs mark’d the whiter space Where from the wall the buckler and the sword Had late been taken down. Wonder at first Had mitigated fear, but Hoya now Return’d to tell the symbols of good hope, And they prick’d forward joyfully. Ere long Perceptible above the ceaseless sound Of yonder stream, a voice of multitudes, As if in loud acclaim, was heard far off; And nearer as they drew, distincter shouts Came from the dell, and at Count Pedro’s gate The human swarm were seen, ... a motley group, Maids, mothers, helpless infancy, weak age, And wondering children and tumultuous boys, Hot youth and resolute manhood gather’d there, In uproar all. Anon the moving mass Falls in half circle back, a general cry Bursts forth, exultant arms are lifted up And caps are thrown aloft, as through the gate Count Pedro’s banner came. Alphonso shriek’d For joy, and smote his steed and gallop’d on. Fronting the gate the standard-bearer holds His precious charge. Behind the men divide In order’d files; green boyhood presses there, And waning eld, pleading a youthful soul, Intreats admission. All is ardour here, Hope and brave purposes and minds resolved. Nor where the weaker sex is left apart Doth aught of fear find utterance, though perchance Some paler cheeks might there be seen, some eyes Big with sad bodings, and some natural tears. Count Pedro’s war-horse in the vacant space Strikes with impatient hoof the trodden turf, And gazing round upon the martial show, Proud of his stately trappings, flings his head, And snorts and champs the bit, and neighing shrill Wakes the near echo with his voice of joy. The page beside him holds his master’s spear And shield and helmet. In the castle-gate Count Pedro stands, his countenance resolved But mournful, for Favinia on his arm Hung, passionate with her fears, and held him back. Go not, she cried, with this deluded crew! She hath not, Pedro, with her frantic words Bereft thy faculty, ... she is crazed with grief, And her delirium hath infected these: But, Pedro, thou art calm; thou dost not share The madness of the crowd; thy sober mind Surveys the danger in its whole extent, And sees the certain ruin, ... for thou know’st I know thou hast no hope. Unhappy man, Why then for this most desperate enterprize Wilt thou devote thy son, thine only child? Not for myself I plead, nor even for thee; Thou art a soldier, and thou canst not fear The face of death; and I should welcome it As the best visitant whom Heaven could send. Not for our lives I speak then, ... were they worth The thought of preservation; ... Nature soon Must call for them; the sword that should cut short Sorrow’s slow work were merciful to us. But spare Alphonso! there is time and hope In store for him. O thou who gavest him life, Seal not his death, his death and mine at once! Peace! he replied: thou know’st there is no choice, I did not raise the storm; I cannot turn Its course aside! but where yon banner goes Thy Lord must not be absent! Spare me then, Favinia, lest I hear thy honour’d name Now first attainted with deserved reproach. The boy is in God’s hands. He who of yore Walk’d with the sons of Judah in the fire, And from the lion’s den drew Daniel forth Unhurt, can save him, ... if it be his will. Even as he spake, the astonish’d troop set up A shout of joy which rung through all the hills. Alphonso heeds not how they break their ranks And gather round to greet him; from his horse Precipitate and panting off he springs. Pedro grew pale, and trembled at his sight; Favinia claspt her hands, and looking up To Heaven as she embraced the boy, exclaim’d, Lord God, forgive me for my sinful fears; Unworthy that I am, ... my son, my son!

Always I knew thee for a generous foe, Pelayo! said the Count; and in our time Of enmity, thou too, I know, didst feel The feud between us was but of the house, Not of the heart. Brethren in arms henceforth We stand or fall together: nor will I Look to the event with one misgiving thought, ... That were to prove myself unworthy now Of Heaven’s benignant providence, this hour, Scarcely by less than miracle, vouchsafed. I will believe that we have days in store Of hope, now risen again as from the dead, ... Of vengeance, ... of portentous victory, ... Yea, maugre all unlikelihoods, ... of peace. Let us then here indissolubly knit Our ancient houses, that those happy days, When they arrive, may find us more than friends, And bound by closer than fraternal ties. Thou hast a daughter, Prince, to whom my heart Yearns now, as if in winning infancy Her smiles had been its daily food of love. I need not tell thee what Alphonso is, ... Thou know’st the boy! Already had that hope, Replied Pelayo, risen within my soul. O Thou, who in thy mercy from the house Of Moorish bondage hast deliver’d us, Fulfil the pious purposes for which Here, in thy presence, thus we pledge our hands! Strange hour to plight espousals! yielding half To superstitious thoughts, Favinia cried, And these strange witnesses!... The times are strange, With thoughtful speech composed her Lord replies, And what thou seest accords with them. This day Is wonderful; nor could auspicious Heaven With fairer or with fitter omen gild Our enterprize, when strong in heart and hope We take the field, preparing thus for works Of piety and love. Unwillingly I yielded to my people’s general voice, Thinking that she who with her powerful words To this excess had roused and kindled them, Spake from the spirit of her griefs alone, Not with prophetic impulse. Be that sin Forgiven me! and the calm and quiet faith Which, in the place of incredulity, Hath fill’d me, now that seeing I believe, Doth give of happy end to righteous cause A presage, not presumptuous, but assured. Then Pedro told Pelayo how from vale To vale the exalted Adosinda went, Exciting sire and son, in holy war Conquering or dying, to secure their place In Paradise: and how reluctantly, And mourning for his child by his own act Thus doom’d to death, he bade with heavy heart His banner be brought forth. Devoid alike Of purpose and of hope himself, he meant To march toward the western Mountaineers, Where Odoar by his counsel might direct Their force conjoin’d. Now, said he, we must haste To Cangas, there, Pelayo, to secure, With timely speed, I trust in God, thy house. Then looking to his men, he cried, Bring forth The armour which in Wamba’s wars I wore... Alphonso’s heart leapt at the auspicious words. Count Pedro mark’d the rising glow of joy,.. Doubly to thee, Alphonso, he pursued, This day above all other days is blest, From whence as from a birth-day thou wilt date Thy life in arms! Rejoicing in their task, The servants of the house with emulous love Dispute the charge. One brings the cuirass, one The buckler; this excitingly displays The sword, his comrade lifts the helm on high: The greaves, the gauntlets they divide; a spur Seems now to dignify the officious hand Which for such service bears it to his Lord. Greek artists in the imperial city forged That splendid armour, perfect in their craft; With curious skill they wrought it, framed alike To shine amid the pageantry of war, And for the proof of battle. Many a time Alphonso from his nurse’s lap had stretch’d His infant hands toward it eagerly, Where gleaming to the central fire it hung High in the hall; and many a time had wish’d With boyish ardour, that the day were come When Pedro to his prayers would grant the boon, His dearest heart’s desire. Count Pedro then Would smile, and in his heart rejoice to see The noble instinct manifest itself. Then too Favinia with maternal pride Would turn her eyes exulting to her Lord, And in that silent language bid him mark His spirit in his boy; all danger then Was distant, and if secret forethought faint Of manhood’s perils, and the chance of war, Hateful to mothers, pass’d across her mind, The ill remote gave to the present hour A heighten’d feeling of secure delight. No season this for old solemnities, For wassailry and sport; ... the bath, the bed, The vigil, ... all preparatory rites Omitted now, ... here in the face of Heaven, Before the vassals