VII.RODERICK AND PELAYO.

’Twas not in vain that on her absent son,Pelayo’s mother from the bed of deathCall’d for forgiveness, and in agonyBesought his prayers; all guilty as she was,Sure he had not been human, if that cryHad fail’d to pierce him. When he heard the taleHe bless’d the messenger, even while his speechWas faltering, ... while from head to foot he shookWith icey feelings from his inmost heartEffused. It changed the nature of his woe,Making the burthen more endurable:The life-long sorrow that remain’d, becameA healing and a chastening grief, and broughtHis soul, in close communion, nearer Heaven.For he had been her first-born, and the loveWhich at her breast he drew, and from her smiles,And from her voice of tenderness imbibed,Gave such unnatural horror to her crimes,That when the thought came over him, it seem’dAs if the milk which with his infant lifeHad blended, thrill’d like poison through his frame.It was a woe beyond all reach of hope,Till with the dreadful tale of her remorseFaith touch’d his heart; and ever from that dayDid he for her who bore him, night and morn,Pour out the anguish of his soul in prayer:But chiefly as the night return’d, which heardHer last expiring groans of penitence,Then through the long and painful hours, beforeThe altar, like a penitent himself,He kept his vigils; and when Roderick’s swordSubdued Witiza, and the land was free,Duly upon her grave he offer’d upHis yearly sacrifice of agonyAnd prayer. This was the night, and he it wasWho now before Siverian and the KingStood up in sackcloth.The old man, from fearRecovering and from wonder, knew him first.It is the Prince! he cried, and bending downEmbraced his knees. The action and the wordAwaken’d Roderick; he shook off the loadOf struggling thoughts, which pressing on his heart,Held him like one entranced; yet, all untaughtTo bend before the face of man, confusedAwhile he stood, forgetful of his part.But when Siverian cried, My Lord, my Lord,Now God be praised that I have found thee thus,My Lord and Prince, Spain’s only hope and mine!Then Roderick, echoing him, exclaim’d, My Lord,And Prince, Pelayo!... and approaching near,He bent his knee obeisant: but his headEarthward inclined; while the old man, looking upFrom his low gesture to Pelayo’s face,Wept at beholding him for grief and joy.Siverian! cried the chief, ... of whom hath DeathBereaved me, that thou comest to Cordoba?...Children, or wife?... Or hath the merciless scytheOf this abhorr’d and jealous tyrannyMade my house desolate at one wide sweep?They are as thou couldst wish, the old man replied,Wert thou but lord of thine own house again,And Spain were Spain once more. A tale of illI bear, but one that touches not the heartLike what thy fears forebode. The renegadeNumacian woos thy sister, and she lendsTo the vile slave, unworthily, her ear:The Lady Gaudiosa hath in vainWarn’d her of all the evils which awaitA union thus accurst: she sets at noughtHer faith, her lineage, and thy certain wrath.Pelayo hearing him, remain’d awhileSilent; then turning to his mother’s grave, ...O thou poor dust, hath then the infectious taintSurvived thy dread remorse, that it should runIn Guisla’s veins? he cried; ... I should have heardThis shameful sorrow any where but here!...Humble thyself, proud heart; thou, gracious Heaven,Be merciful!... it is the original flaw, ...And what are we?... a weak unhappy race,Born to our sad inheritance of sinAnd death!... He smote his forehead as he spake,And from his head the ashes fell, like snowShaken from some dry beech-leaves, when a birdLights on the bending spray. A little whileIn silence, rather than in thought, he stoodPassive beneath the sorrow: turning then,And what doth Gaudiosa counsel me?He ask’d the old man; for she hath ever beenMy wise and faithful counsellor.... He replied,The Lady Gaudiosa bade me sayShe sees the danger which on every partBesets her husband’s house.... Here she had ceased;But when