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,
The dreadful tale! I told him of my vow;
And from sincere and scrupulous piety,
Of obstinate will perverse, the which, with pride,
And shame, and self-reproach, doth sometimes
With anxious looks reveal'd what wandering words But more, I fear me, in that desperate mood
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
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
in 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
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 For transitory wrong, which fate perverse —
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,
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 recompense of life-long love
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
And in my agony I cursed the man
And chok'd her speech. But Roderick sat the Whom I loved best.
while
Covering his face with both his hands close-press'd,
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 redeemed 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.
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,
Forever 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
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
Erelong 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,
Preeminent, their giant bulk display,
Darkening with earliest shade, the distant vales
Of Leon, and with evening premature.
Far in Cantabria eastward, the long line
Of weakness and of guilt. I wrong'd thee, Extends beyond the reach of eagle's eye,
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 odor all around;
Strow'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
Pendent, 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
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 enterprise
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
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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 sat 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 goatherd could he see, nor traveller,
Nor huntsman early at his sports afield,
Nor angler following up the mountain glen
Foredoom'd; and deserts where, in years to come, 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 favorite 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 chestnut-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. Erelong 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 swarin 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, Entreats admission. All is ardor 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, Put 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 enterprise
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!
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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
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,
Here, in thy presence, thus we pledge our hands! With boyish ardor, that the day were come
When Pedro to his prayers would grant the boon,
Strange hour to plight espousals! yielding half His dearest heart's desire. Count Pedro then To superstitious thoughts, Favinia cried, Would smile, and in his heart rejoice to see
And these strange witnesses! - The times are The noble instinct manifest itself.
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 enterprise, 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
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
Do thou the rest, Pelayo! said the Count;
So shall the ceremony of this hour
Exceed in honor what in form it lacks.
The Prince from Hoya's faithful hand receiv'd
Their force conjoin'd. Now, said he, we must The sword; he girt it round the youth, and drew
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 armor 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!
The servants of the house, with emulous love,
Dispute the charge. One brings the cuirass, one
The buckler; this exultingly 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 armor, perfect in their craft;
With curious skill they wrought it, framed alike
To shine amid the pageantry of war,
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 honor 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 | For us, and for our seed! with one accord
And thine own noble nature more than all,
Are sureties for thee. But these dreadful times
Demand a further 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, forever 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
They cross'd their fervent arms, and with bent head
Inclined toward that awful 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
The sword, and looking, while his heart beat fast, Wafted upon the wind, grew audible
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!
In that deep hush of feeling, like the voice
Of waters in the stillness of the night.
THAT awful 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
Bear witness, ancient Mountains! cried the Hastening toward Pedro's hall. Their forward
And ye, my native Streams, who hold your course
Forever; 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.
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,
Was check'd when they beheld his banner spread,
And saw his order'd spears in prompt array,
Marshalled to meet their coming. But the pride
Of power and insolence of long command
Prick'd on their Chief presumptuous: We are
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 Mussulmen,
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,
Retained a watchful eye. The gallant boy
Gave his good sword that hour its earliest taste
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