of his father’s house, With them in instant peril to partake The chance of life or death, the heroic boy Dons his first arms; the coated scales of steel Which o’er the tunic to his knees depend, The hose, the sleeves of mail; bareheaded then He stood. But when Count Pedro took the spurs And bent his knee in service to his son, Alphonso from that gesture half drew back, Starting in reverence, and a deeper hue Spread o’er the glow of joy which flush’d his cheeks. Do thou the rest, Pelayo! said the Count; So shall the ceremony of this hour Exceed in honour what in form it lacks. The Prince from Hoya’s faithful hand receiv’d The sword; he girt it round the youth, and drew And placed it in his hand; unsheathing then His own good falchion, with its burnish’d blade He touch’d Alphonso’s neck, and with a kiss Gave him his rank in arms. Thus long the crowd Had look’d intently on, in silence hush’d; Loud and continuous now with one accord, Shout following shout, their acclamations rose; Blessings were breathed from every heart, and joy, Powerful alike in all, which as with force Of an inebriating cup inspired The youthful, from the eye of age drew tears. The uproar died away, when standing forth, Roderick with lifted hand besought a pause For speech, and moved towards the youth. I too, Young Baron, he began, must do my part; Not with prerogative of earthly power, But as the servant of the living God, The God of Hosts. This day thou promisest To die when honour calls thee for thy faith, For thy liege Lord, and for thy native land; The duties which at birth we all contract, Are by the high profession of this hour Made thine especially. Thy noble blood, The thoughts with which thy childhood hath been fed, And thine own noble nature more than all, Are sureties for thee. But these dreadful times Demand a farther pledge; for it hath pleased The Highest, as he tried his Saints of old, So in the fiery furnace of his wrath To prove and purify the sons of Spain; And they must knit their spirits to the proof, Or sink, for ever lost. Hold forth thy sword, Young Baron, and before thy people take The vow which, in Toledo’s sacred name, Poor as these weeds bespeak me, I am here To minister with delegated power. With reverential awe was Roderick heard By all, so well authority became That mien and voice and countenance austere. Pelayo with complacent eye beheld The unlook’d-for interposal, and the Count Bends toward Alphonso his approving head. The youth obedient loosen’d from his belt The sword, and looking, while his heart beat fast, To Roderick, reverently expectant stood. O noble youth, the Royal Goth pursued, Thy country is in bonds; an impious foe Oppresses her; he brings with him strange laws, Strange language, evil customs, and false faith, And forces them on Spain. Swear that thy soul Will make no covenant with these accursed, But that the sword shall be from this day forth Thy children’s portion, to be handed down From sire to son, a sacred heritage, Through every generation, till the work Be done, and this insulted land hath drunk In sacrifice, the last invader’s blood! Bear witness, ancient Mountains! cried the youth, And ye, my native Streams, who hold your course For ever; ... this dear Earth, and yonder Sky, Be witness! for myself I make the vow, And for my children’s children. Here I stand Their sponsor, binding them in sight of Heaven, As by a new baptismal sacrament, To wage hereditary holy war, Perpetual, patient, persevering war, Till not one living enemy pollute The sacred soil of Spain. So as he ceased, While yet toward the clear blue firmament His eyes were raised, he lifted to his lips The sword, with reverent gesture bending then Devoutly kiss’d its cross. And ye! exclaimed Roderick, as turning to the assembled troop He motion’d with authoritative hand, ... Ye children of the hills and sons of Spain! Through every heart the rapid feeling ran, ... For us! they answer’d all with one accord, And at the word they knelt: People and Prince, The young and old, the father and the son, At once they knelt; with one accord they cried, For us, and for our seed! with one accord They cross’d their fervent arms, and with bent head Inclined toward that aweful voice from whence The inspiring impulse came. The Royal Goth Made answer, I receive your vow for Spain And for the Lord of Hosts: your cause is good, Go forward in his spirit and his strength. Ne’er in his happiest hours had Roderick With such commanding majesty dispensed His princely gifts, as dignified him now, When with slow movement, solemnly upraised, Toward the kneeling troop he spread his arms, As if the expanded soul diffused itself, And carried to all spirits with the act Its effluent inspiration. Silently The people knelt, and when they rose, such awe Held them in silence, that the eagle’s cry, Who far above them, at her highest flight A speck scarce visible, gyred round and round, Was heard distinctly; and the mountain stream, Which from the distant glen sent forth its sounds Wafted upon the wind, grew audible In that deep hush of feeling, like the voice Of waters in the stillness of the night.

That aweful silence still endured, when one, Who to the northern entrance of the vale Had turn’d his casual eye, exclaim’d, The Moors!... For from the forest verge a troop were seen Hastening toward Pedro’s hall. Their forward speed Was check’d when they beheld his banner spread, And saw his order’d spears in prompt array Marshall’d to meet their coming. But the pride Of power and insolence of long command Prick’d on their Chief presumptuous: We are come Late for prevention, cried the haughty Moor, But never time more fit for punishment! These unbelieving slaves must feel and know Their master’s arm!... On, faithful Musselmen, On ... on, ... and hew down the rebellious dogs!... Then as he spurr’d his steed, Allah is great! Mahommed is his Prophet! he exclaim’d, And led the charge. Count Pedro met the Chief In full career; he bore him from his horse A full spear’s length upon the lance transfix’d; Then leaving in his breast the mortal shaft, Pass’d on, and breaking through the turban’d files Open’d a path. Pelayo, who that day Fought in the ranks afoot, for other war Yet unequipp’d, pursued and smote the foe, But ever on Alphonso at his side Retain’d a watchful eye. The gallant boy Gave his good sword that hour its earliest taste Of Moorish blood, ... that sword whose hungry edge, Through the fair course of all his glorious life From that auspicious day, was fed so well. Cheap was the victory now for Spain achieved; For the first fervour of their zeal inspired The Mountaineers, ... the presence of their Chiefs, The sight of all dear objects, all dear ties, The air they breathed, the soil whereon they trod, Duty, devotion, faith, and hope and joy. And little had the misbelievers ween’d In such impetuous onset to receive A greeting deadly as their own intent; Victims they thought to find, not men prepared And eager for the fight; their confidence Therefore gave way to wonder, and dismay Effected what astonishment began. Scatter’d before the impetuous Mountaineers, Buckler and spear and scymitar they dropt, As in precipitate route they fled before The Asturian sword: the vales and hills and rocks Received their blood, and where they fell the wolves At evening found them. From the fight apart Two Africans had stood, who held in charge Count Eudon. When they saw their countrymen Falter, give way, and fly before the foe, One turn’d toward him with malignant rage, And saying, Infidel! thou shalt not live To join their triumph! aim’d against his neck The moony falchion’s point. His comrade raised A hasty hand and turn’d its edge aside, Yet so that o’er the shoulder glancing down It scarr’d him as it pass’d. The murderous Moor, Not tarrying to secure his vengeance, fled; While he of milder mood, at Eudon’s feet Fell and embraced his knees. The mountaineer Who found them thus, withheld at Eudon’s voice His wrathful hand, and led them to his Lord. Count Pedro and Alphonso and the Prince Stood on a little rocky eminence Which