my noble Mistress gave in charge,How I should tell thee that in evil timesThe bravest counsels ever are the best;Then that high-minded Lady thus rejoin’d,Whatever be my Lord’s resolve, he knowsI bear a mind prepared.Brave spirits! criedPelayo, worthy to remove all stainOf weakness from their sex! I should be lessThan man, if, drawing strength where others findTheir hearts most open to assault of fear,I quail’d at danger. Never be it saidOf Spain, that in the hour of her distressHer women were as heroes, but her menPerform’d the woman’s part.Roderick at thatLook’d up, and taking up the word, exclaim’d,O Prince, in better days the pride of Spain,And prostrate as she lies, her surest hope,Hear now my tale. The fire which seem’d extinctHath risen revigorate: a living sparkFrom Auria’s ashes, by a woman’s handPreserved and quicken’d, kindles far and wideThe beacon-flame o’er all the Asturian hills.There hath a vow been offer’d up, which bindsUs and our children’s children to the workOf holy hatred. In the name of SpainThat vow hath been pronounced, and register’dAbove, to be the bond whereby we standFor condemnation or acceptance. HeavenReceived the irrevocable vow, and EarthMust witness its fulfilment; Earth and HeavenCall upon thee, Pelayo! Upon theeThe spirits of thy royal ancestorsLook down expectant; unto thee, from fieldsLaid waste, and hamlets burnt, and cities sack’d,The blood of infancy and helpless ageCries out; thy native mountains call for thee,Echoing from all their armed sons thy name.And deem not thou that hot impatience goadsThy countrymen to counsels immature.Odoar and Urban from Visonia’s banksSend me, their sworn and trusted messenger,To summon thee, and tell thee in their nameThat now the hour is come: For sure it seems,Thus saith the Primate, Heaven’s high will to rearUpon the soil of Spain a Spanish throne,Restoring in thy native line, O Prince,The sceptre to the Spaniard. Worthy sonOf that most ancient and heroic race,Which with unweariable endurance stillHath striven against its mightier enemies,Roman or Carthaginian, Greek or Goth;So often by superior arms oppress’d,More often by superior arts beguiled;Yet amid all its sufferings, all the wasteOf sword and fire remorselessly employ’d,Unconquer’d and unconquerable still; ...Son of that injured and illustrious stock,Stand forward thou, draw forth the sword of Spain,Restore them to their rights, too long withheld,And place upon thy brow the Spanish crown.When Roderick ceased, the princely MountaineerGazed on the passionate orator awhile,With eyes intently fix’d, and thoughtful brow;Then turning to the altar, he let fallThe sackcloth robe, which late with folded armsAgainst his heart was prest; and stretching forthHis hands toward the crucifix, exclaim’d,My God and my Redeemer! where but here,Before thy aweful presence, in this garb,With penitential ashes thus bestrewn,Could I so fitly answer to the callOf Spain; and for her sake, and in thy name,Accept the Crown of Thorns she proffers me!And where but here, said Roderick in his heart,Could I so properly, with humbled kneeAnd willing soul, confirm my forfeiture?...The action follow’d on that secret thought:He knelt, and took Pelayo’s hand, and cried,First of the Spaniards, let me with this kissDo homage to thee here, my Lord and King!...With voice unchanged and steady countenanceHe spake; but when Siverian follow’d him,The old man trembled as his lips pronouncedThe faltering vow; and rising he exclaim’d,God grant thee, O my Prince, a better fateThan thy poor kinsman’s, who in happier daysReceived thy homage here! Grief choak’d his speechAnd, bursting into tears, he sobb’d aloud.Tears too adown Pelayo’s manly cheekRoll’d silently. Roderick alone appear’dUnmoved and calm; for now the royal GothHad offer’d his accepted sacrifice,And therefore in his soul he felt that peaceWhich follows painful duty well perform’d, ...Perfect and heavenly peace, ... the peace of God.