overlook’d the vale. Pedro had put His helmet off, and with sonorous horn Blew the recall; for well he knew what thoughts, Calm as the Prince appear’d and undisturb’d, Lay underneath his silent fortitude; And how at this eventful juncture speed Imported more than vengeance. Thrice he sent The long-resounding signal forth, which rung From hill to hill, re-echoing far and wide. Slow and unwillingly his men obey’d The swelling horn’s reiterated call; Repining that a single foe escaped The retribution of that righteous hour. With lingering step reluctant from the chase They turn’d, ... their veins full-swoln, their sinews strung For battle still, their hearts unsatisfied; Their swords were dropping still with Moorish blood, And where they wiped their reeking brows, the stain Of Moorish gore was left. But when they came Where Pedro, with Alphonso at his side, Stood to behold their coming, then they press’d All emulous, with gratulation round, Extolling for his deeds that day display’d The noble boy. Oh! when had Heaven, they said, With such especial favour manifest Illustrated a first essay in arms! They bless’d the father from whose loins he sprung, The mother at whose happy breast he fed; And pray’d that their young hero’s fields might be Many, and all like this. Thus they indulged The honest heart, exuberant of love, When that loquacious joy at once was check’d, For Eudon and the Moor were brought before Count Pedro. Both came fearfully and pale, But with a different fear: the African Felt at this crisis of his destiny Such apprehension as without reproach Might blanch a soldier’s cheek, when life and death Hang on another’s will, and helplessly He must abide the issue. But the thoughts Which quail’d Count Eudon’s heart, and made his limbs Quiver, were of his own unworthiness, Old enmity, and that he stood in power Of hated and hereditary foes. I came not with them willingly! he cried, Addressing Pedro and the Prince at once, Rolling from each to each his restless eyes Aghast, ... the Moor can tell I had no choice; They forced me from my castle: ... in the fight They would have slain me: ... see I bleed! The Moor Can witness that a Moorish scymitar Inflicted this: ... he saved me from worse hurt: ... I did not come in arms: ... he knows it all; ... Speak, man, and let the truth be known to clear My innocence! Thus as he ceased, with fear And rapid utterance panting open-mouth’d, Count Pedro half represt a mournful smile, Wherein compassion seem’d to mitigate His deep contempt. Methinks, said he, the Moor Might with more reason look himself to find An intercessor, than be call’d upon To play the pleader’s part. Didst thou then save The Baron from thy comrades? Let my Lord Show mercy to me, said the Musselman, As I am free from falsehood. We were left, I and another, holding him in charge; My fellow would have slain him when he saw How the fight fared: I turn’d the scymitar Aside, and trust that life will be the meed For life by me preserved. Nor shall thy trust, Rejoin’d the Count, be vain. Say farther now, From whence ye came? ... your orders what? ... what force In Gegio? and if others like yourselves Are in the field? The African replied, We came from Gegio, order’d to secure This Baron on the way, and seek thee here To bear thee hence in bonds. A messenger From Cordoba, whose speed denoted well He came with urgent tidings, was the cause Of this our sudden movement. We went forth Three hundred men; an equal force was sent For Cangas, on like errand as I ween. Four hundred in the city then were left. If other force be moving from the south, I know not, save that all appearances Denote alarm and vigilance. The Prince Fix’d upon Eudon then his eye severe; Baron, he said, the die of war is cast; What part art thou prepared to take? against, Or with the oppressor? Not against my friends, ... Not against you!... the irresolute wretch replied, Hasty, yet faltering in his fearful speech: But ... have ye weigh’d it well?... It is not yet Too late, ... their numbers, ... their victorious force, Which hath already trodden in the dust The sceptre of the Goths: ... the throne destroy’d, ... Our towns subdued, ... our country overrun, ... The people to the yoke of their new Lords Resign’d in peace.... Can I not mediate?... Were it not better through my agency To gain such terms, ... such honourable terms.... Terms! cried Pelayo, cutting short at once That dastard speech, and checking, ere it grew Too powerful for restraint, the incipient wrath Which in indignant murmurs breathing round, Rose like a gathering storm, learn thou what terms Asturias, this day speaking by my voice, Doth constitute to be the law between Thee and thy Country. Our portentous age, As with an earthquake’s desolating force, Hath loosen’d and disjointed the whole frame Of social order, and she calls not now For service with the force of sovereign will. That which was common duty in old times, Becomes an arduous, glorious virtue now; And every one, as between Hell and Heaven, In free election must be left to chuse. Asturias asks not of thee to partake The cup which we have pledged; she claims from none The dauntless fortitude, the mind resolved, Which only God can give; ... therefore such peace As thou canst find where all around is war, She leaves thee to enjoy. But think not, Count, That because thou art weak, one valiant arm, One generous spirit must be lost to Spain! The vassal owes no service to the Lord Who to his Country doth acknowledge none. The summons which thou hast not heart to give, I and Count Pedro over thy domains Will send abroad; the vassals who were thine Will fight beneath our banners, and our wants Shall from thy lands, as from a patrimony Which hath reverted to the common stock, Be fed: such tribute, too, as to the Moors Thou renderest, we will take: It is the price Which in this land for weakness must be paid While evil stars prevail. And mark me, Chief! Fear is a treacherous counsellor! I know Thou thinkëst that beneath his horses’s hoofs The Moor will trample our poor numbers down; But join not, in contempt of us and Heaven, His multitudes! for if thou shouldst be found Against thy country, on the readiest tree Those recreant bones shall rattle in the wind, When the birds have left them bare. As thus he spake, Count Eudon heard and trembled: every joint Was loosen’d, every fibre of his flesh Thrill’d, and from every pore effused, cold sweat Clung on his quivering limbs. Shame forced it forth, Envy, and inward consciousness, and fear Predominant, which stifled in his heart Hatred and rage. Before his livid lips Could shape to utterance their essay’d reply, Compassionately Pedro interposed. Go, Baron, to the Castle, said the Count: There let thy wound be look’d to, and consult Thy better mind at leisure. Let this Moor Attend upon thee there, and when thou wilt, Follow thy fortunes.... To Pelayo then He turn’d, and saying, All-too-long, O Prince, Hath this unlook’d-for conflict held thee here, ... He bade his gallant men begin their march. Flush’d with success, and in auspicious hour, The Mountaineers set forth. Blessings and prayers Pursued them at their parting, and the tears Which fell were tears of fervour, not of grief. The sun was verging to the western slope Of Heaven, but they till midnight travell’d on; Renewing then at early dawn their way, They held their unremitting course from morn Till latest eve, such urgent cause impell’d; And night had closed around, when to the vale Where Sella in her ampler bed receives Pionia’s stream they came. Massive and black Pelayo’s castle there was seen; its lines And battlements against the deep blue sky Distinct in solid darkness visible. No light is in the tower. Eager to know The worst, and with that fatal certainty To terminate intolerable dread, He spurr’d his courser forward. All his fears Too surely are fulfill’d, ... for open stand The doors, and mournfully at times a dog Fills with his howling the deserted hall. A moment overcome with wretchedness, Silent Pelayo stood! recovering then, Lord God, resign’d he cried, thy will be done!

Count, said Pelayo, Nature hath assign’d Two sovereign remedies for human grief; Religion, surest, firmest, first and best, Strength to the weak and to the wounded balm; And strenuous action next. Think not I came With unprovided heart. My noble wife, In the last solemn words, the last farewell With which she charged her secret messenger, Told me that whatsoe’er was my resolve, She bore a mind prepared. And well I know The evil, be it what it may, hath found In her a courage equal to the hour. Captivity, or death, or what worse pangs, She in her children may be doom’d to feel, Will never make that steady soul repent Its virtuous purpose. I too did not cast My single life into the lot, but knew These dearer pledges on the die were set; And if the worst have fallen, I shall but bear That in my breast, which, with transfiguring power Of piety, makes chastening sorrow take The form of hope, and sees, in Death, the friend And the restoring Angel. We must rest Perforce, and wait what tidings night may bring, Haply of comfort. Ho there! kindle fires, And see if aught of hospitality Can yet within these mournful walls be found! Thus while he spake, lights were descried far off Moving among the trees, and coming sounds Were heard as of a distant multitude. Anon a company of horse and foot, Advancing in disorderly array, Came up the vale; before them and beside Their torches flash’d on Sella’s rippling stream; Now gleam’d through chesnut groves, emerging now, O’er their huge boughs and radiated leaves Cast broad and bright a transitory glare. That sight inspired with strength the mountaineers; All sense of weariness, all wish for rest At once were gone; impatient in desire Of second victory alert they stood; And when the hostile symbols, which from far Imagination to their wish had shaped, Vanish’d in nearer vision, high-wrought hope Departing, left the spirit pall’d and blank. No turban’d race, no sons of Africa Were they who now came winding up the vale, As waving wide before their horses’ feet The torch-light floated, with its hovering glare Blackening the incumbent and surrounding night. Helmet and breast-plate glitter’d as they came, And spears erect; and nearer as they drew Were the loose folds of female garments seen On those who led the company. Who then Had stood beside Pelayo, might have heard The beating of his heart. But vainly there Sought he with wistful eye the well-known forms Beloved; and plainly might it now be seen That from some bloody conflict they return’d Victorious, ... for at every saddle-bow A gorey head was hung. Anon they stopt, Levelling in quick alarm their ready spears. Hold! who goes there? cried one. A hundred tongues Sent forth with one accord the glad reply, Friends and Asturians. Onward moved the lights, ... The people knew their Lord. Then what a shout Rung through the valley! From their clay-built nests, Beneath the overbrowing battlements, Now first disturb’d, the affrighted martins flew, And uttering notes of terror short and shrill, Amid the yellow glare and lurid smoke Wheel’d giddily. Then plainly was it shown How well the vassals loved their generous Lord, How like a father the Asturian Prince Was dear. They crowded round; they claspt his knees; They snatch’d his hand; they fell upon his neck, ... They wept; ... they blest Almighty Providence, Which had restored him thus from bondage free; God was with them and their good cause, they said; His hand was here.... His shield was over them, ... His spirit was abroad, ... His power display’d: And pointing to their bloody trophies then, They told Pelayo there he might behold The first-fruits of the harvest they should soon Reap in the field of war! Benignantly, With voice and look and gesture, did the Prince To these warm greetings of tumultuous joy Respond; and sure if at that moment aught Could for awhile have overpower’d those fears Which from the inmost heart o’er all his frame Diffused their chilling influence, worthy pride, And sympathy of love and joy and hope, Had then possess’d him wholly. Even now His spirit rose; the sense of power, the sight Of his brave people, ready where he led To fight their country’s battles, and the thought Of instant action, and deliverance, ... If Heaven, which thus far had protected him, Should favour still, ... revived his heart, and gave Fresh impulse to its spring. In vain he sought Amid that turbulent greeting to enquire Where Gaudiosa was, his children where, Who call’d them to the field, who captain’d them; And how these women, thus with arms and death Environ’d, came amid their company? For yet, amid the fluctuating light And tumult of the crowd, he knew them not. Guisla was one. The Moors had found in her A willing and concerted prisoner. Gladly to Gegio, to the renegade On whom her loose and shameless love was bent, Had she set forth; and in her heart she cursed The busy spirit, who, with powerful call Rousing Pelayo’s people, led them on In quick pursual, and victoriously Achieved the rescue, to her mind perverse Unwelcome as unlook’d for. With dismay She recognized her brother, dreaded now More than he once was dear; her countenance Was turn’d toward him, ... not with eager joy To court his sight, and meeting its first glance, Exchange delightful welcome, soul with soul; Hers was the conscious eye, that cannot chuse But look to what it fears. She could not shun His presence, and the rigid smile constrain’d, With which she coldly drest her features, ill Conceal’d her inward thoughts, and the despite Of obstinate guilt and unrepentant shame. Sullenly thus upon her mule she sate, Waiting the greeting which she did not dare Bring on. But who is she that at her side, Upon a stately war-horse eminent, Holds the loose rein with careless hand? A helm Presses the clusters of her flaxen hair; The shield is on her arm; her breast is mail’d; A sword-belt is her girdle, and right well It may be seen that sword hath done its work To-day, for upward from the wrist her sleeve Is stiff with blood. An unregardant eye, As one whose thoughts were not of earth, she cast Upon the turmoil round. One countenance So strongly mark’d, so passion-worn was there, That it recall’d her mind. Ha! Maccabee! Lifting her arm, exultingly she cried, Did I not tell thee we should meet in joy? Well, Brother, hast thou done thy part, ... I too Have not been wanting! Now be His the praise, From whom the impulse came! That startling call, That voice so well remember’d, touch’d the Goth With timely impulse now; for he had seen His Mother’s face, ... and at her sight, the past And present mingled like a frightful dream, Which from some dread reality derives Its deepest horror. Adosinda’s voice Dispersed the waking vision. Little deem’d Rusilla at that moment that the child, For whom her supplications day and night Were offer’d, breathed the living air. Her heart Was calm; her placid countenance, though grief Deeper than time had left its traces there, Retain’d its dignity serene; yet when Siverian, pressing through the people, kiss’d Her reverend hand, some quiet tears ran down. As she approach’d the Prince, the crowd made way Respectful. The maternal smile which bore Her greeting, from Pelayo’s heart at once Dispell’d its boding. What he would have ask’d She knew, and bending from her palfrey down, Told him that they for whom he look’d were safe, And that in secret he should hear the rest.

How calmly gliding through the dark-blue sky The midnight Moon ascends! Her placid beams Through thinly scatter’d leaves and boughs grotesque, Mottle with mazy shades the orchard slope; Here, o’er the chesnut’s fretted foliage grey And massy, motionless they spread; here shine Upon the crags, deepening with blacker night Their chasms; and there the glittering argentry Ripples and glances on the confluent streams. A lovelier, purer light than that of day Rests on the hills; and oh how awefully Into that deep and tranquil firmament The summits of Auseva rise serene! The watchman on the battlements partakes The stillness of the solemn hour; he feels The silence of the earth, the endless sound Of flowing water soothes him, and the stars, Which in that brightest moon-light well-nigh quench’d Scarce visible, as in the utmost depth Of yonder sapphire infinite, are seen, Draw on with elevating influence Toward eternity the attemper’d mind. Musing on worlds beyond the grave he stands, And to the Virgin Mother silently Prefers her hymn of praise. The mountaineers Before the castle, round their mouldering fires, Lie on the hearth outstretch’d. Pelayo’s hall Is full, and he upon his careful couch Hears all around the deep and long-drawn breath Of sleep: for gentle night hath brought to these Perfect and undisturb’d repose, alike Of corporal powers and inward faculty. Wakeful the while he lay, yet more by hope Than grief or anxious thoughts possess’d, ... though grief For Guisla’s guilt, which freshen’d in his heart The memory of their wretched mother’s crime, Still made its presence felt, like the dull sense Of some perpetual inward malady; And the whole peril of the future lay Before him clearly seen. He had heard all; How that unworthy sister, obstinate In wrong and shameless, rather seem’d to woo The upstart renegado than to wait His wooing; how, as guilt to guilt led on, Spurning at gentle admonition first, When Gaudiosa hopelessly forbore From farther counsel, then in sullen mood Resentful, Guisla soon began to hate The virtuous presence before which she felt Her nature how inferior, and her fault How foul. Despiteful thus she grew, because Humbled yet unrepentant. Who could say To what excess bad passions might impel A woman thus