’Twas not in vain that on her absent son,

Pelayo’s mother from the bed of death

Call’d for forgiveness, and in agony

Besought his prayers; all guilty as she was,

Sure he had not been human, if that cry

Had fail’d to pierce him. When he heard the tale

He bless’d the messenger, even while his speech

Was faltering, ... while from head to foot he shook

With icey feelings from his inmost heart

Effused. It changed the nature of his woe,

Making the burthen more endurable:

The life-long sorrow that remain’d, became

A healing and a chastening grief, and brought

His soul, in close communion, nearer Heaven.

For he had been her first-born, and the love

Which at her breast he drew, and from her smiles,

And from her voice of tenderness imbibed,

Gave such unnatural horror to her crimes,

That when the thought came over him, it seem’d

As if the milk which with his infant life

Had blended, thrill’d like poison through his frame.

It was a woe beyond all reach of hope,

Till with the dreadful tale of her remorse

Faith touch’d his heart; and ever from that day

Did he for her who bore him, night and morn,

Pour out the anguish of his soul in prayer:

But chiefly as the night return’d, which heard

Her last expiring groans of penitence,

Then through the long and painful hours, before

The altar, like a penitent himself,

He kept his vigils; and when Roderick’s sword

Subdued Witiza, and the land was free,

Duly upon her grave he offer’d up

His yearly sacrifice of agony

And prayer. This was the night, and he it was

Who now before Siverian and the King

Stood up in sackcloth.

The old man, from fear

Recovering and from wonder, knew him first.

It is the Prince! he cried, and bending down

Embraced his knees. The action and the word

Awaken’d Roderick; he shook off the load

Of struggling thoughts, which pressing on his heart,

Held him like one entranced; yet, all untaught

To bend before the face of man, confused

Awhile he stood, forgetful of his part.

But when Siverian cried, My Lord, my Lord,

Now God be praised that I have found thee thus,

My Lord and Prince, Spain’s only hope and mine!

Then Roderick, echoing him, exclaim’d, My Lord,

And Prince, Pelayo!... and approaching near,

He bent his knee obeisant: but his head

Earthward inclined; while the old man, looking up

From his low gesture to Pelayo’s face,

Wept at beholding him for grief and joy.

Siverian! cried the chief, ... of whom hath DeathBereaved me, that thou comest to Cordoba?...Children, or wife?... Or hath the merciless scytheOf this abhorr’d and jealous tyrannyMade my house desolate at one wide sweep?

Siverian! cried the chief, ... of whom hath Death

Bereaved me, that thou comest to Cordoba?...

Children, or wife?... Or hath the merciless scythe

Of this abhorr’d and jealous tyranny

Made my house desolate at one wide sweep?

They are as thou couldst wish, the old man replied,Wert thou but lord of thine own house again,And Spain were Spain once more. A tale of illI bear, but one that touches not the heartLike what thy fears forebode. The renegadeNumacian woos thy sister, and she lendsTo the vile slave, unworthily, her ear:The Lady Gaudiosa hath in vainWarn’d her of all the evils which awaitA union thus accurst: she sets at noughtHer faith, her lineage, and thy certain wrath.

They are as thou couldst wish, the old man replied,

Wert thou but lord of thine own house again,

And Spain were Spain once more. A tale of ill

I bear, but one that touches not the heart

Like what thy fears forebode. The renegade

Numacian woos thy sister, and she lends

To the vile slave, unworthily, her ear:

The Lady Gaudiosa hath in vain

Warn’d her of all the evils which await

A union thus accurst: she sets at nought

Her faith, her lineage, and thy certain wrath.