possess’d? She could not fail To mark Siverian’s absence, for what end Her conscience but too surely had divined; And Gaudiosa, well aware that all To the vile paramour was thus made known, Had to safe hiding-place with timely fear Removed her children. Well the event had proved How needful was that caution; for at night She sought the mountain solitudes, and morn Beheld Numacian’s soldiers at the gate. Yet did not sorrow in Pelayo’s heart For this domestic shame prevail that hour, Nor gathering danger weigh his spirit down. The anticipated meeting put to flight These painful thoughts; to-morrow will restore All whom his heart holds dear; his wife beloved, No longer now remember’d for regret, Is present to his soul with hope and joy; His inward eye beholds Favila’s form In opening youth robust, and Hermesind, His daughter, lovely as a budding rose; Their images beguile the hours of night, Till with the earliest morning he may seek Their secret hold. The nightingale not yet Had ceased her song, nor had the early lark Her dewy nest forsaken, when the Prince Upward beside Pionia took his way Toward Auseva. Heavily to him, Impatient for the morrow’s happiness, Long night had linger’d, but it seem’d more long To Roderick’s aching heart. He too had watch’d For dawn, and seen the earliest break of day, And heard its earliest sounds; and when the Prince Went forth, the melancholy man was seen With pensive pace upon Pionia’s side Wandering alone and slow. For he had left The wearying place of his unrest, that morn With its cold dews might bathe his throbbing brow, And with its breath allay the feverish heat That burnt within. Alas! the gales of morn Reach not the fever of a wounded heart! How shall he meet his Mother’s eye, how make His secret known, and from that voice revered Obtain forgiveness, ... all that he has now To ask, ere on the lap of earth in peace He lay his head resign’d? In silent prayer He supplicated Heaven to strengthen him Against that trying hour, there seeking aid Where all who seek shall find; and thus his soul Received support, and gather’d fortitude, Never than now more needful, for the hour Was nigh. He saw Siverian drawing near, And with a dim but quick foreboding met The good old man; yet when he heard him say My Lady sends to seek thee, like a knell To one expecting and prepared for death, But fearing the dread point that hastens on, It smote his heart. He follow’d silently, And knit his suffering spirit to the proof. He went resolved to tell his Mother all, Fall at her feet, and drinking the last dregs Of bitterness, receive the only good Earth had in store for him. Resolved for this He went; yet was it a relief to find That painful resolution must await A fitter season, when no eye but Heaven’s Might witness to their mutual agony. Count Julian’s daughter with Rusilla sate; Both had been weeping, both were pale, but calm. With head as for humility abased Roderick approach’d, and bending, on his breast He cross’d his humble arms. Rusilla rose In reverence to the priestly character, And with a mournful eye regarding him, Thus she began. Good Father, I have heard From my old faithful servant and true friend, Thou didst reprove the inconsiderate tongue, That in the anguish of its spirit pour’d A curse upon my poor unhappy child. O Father Maccabee, this is a hard world, And hasty in its judgements! Time has been, When not a tongue within the Pyrenees Dared whisper in dispraise of Roderick’s name, Lest, if the conscious air had caught the sound, The vengeance of the honest multitude Should fall upon the traitorous head, or brand For life-long infamy the lying lips. Now if a voice be raised in his behalf, ’Tis noted for a wonder, and the man Who utters the strange speech shall be admired For such excess of Christian charity. Thy Christian charity hath not been lost; ... Father, I feel its virtue: ... it hath been Balm to my heart; ... with words and grateful tears, ... All that is left me now for gratitude, ... I thank thee, and beseech thee in thy prayers That thou wilt still remember Roderick’s name. Roderick so long had to this hour look’d on, That when the actual point of trial came, Torpid and numb’d it found him; cold he grew, And as the vital spirits to the heart Retreated, o’er his wither’d countenance, Deathy and damp, a whiter paleness spread. Unmoved the while, the inward feeling seem’d, Even in such dull insensibility As gradual age brings on, or slow disease, Beneath whose progress lingering life survives The power of suffering. Wondering at himself, Yet gathering confidence, he raised his eyes, Then slowly shaking as he bent his head, O venerable Lady, he replied, If aught may comfort that unhappy soul, It must be thy compassion, and thy prayers. She whom he most hath wrong’d, she who alone On earth can grant forgiveness for his crime, She hath forgiven him; and thy blessing now Were all that he could ask, ... all that could bring Profit or consolation to his soul, If he hath been as sure we may believe, A penitent sincere. Oh had he lived, Replied Rusilla, never penitence Had equall’d his! full well I know his heart, Vehement in all things. He would on himself Have wreak’d such penance as had reach’d the height Of fleshly suffering ... yea, which being told With its portentuous rigour should have made The memory of his fault, o’erpower’d and lost In shuddering pity and astonishment, Fade like a feebler horror. Otherwise Seem’d good to Heaven. I murmur not, nor doubt The boundless mercy of redeeming love. For sure I trust that not in his offence Harden’d and reprobate was my lost son, A child of wrath, cut off!... that dreadful thought, Not even amid the first fresh wretchedness, When the ruin burst around me like a flood, Assail’d my soul. I ever deem’d his fall An act of sudden madness; and this day Hath in unlook’d-for confirmation given A livelier hope, a more assurëd faith. Smiling benignant then amid her tears, She took Florinda by the hand, and said, I little thought that I should live to bless Count Julian’s daughter! She hath brought to me The last, the best, the only comfort earth Could minister to this afflicted heart, And my grey hairs may now unto the grave Go down in peace. Happy, Florinda cried, Are they for whom the grave hath peace in store! The wrongs they have sustain’d, the woes they bear, Pass not that holy threshold, where Death heals The broken heart. O Lady, thou may’st trust In humble hope, through Him who on the Cross Gave his atoning blood for lost mankind, To meet beyond the grave thy child forgiven. I too with Roderick there may interchange Forgiveness. But the grief which wastes away This mortal frame, hastening the happy hour Of my enlargement, is but a light part Of what my soul endures!... that grief hath lost Its sting: ... I have a keener sorrow here, ... One which, ... but God forefend that dire event, ... May pass with me the portals of the grave, And with a thought, like sin which cannot die, Embitter Heaven. My father hath renounced His hope in Christ! It was his love for me Which drove him to perdition.... I was born To ruin all who loved me, ... all I loved! Perhaps I sinn’d in leaving him; ... that fear Rises within me to disturb the peace Which I should else have found. To Roderick then The pious mourner turn’d her suppliant eyes: O Father, there is virtue in thy prayers!... I do beseech thee offer them to Heaven In his behalf! For Roderick’s sake, for mine, Wrestle with Him whose name is Merciful, That Julian may with penitence be touch’d, And clinging to the Cross, implore that grace Which ne’er was sought in vain. For Roderick’s sake And mine, pray for him! We have been the cause Of his offence! What other miseries May from that same unhappy source have risen, Are earthly, temporal, reparable all; ... But if a soul be lost through our misdeeds, That were eternal evil! Pray for him, Good Father Maccabee, and be thy prayers More fervent, as the deeper is the crime. While thus Florinda spake, the dog who lay Before Rusilla’s feet, eyeing him long And wistfully, had recognised at length, Changed as he was and in those sordid weeds, His royal master. And he rose and lick’d His wither’d hand, and earnestly look’d up With eyes whose human meaning did not need The aid of speech; and moan’d, as if at once To court and chide the long-withheld caress. A feeling uncommix’d with sense of guilt Or shame, yet painfulest, thrill’d through the King; But he to self-controul now long inured, Represt his rising heart, nor other tears, Full as his struggling bosom was, let fall Than seem’d to follow on Florinda’s words. Looking toward her then, yet so that still He shunn’d the meeting of her eye, he said, Virtuous and pious as thou art, and ripe For Heaven, O Lady, I must think the man Hath not by his good Angel been cast off For whom thy supplications rise. The Lord Whose justice doth in its unerring course Visit the children for the sire’s offence, Shall He not in his boundless mercy hear The daughter’s prayer, and for her sake restore The guilty parent? My soul shall with thine In earnest and continual duty join.... How deeply, how devoutly, He will know To whom the cry is raised! Thus having said, Deliberately, in self-possession still, Himself from that most painful interview Dispeeding, he withdrew. The watchful dog Follow’d his footsteps close. But he retired Into the thickest grove; there yielding way To his o’erburthen’d nature, from all eyes Apart, he cast himself upon the ground, And threw his arms around the dog, and cried, While tears stream’d down, Thou, Theron, then hast known Thy poor lost master, ... Theron, none but thou!