Pelayo hearing him, remain’d awhileSilent; then turning to his mother’s grave, ...O thou poor dust, hath then the infectious taintSurvived thy dread remorse, that it should runIn Guisla’s veins? he cried; ... I should have heardThis shameful sorrow any where but here!...Humble thyself, proud heart; thou, gracious Heaven,Be merciful!... it is the original flaw, ...And what are we?... a weak unhappy race,Born to our sad inheritance of sinAnd death!... He smote his forehead as he spake,And from his head the ashes fell, like snowShaken from some dry beech-leaves, when a birdLights on the bending spray. A little whileIn silence, rather than in thought, he stoodPassive beneath the sorrow: turning then,And what doth Gaudiosa counsel me?He ask’d the old man; for she hath ever beenMy wise and faithful counsellor.... He replied,The Lady Gaudiosa bade me sayShe sees the danger which on every partBesets her husband’s house.... Here she had ceased;But when my noble Mistress gave in charge,How I should tell thee that in evil timesThe bravest counsels ever are the best;Then that high-minded Lady thus rejoin’d,Whatever be my Lord’s resolve, he knowsI bear a mind prepared.Brave spirits! criedPelayo, worthy to remove all stainOf weakness from their sex! I should be lessThan man, if, drawing strength where others findTheir hearts most open to assault of fear,I quail’d at danger. Never be it saidOf Spain, that in the hour of her distressHer women were as heroes, but her menPerform’d the woman’s part.Roderick at thatLook’d up, and taking up the word, exclaim’d,O Prince, in better days the pride of Spain,And prostrate as she lies, her surest hope,Hear now my tale. The fire which seem’d extinctHath risen revigorate: a living sparkFrom Auria’s ashes, by a woman’s handPreserved and quicken’d, kindles far and wideThe beacon-flame o’er all the Asturian hills.There hath a vow been offer’d up, which bindsUs and our children’s children to the workOf holy hatred. In the name of SpainThat vow hath been pronounced, and register’dAbove, to be the bond whereby we standFor condemnation or acceptance. HeavenReceived the irrevocable vow, and EarthMust witness its fulfilment; Earth and HeavenCall upon thee, Pelayo! Upon theeThe spirits of thy royal ancestorsLook down expectant; unto thee, from fieldsLaid waste, and hamlets burnt, and cities sack’d,The blood of infancy and helpless ageCries out; thy native mountains call for thee,Echoing from all their armed sons thy name.And deem not thou that hot impatience goadsThy countrymen to counsels immature.Odoar and Urban from Visonia’s banksSend me, their sworn and trusted messenger,To summon thee, and tell thee in their nameThat now the hour is come: For sure it seems,Thus saith the Primate, Heaven’s high will to rearUpon the soil of Spain a Spanish throne,Restoring in thy native line, O Prince,The sceptre to the Spaniard. Worthy sonOf that most ancient and heroic race,Which with unweariable endurance stillHath striven against its mightier enemies,Roman or Carthaginian, Greek or Goth;So often by superior arms oppress’d,More often by superior arts beguiled;Yet amid all its sufferings, all the wasteOf sword and fire remorselessly employ’d,Unconquer’d and unconquerable still; ...Son of that injured and illustrious stock,Stand forward thou, draw forth the sword of Spain,Restore them to their rights, too long withheld,And place upon thy brow the Spanish crown.

Pelayo hearing him, remain’d awhile

Silent; then turning to his mother’s grave, ...

O thou poor dust, hath then the infectious taint

Survived thy dread remorse, that it should run

In Guisla’s veins? he cried; ... I should have heard

This shameful sorrow any where but here!...

Humble thyself, proud heart; thou, gracious Heaven,

Be merciful!... it is the original flaw, ...

And what are we?... a weak unhappy race,

Born to our sad inheritance of sin

And death!... He smote his forehead as he spake,

And from his head the ashes fell, like snow

Shaken from some dry beech-leaves, when a bird

Lights on the bending spray. A little while

In silence, rather than in thought, he stood

Passive beneath the sorrow: turning then,

And what doth Gaudiosa counsel me?

He ask’d the old man; for she hath ever been

My wise and faithful counsellor.... He replied,

The Lady Gaudiosa bade me say

She sees the danger which on every part

Besets her husband’s house.... Here she had ceased;

But when my noble Mistress gave in charge,

How I should tell thee that in evil times

The bravest counsels ever are the best;

Then that high-minded Lady thus rejoin’d,

Whatever be my Lord’s resolve, he knows

I bear a mind prepared.

Brave spirits! cried

Pelayo, worthy to remove all stain

Of weakness from their sex! I should be less

Than man, if, drawing strength where others find

Their hearts most open to assault of fear,

I quail’d at danger. Never be it said

Of Spain, that in the hour of her distress

Her women were as heroes, but her men

Perform’d the woman’s part.

Roderick at that

Look’d up, and taking up the word, exclaim’d,

O Prince, in better days the pride of Spain,

And prostrate as she lies, her surest hope,

Hear now my tale. The fire which seem’d extinct

Hath risen revigorate: a living spark

From Auria’s ashes, by a woman’s hand

Preserved and quicken’d, kindles far and wide

The beacon-flame o’er all the Asturian hills.

There hath a vow been offer’d up, which binds

Us and our children’s children to the work

Of holy hatred. In the name of Spain

That vow hath been pronounced, and register’d

Above, to be the bond whereby we stand

For condemnation or acceptance. Heaven

Received the irrevocable vow, and Earth

Must witness its fulfilment; Earth and Heaven

Call upon thee, Pelayo! Upon thee

The spirits of thy royal ancestors

Look down expectant; unto thee, from fields

Laid waste, and hamlets burnt, and cities sack’d,

The blood of infancy and helpless age

Cries out; thy native mountains call for thee,

Echoing from all their armed sons thy name.