Meantime Pelayo up the vale pursued Eastward his way, before the sun had climb’d Auseva’s brow, or shed his silvering beams Upon Europa’s summit, where the snows Through all revolving seasons hold their seat. A happy man he went, his heart at rest, Of hope and virtue and affection full, To all exhilarating influences Of earth and heaven alive. With kindred joy He heard the lark, who from her airy height, On twinkling pinions poised, pour’d forth profuse, In thrilling sequence of exuberant song, As one whose joyous nature overflow’d With life and power, her rich and rapturous strain. The early bee, buzzing along the way, From flower to flower, bore gladness on its wing To his rejoicing sense; and he pursued, With quicken’d eye alert, the frolic hare, Where from the green herb in her wanton path She brush’d away the dews. For he long time, Far from his home and from his native hills, Had dwelt in bondage; and the mountain breeze, Which he had with the breath of infancy Inhaled, such impulse to his heart restored, As if the seasons had roll’d back, and life Enjoy’d a second spring. Through fertile fields He went, by cots with pear-trees overbower’d, Or spreading to the sun their trelliced vines; Through orchards now, and now by thymy banks, Where wooden hives in some warm nook were hid From wind and shower; and now thro’ shadowy paths, Where hazels fringed Pionia’s vocal stream; Till where the loftier hills to narrower bound Confine the vale, he reach’d those huts remote Which should hereafter to the noble line Of Soto origin and name impart: A gallant lineage, long in fields of war And faithful chronicler’s enduring page Blazon’d: but most by him illustrated, Avid of gold, yet greedier of renown, Whom not the spoils of Atabalipa Could satisfy insatiate, nor the fame Of that wide empire overthrown appease; But he to Florida’s disastrous shores In evil hour his gallant comrades led, Through savage woods and swamps, and hostile tribes, The Apalachian arrows, and the snares Of wilier foes, hunger, and thirst, and toil; Till from ambition’s feverish dream the touch Of Death awoke him; and when he had seen The fruit of all his treasures, all his toil, Foresight, and long endurance, fade away, Earth to the restless one refusing rest, In the great river’s midland bed he left His honour’d bones. A mountain rivulet, Now calm and lovely in its summer course, Held by those huts its everlasting way Towards Pionia. They whose flocks and herds Drink of its water call it Deva. Here Pelayo southward up the ruder vale Traced it, his guide unerring. Amid heaps Of mountain wreck, on either side thrown high, The wide-spread traces of its wintry might, The tortuous channel wound; o’er beds of sand Here silently it flows; here from the rock Rebutted, curls and eddies; plunges here Precipitate; here roaring among crags, It leaps and foams and whirls and hurries on. Grey alders here and bushy hazels hid The mossy side; their wreath’d and knotted feet Bared by the current, now against its force Repaying the support they found, upheld The bank secure. Here, bending to the stream, The birch fantastic stretch’d its rugged trunk, Tall and erect from whence, as from their base, Each like a tree, its silver branches grew. The cherry here hung for the birds of heaven Its rosy fruit on high. The elder there Its purple berries o’er the water bent, Heavily hanging. Here, amid the brook, Grey as the stone to which it clung, half root, Half trunk, the young ash rises from the rock; And there its parent lifts a lofty head, And spreads its graceful boughs; the passing wind With twinkling motion lifts the silent leaves, And shakes its rattling tufts. Soon had the Prince Behind him left the farthest dwelling-place Of man; no fields of waving corn were here, Nor wicker storehouse for the autumnal grain, Vineyard, nor bowery fig, nor fruitful grove; Only the rocky vale, the mountain stream, Incumbent crags, and hills that over hills Arose on either hand, here hung with woods, Here rich with heath, that o’er some smooth ascent Its purple glory spread, or golden gorse; Bare here, and striated with many a hue, Scored by the wintry rain; by torrents here Riven, and with overhanging rocks abrupt. Pelayo, upward as he cast his eyes Where crags loose-hanging o’er the narrow pass Impended, there beheld his country’s strength Insuperable, and in his heart rejoiced. Oh that the Musselman were here, he cried, With all his myriads! While thy day endures, Moor! thou may’st lord it in the plains; but here Hath Nature for the free and brave prepared A sanctuary, where no oppressor’s power, No might of human tyranny can pierce. The tears which started then sprang not alone From lofty thoughts of elevating joy; For love and admiration had their part, And virtuous pride. Here then thou hast retired, My Gaudiosa! in his heart he said; Excellent woman! ne’er was richer boon By fate benign to favour’d man indulged, Than when thou wert before the face of Heaven Given me to be my children’s mother, brave And virtuous as thou art! Here thou hast fled, Thou who wert nurst in palaces, to dwell In rocks and mountain caves!... The thought was proud, Yet not without a sense of inmost pain; For never had Pelayo till that hour So deeply felt the force of solitude. High over head the eagle soar’d serene, And the grey lizard on the rocks below Bask’d in the sun: no living creature else In this remotest wilderness was seen; Nor living voice was there, ... only the flow Of Deva, and the rushing of its springs Long in the distance heard, which nearer now, With endless repercussion deep and loud, Throbb’d on the dizzy sense. The ascending vale, Long straiten’d by the narrowing mountains, here Was closed. In front a rock, abrupt and bare, Stood eminent, in height exceeding far All edifice of human power, by King Or Caliph, or barbaric Sultan rear’d, Or mightier tyrants of the world of old, Assyrian or Egyptian, in their pride; Yet far above, beyond the reach of sight, Swell after swell, the heathery mountain rose. Here, in two sources, from the living rock The everlasting springs of Deva gush’d. Upon a smooth and grassy plat below, By Nature there as for an altar drest, They join’d their sister stream, which from the earth Well’d silently. In such a scene rude man With pardonable error might have knelt, Feeling a present Deity, and made His offering to the fountain Nymph devout. The arching rock disclosed above the springs A cave, where hugest son of giant birth, That e’er of old in forest of romance ’Gainst knights and ladies waged discourteous war, Erect within the portal might have stood. The broken stone allow’d for hand and foot No difficult ascent, above the base In height a tall man’s stature, measured thrice. No holier spot than Covadonga Spain Boasts in her wide extent, though all her realms Be with the noblest blood of martyrdom In elder or in later days enrich’d, And glorified with tales of heavenly aid By many a miracle made manifest; Nor in the heroic annals of her fame Doth she