And deem not thou that hot impatience goads

Thy countrymen to counsels immature.

Odoar and Urban from Visonia’s banks

Send me, their sworn and trusted messenger,

To summon thee, and tell thee in their name

That now the hour is come: For sure it seems,

Thus saith the Primate, Heaven’s high will to rear

Upon the soil of Spain a Spanish throne,

Restoring in thy native line, O Prince,

The sceptre to the Spaniard. Worthy son

Of that most ancient and heroic race,

Which with unweariable endurance still

Hath striven against its mightier enemies,

Roman or Carthaginian, Greek or Goth;

So often by superior arms oppress’d,

More often by superior arts beguiled;

Yet amid all its sufferings, all the waste

Of sword and fire remorselessly employ’d,

Unconquer’d and unconquerable still; ...

Son of that injured and illustrious stock,

Stand forward thou, draw forth the sword of Spain,

Restore them to their rights, too long withheld,

And place upon thy brow the Spanish crown.

When Roderick ceased, the princely MountaineerGazed on the passionate orator awhile,With eyes intently fix’d, and thoughtful brow;Then turning to the altar, he let fallThe sackcloth robe, which late with folded armsAgainst his heart was prest; and stretching forthHis hands toward the crucifix, exclaim’d,My God and my Redeemer! where but here,Before thy aweful presence, in this garb,With penitential ashes thus bestrewn,Could I so fitly answer to the callOf Spain; and for her sake, and in thy name,Accept the Crown of Thorns she proffers me!

When Roderick ceased, the princely Mountaineer

Gazed on the passionate orator awhile,

With eyes intently fix’d, and thoughtful brow;

Then turning to the altar, he let fall

The sackcloth robe, which late with folded arms

Against his heart was prest; and stretching forth

His hands toward the crucifix, exclaim’d,

My God and my Redeemer! where but here,

Before thy aweful presence, in this garb,

With penitential ashes thus bestrewn,

Could I so fitly answer to the call

Of Spain; and for her sake, and in thy name,

Accept the Crown of Thorns she proffers me!

And where but here, said Roderick in his heart,Could I so properly, with humbled kneeAnd willing soul, confirm my forfeiture?...The action follow’d on that secret thought:He knelt, and took Pelayo’s hand, and cried,First of the Spaniards, let me with this kissDo homage to thee here, my Lord and King!...With voice unchanged and steady countenanceHe spake; but when Siverian follow’d him,The old man trembled as his lips pronouncedThe faltering vow; and rising he exclaim’d,God grant thee, O my Prince, a better fateThan thy poor kinsman’s, who in happier daysReceived thy homage here! Grief choak’d his speechAnd, bursting into tears, he sobb’d aloud.Tears too adown Pelayo’s manly cheekRoll’d silently. Roderick alone appear’dUnmoved and calm; for now the royal GothHad offer’d his accepted sacrifice,And therefore in his soul he felt that peaceWhich follows painful duty well perform’d, ...Perfect and heavenly peace, ... the peace of God.

And where but here, said Roderick in his heart,

Could I so properly, with humbled knee

And willing soul, confirm my forfeiture?...

The action follow’d on that secret thought:

He knelt, and took Pelayo’s hand, and cried,

First of the Spaniards, let me with this kiss

Do homage to thee here, my Lord and King!...

With voice unchanged and steady countenance

He spake; but when Siverian follow’d him,

The old man trembled as his lips pronounced

The faltering vow; and rising he exclaim’d,

God grant thee, O my Prince, a better fate

Than thy poor kinsman’s, who in happier days

Received thy homage here! Grief choak’d his speech

And, bursting into tears, he sobb’d aloud.

Tears too adown Pelayo’s manly cheek

Roll’d silently. Roderick alone appear’d

Unmoved and calm; for now the royal Goth

Had offer’d his accepted sacrifice,

And therefore in his soul he felt that peace

Which follows painful duty well perform’d, ...

Perfect and heavenly peace, ... the peace of God.

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