show forth a scene of more renown. Then, save the hunter, drawn in keen pursuit Beyond his wonted haunts, or shepherd’s boy, Following the pleasure of his straggling flock, None knew the place. Pelayo, when he saw Those glittering sources and their sacred cave, Took from his side the bugle silver-tipt, And with a breath long drawn and slow expired Sent forth that strain, which, echoing from the walls Of Cangas, wont to tell his glad return. When from the chace he came. At the first sound Favila started in the cave, and cried, My father’s horn!... A sudden flush suffused Hermesind’s cheek, and she with quicken’d eye Look’d eager to her mother silently; But Gaudiosa trembled and grew pale, Doubting her sense deceived. A second time The bugle breathed its well-known notes abroad And Hermesind around her mother’s neck Threw her white arms, and earnestly exclaim’d, ’Tis he!... But when a third and broader blast Rung in the echoing archway, ne’er did wand, With magic power endued, call up a sight So strange, as sure in that wild solitude It seem’d, when from the bowels of the rock The mother and her children hastened forth; She in the sober charms and dignity Of womanhood mature, nor verging yet Upon decay; in gesture like a Queen, Such inborn and habitual majesty Ennobled all her steps, ... or Priestess, chosen Because within such faultless work of Heaven Inspiring Deity might seem to make Its habitation known.... Favila such In form and stature as the Sea Nymph’s son, When that wise Centaur from his cave well-pleased Beheld the boy divine his growing strength Against some shaggy lionet essay, And fixing in the half-grown mane his hands, Roll with him in fierce dalliance intertwined. But like a creature of some higher sphere His sister came; she scarcely touch’d the rock, So light was Hermesind’s aërial speed. Beauty and grace and innocence in her In heavenly union shone. One who had held The faith of elder Greece, would sure have thought She was some glorious nymph of seed divine, Oread or Dryad, of Diana’s train The youngest and the loveliest: yea she seem’d Angel, or soul beatified, from realms Of bliss, on errand of parental love To earth re-sent, ... if tears and trembling limbs With such celestial natures might consist. Embraced by all, in turn embracing each, The husband and the father for awhile Forgot his country and all things beside: Life hath few moments of such pure delight, Such foretaste of the perfect joy of Heaven. And when the thought recurr’d of sufferings past, Perils which threaten’d still, and arduous toil Yet to be undergone, remember’d griefs Heighten’d the present happiness; and hope Upon the shadows of futurity Shone like the sun upon the morning mists, When driven before his rising rays they roll, And melt and leave the prospect bright and clear. When now Pelayo’s eyes had drank their fill Of love from those dear faces, he went up To view the hiding place. Spacious it was As that Sicilian cavern in the hill Wherein earth-shaking Neptune’s giant son Duly at eve was wont to fold his flock, Ere the wise Ithacan, over that brute force By wiles prevailing, for a life-long night Seel’d his broad eye. The healthful air had here Free entrance, and the cheerful light of heaven; But at the end, an opening in the floor Of rock disclosed a wider vault below, Which never sun-beam visited, nor breath Of vivifying morning came to cheer. No light was there but that which from above In dim reflection fell, or found its way, Broken and quivering, through the glassy stream, Where through the rock it gush’d. That shadowy light Sufficed to show, where from their secret bed The waters issued; with whose rapid course, And with whose everlasting cataracts Such motion to the chill damp atmosphere Was given, as if the solid walls of rock Were shaken with the sound. Glad to respire The upper air, Pelayo hasten’d back From that drear den. Look! Hermesind exclaim’d, Taking her father’s hand, thou hast not seen My chamber: ... See!... did ever ring-dove chuse In so secure a nook her hiding-place, Or build a warmer nest? ’Tis fragrant too, As warm, and not more sweet than soft; for thyme And myrtle with the elastic heath are laid, And, over all, this dry and pillowy moss ... Smiling she spake. Pelayo kiss’d the child, And, sighing, said within himself, I trust In Heaven, whene’er thy May of life is come, Sweet bird, that thou shalt have a blither bower! Fitlier, he thought, such chamber might beseem Some hermit of Hilarion’s school austere, Or old Antonius, he who from the hell Of his bewilder’d phantasy saw fiends In actual vision, a foul throng grotesque Of all horrific shapes and forms obscene Crowd in broad day before his open eyes. That feeling cast a momentary shade Of sadness o’er his soul. But deeper thoughts, If he might have foreseen the things to come, Would there have fill’d him; for within that cave His own remains were one day doom’d to find Their final place of rest; and in that spot, Where that dear child with innocent delight Had spread her mossy couch, the sepulchre Shall in the consecrated rock be hewn, Where with Alphonso, her beloved lord, Laid side by side, must Hermesind partake The everlasting marriage-bed, when he, Leaving a name perdurable on earth, Hath changed his earthly for a heavenly crown. Dear child, upon that fated spot she stood, In all the beauty of her opening youth, In health’s rich bloom, in virgin innocence, While her eyes sparkled and her heart o’erflow’d With pure and perfect joy of filial love. Many a slow century since that day hath fill’d Its course, and countless multitudes have trod With pilgrim feet that consecrated cave; Yet not in all those ages, amid all The untold concourse, hath one breast been swoln With such emotions as Pelayo felt That hour. O Gaudiosa, he exclaim’d, And thou couldst seek for shelter here, amid This aweful solitude, in mountain caves! Thou noble spirit! Oh when hearts like thine Grow on this sacred soil, would it not be In me, thy husband, double infamy, And tenfold guilt, if I despair’d of Spain? In all her visitations, favouring Heaven Hath left her still the unconquerable mind; And thus being worthy of redemption, sure Is she to be redeem’d. Beholding her Through tears he spake, and prest upon her lips A kiss of deepest love. Think ever thus, She answer’d, and that faith will give the power In which it trusts. When to this mountain hold These children, thy dear images, I brought, I said within myself, where should they fly But to the bosom of their native hills? I brought them here as to a sanctuary, Where, for the temple’s sake, the indwelling God Would guard his supplicants. O my dear Lord, Proud as I was to know that they were thine, Was it a sin if I almost believed, That Spain, her destiny being link’d with theirs, Must save the precious charge? So let us think, The chief replied, so feel and teach and act. Spain is our common parent: let the sons Be to the parent true, and in her strength And Heaven, their sure deliverance they will find.

O holiest Mary, Maid and Mother! thou In Covadonga, at thy rocky shrine, Hast witness’d whatsoe’er of human bliss Heart can conceive most perfect! Faithful love, Long crost by envious stars, hath there attain’d Its crown, in endless matrimony given; The youthful mother there hath to the font Her first-born borne, and there, with deeper sense Of gratitude for that dear babe redeem’d From threatening death, return’d to pay her vows. But ne’er on nuptial, nor baptismal day, Nor from their grateful pilgrimage discharged, Did happier group their way down Deva’s vale Rejoicing hold, than this blest family, O’er whom the mighty Spirit of the Land Spread his protecting wings. The children, free In youthhead’s happy season from all cares That might disturb the hour, yet capable Of that intense and unalloyed delight Which childhood feels when it enjoys again The dear parental presence long deprived; Nor were the parents now less bless’d than they, Even to the height of human happiness; For Gaudiosa and her Lord that hour Let no misgiving thoughts intrude: she fix’d Her hopes on him, and his were fix’d on Heaven; And hope in that courageous heart derived Such rooted strength and confidence assured In righteousness, that ’twas to him like faith ... An everlasting sunshine of the soul, Illumining and quickening all its powers. But on Pionia’s side meantime a heart As generous, and as full of noble thoughts, Lay stricken with the deadliest bolts of grief. Upon a smooth grey stone sate Roderick there; The wind above him stirr’d the hazel boughs, And murmuring at his feet the river ran. He sate with folded arms and head declined Upon his breast, feeding on bitter thoughts, Till nature gave him in the exhausted sense Of woe a respite something like repose; And then the quiet sound of gentle winds And waters with their lulling consonance Beguiled him of himself. Of all within Oblivious there he sate, sentient alone Of outward nature, ... of the whispering leaves That soothed his ear, ... the genial breath of Heaven That fann’d his cheek, ... the stream’s perpetual flow, That, with its shadows and its glancing lights, Dimples and thread-like motions infinite, For ever varying and yet still the same, Like time toward eternity, ran by. Resting his head upon his master’s knees, Upon the bank beside him Theron lay. What matters change of state and circumstance, Or lapse of years, with all their dread events, To him? What matters it that Roderick wears The crown no longer, nor the sceptre wields?... It is the dear-loved hand, whose friendly touch Had flatter’d him so oft; it is the voice, At whose glad summons to the field so oft From slumber he had started, shaking off Dreams of the chace, to share the actual joy; The eye, whose recognition he was wont To watch and welcome with exultant tongue. A coming step, unheard by Roderick, roused His watchful ear, and turning he beheld Siverian. Father, said the good old man, As Theron rose and fawn’d about his knees, Hast thou some charm, which draws about thee thus The hearts of all our house, ... even to the beast That lacks discourse of reason, but too oft, With uncorrupted feeling and dumb faith, Puts lordly man to shame?... The king replied, ’Tis that mysterious sense by which mankind To fix their friendships and their loves are led, And which with fainter influence doth extend To such poor things as this. As we put off The cares and passions of this fretful world, It may be too that we thus far approach To elder nature, and regain in part The privilege through sin in Eden lost. The timid hare soon learns that she may trust The solitary penitent, and birds Will light upon the hermit’s harmless hand. Thus Roderick answer’d in excursive speech, Thinking to draw the old man’s mind from what Might touch him else too nearly, and himself Disposed to follow on the lure he threw, As one whom such imaginations led Out of the world of his own miseries. But to regardless ears his words were given, For on the dog Siverian gazed the while, Pursuing his own thoughts. Thou hast not felt, Exclaim’d the old man, the earthquake and the storm; The kingdom’s overthrow, the wreck of Spain, The ruin of thy royal master’s house, Have reach’d not thee!... Then turning to the King, When the destroying enemy drew nigh Toledo, he continued, and we fled Before their fury, even while her grief Was fresh, my Mistress would not leave behind This faithful creature. Well we knew she thought Of Roderick then, although she named him not; For never since the fatal certainty Fell on us all, hath that unhappy name, Save in her prayers, been known to pass her lips Before this day. She names him now, and weeps; But now her tears are tears of thankfulness, For blessed hath thy coming been to her And all who loved the King. His faltering voice Here fail’d him, and he paused: recovering soon, When that poor injured Lady, he pursued, Did in my presence to the Prince absolve The unhappy King.... Absolve him! Roderick cried, And in that strong emotion turn’d his face Sternly toward Siverian, for the sense Of shame and self-reproach drove from his min All other thoughts. The good old man replied Of human judgements humanly I speak. Who knows not what Pelayo’s life hath been? Not happier in all dear domestic ties, Than worthy for his virtue of the bliss Which is that virtue’s fruit; and yet did he Absolve, upon Florinda’s tale, the King. Siverian, thus he said, what most I hoped, And still within my secret heart believed, Is now made certain. Roderick hath been More sinn’d against than sinning. And with that He claspt his hands, and, lifting them to Heaven, Cried, Would to God that he were yet alive! For not more gladly did I draw my sword Against Witiza in our common cause, Than I would fight beneath his banners now, And vindicate his name! Did he say this? The Prince? Pelayo? in astonishment Roderick exclaim’d.... He said it, quoth the old man. None better knew his kinsman’s noble heart, None loved him better, none bewail’d him more: And as he felt, like me, for his reproach A deeper grief than for his death, even so He cherish’d in his heart the constant thought Something was yet untold, which, being known, Would palliate his offence, and make the fall Of one till then so excellently good, Less monstrous, less revolting to belief, More to be pitied, more to be forgiven. While thus he spake, the fall’n King felt his face Burn, and his blood flow fast. Down, guilty thoughts! Firmly he said within his soul; lie still, Thou heart of flesh! I thought thou hadst been quell’d, And quell’d thou shalt be! Help me, O my God, That I may crucify this inward foe! Yea, thou hast help’d me, Father! I am strong, O Saviour, in thy strength. As he breath’d thus His inward supplications, the old man Eyed him with frequent and unsteady looks. He had a secret trembling on his lips, And hesitated, still irresolute In utterance to embody the dear hope: Fain would he have it strengthen’d and assured By this concording judgement, yet he fear’d To have it chill’d in cold accoil. At length Venturing, he brake with interrupted speech The troubled silence. Father Maccabee, I cannot rest till I have laid my heart Open before thee. When Pelayo wish’d That his poor kinsman were alive to rear His banner once again, a sudden thought.. A hope.. a fancy.. what shall it be call’d? Possess’d me, that perhaps the wish might see Its glad accomplishment,.. that Roderick lived, And might in glory take the field once more For Spain.... I see thou startest at the thought! Yet spurn it not with hasty unbelief, As though ’twere utterly beyond the scope Of possible contingency. I think That I have calmly satisfied myself How this is more than idle fancy, more Than mere imaginations of a mind Which from its wishes builds a baseless faith. His horse, his royal robe, his horned helm, His mail and sword were found upon the field; But if King Roderick had in battle fallen, That sword, I know, would only have been found Clench’d in the hand which, living, knew so well To wield the dreadful steel! Not in the throng Confounded, nor amid the torpid stream, Opening with ignominious arms a way For flight, would he have perish’d! Where the strife Was hottest, ring’d about with slaughter’d foes, Should Roderick have been found: by this sure mark Ye should have known him, if nought else remain’d, That his whole body had been gored with wounds, And quill’d with spears, as if the Moors had felt That in his single life the victory lay, More than in all the host! Siverian’s eyes Shone with a youthful ardour while he spake, His gathering brow grew stern, and as he raised His arm, a warrior’s impulse character’d The impassion’d gesture. But the King was calm And heard him with unchanging countenance; For he had taken his resolve, and felt Once more the peace of God within his soul, As in that hour when by his father’s grave He knelt before Pelayo. Soon the old man Pursued in calmer tones, ... Thus much I dare Believe, that Roderick fell not on that day When treason brought about his overthrow. If yet he live, for sure I think I know His noble mind, ’tis in some wilderness, Where, in some savage den inhumed, he drags The weary load of life, and on his flesh As on a mortal enemy, inflicts Fierce vengeance with immitigable hand. Oh that I knew but where to bend my way In his dear search! my voice perhaps might reach His heart, might reconcile him to himself, Restore him to his mother ere she dies, His people and his country: with the sword, Them and his own good name should he redeem. Oh might I but behold him once again Leading to battle these intrepid bands, Such as he was, ... yea rising from his fall More glorious, more beloved! Soon I believe Joy would accomplish then what grief hath fail’d To do with this old heart, and I should die Clasping his knees with such intense delight, That when I woke in Heaven, even Heaven itself Could have no higher happiness in store. Thus fervently he spake, and copious tears Ran down his cheeks. Full oft the Royal Goth, Since he came forth again among mankind, Had trembled lest some curious eye should read His lineaments too closely; now he long’d To fall upon the neck of that old man, And give his full heart utterance. But the sense Of duty, by the pride of self-controul Corroborate, made him steadily repress His yearning nature. Whether Roderick live, Paying in penitence the bitter price Of sin, he answered, or if earth hath given Rest to his earthly part, is only known To him and Heaven. Dead is he to the world; And let not these imaginations rob His soul of thy continual prayers, whose aid Too surely, in whatever world, he needs. The faithful love that mitigates his fault, Heavenward addrest, may mitigate his doom. Living or dead, old man, be sure his soul, ... It were unworthy else, ... doth hold with thine Entire communion! Doubt not he relies Firmly on thee, as on a father’s love, Counts on thy offices, and joins with thee In sympathy and fervent act of faith, Though regions, or though worlds, should intervene. Lost as he is, to Roderick this must be Thy first, best, dearest duty; next must be To hold right onward in that noble path, Which he would counsel, could his voice be heard. Now therefore aid me, while I call upon The Leaders and the People, that this day We may acclaim Pelayo for our King.