VIII.ALPHONSO.
Fain would Pelayo have that hour obey’dThe call, commencing his adventurous flight,As one whose soul impatiently enduredHis country’s thraldom, and in daily prayerImploring her deliverance, cried to Heaven,How long, O Lord, how long!... But other thoughtsCurbing his spirit, made him yet awhileSustain the weight of bondage. Him alone,Of all the Gothic baronage, the MoorsWatch’d with regard of wary policy, ...Knowing his powerful name, his noble mind,And how in him the old Iberian blood,Of royal and remotest ancestry,From undisputed source flow’d undefiled;His mother’s after-guilt attainting notThe claim legitimate he derived from her,Her first-born in her time of innocence.He too of Chindasuintho’s regal lineSole remnant now, drew after him the loveOf all true Goths, uniting in himselfThus by this double right, the general heartOf Spain. For this the renegado crew,Wretches in whom their conscious guilt and fearEngender’d cruellest hatred, still advisedThe extinction of Pelayo’s house; but mostThe apostate Prelate, in iniquityWitiza’s genuine brother as in blood,Orpas, pursued his life. He never ceasedWith busy zeal, true traitor, to infuseHis deadly rancour in the Moorish chief;Their only danger, ever he observed,Was from Pelayo; root his lineage out,The Caliph’s empire then would be secure,And universal Spain, all hope of changeBeing lost, receive the Prophet’s conquering law.Then did the Arch-villain urge the Moor at onceTo cut off future peril, telling himDeath was a trusty keeper, and that noneE’er broke the prison of the grave. But hereKeen malice overshot its mark: the Moor,Who from the plunder of their native landHad bought the recreant crew that join’d his armsOr cheaplier with their own possessions bribedTheir sordid souls, saw through the flimsy showOf policy wherewith they sought to cloakOld enmity, and selfish aims: he scorn’dTo let their private purposes inclineHis counsels, and believing Spain subdued,Smiled, in the pride of power and victory,Disdainful at the thought of farther strife.Howbeit he held Pelayo at his court,And told him that until his countrymenSubmissively should lay their weapons down,He from his children and paternal hearthApart must dwell; nor hope to see againHis native mountains and their vales beloved,Till all the Asturian and Cantabrian hillsHad bow’d before the Caliph; CordobaMust be his nightly prison till that hour.This night, by special favour from the MoorAsk’d and vouchsafed, he pass’d without the wallsKeeping his yearly vigil; on this nightTherefore the princely Spaniard could not fly,Being thus in strongest bonds by honour held;Nor would he by his own escape exposeTo stricter bondage, or belike to death,Count Pedro’s son. The ancient enmityOf rival houses from Pelayo’s heartHad, like a thing forgotten, pass’d away;He pitied child and parent, separatedBy the stern mandate of unfeeling power,And almost with a father’s eyes beheldThe boy, his fellow in captivity.For young Alphonso was in truth an heirOf nature’s largest patrimony; richIn form and feature, growing strength of limb,A gentle heart, a soul affectionate,A joyous spirit fill’d with generous thoughts,And genius heightening and ennobling all;The blossom of all manly virtues madeHis boyhood beautiful. Shield, gracious Heaven,In this ungenial season perilous, ...Thus would Pelayo sometimes breathe in prayerThe aspirations of prophetic hope, ...Shield, gracious Heaven, the blooming tree! and letThis goodly promise, for thy people’s sake,Yield its abundant fruitage.When the Prince,With hope and fear and grief and shame disturb’d,And sad remembrance, and the shadowy lightOf days before him, thronging as in dreams,Whose quick succession fill’d and overpower’dAwhile the unresisting faculty,Could in the calm of troubled thoughts subduedSeek in his heart for counsel, his first careWas for the boy; how best they might evadeThe Moor, and renegade’s more watchful eye;And leaving in some unsuspicious guiseThe city, through what unfrequented trackSafeliest pursue with speed their dangerous way.Consumed in cares like these, the fleeting hoursWent by. The lamps and tapers now grew pale,And through the eastern window slanting fellThe roseate ray of morn. Within those wallsReturning day restored no cheerful soundsOr joyous motions of awakening life;But in the stream of light the speckled motes,As if in mimicry of insect play,Floated with mazy movement. Sloping downOver the altar pass’d the pillar’d beam,And rested on the sinful woman’s graveAs if it enter’d there, a light from Heaven.So be it! cried Pelayo, even so!As in a momentary interval,When thought expelling thought, had left his mindOpen and passive to the influxesOf outward sense, his vacant eye was there....So be it, Heavenly Father, even so!Thus may thy vivifying goodness shedForgiveness there; for let not thou the groansOf dying penitence, nor my bitter prayersBefore thy mercy-seat, be heard in vain!And thou, poor soul, who from the dolorous houseOf weeping and of pain, dost look to meTo shorten and assuage thy penal term,Pardon me that these hours in other thoughtsAnd other duties than this garb, this nightEnjoin, should thus have past! Our mother-landExacted of my heart the sacrifice;And many a vigil must thy son performHenceforth in woods and mountain fastnesses,And tented fields, outwatching for her sakeThe starry host, and ready for the workOf day, before the sun begins his course.The noble Mountaineer, concluding thenWith silent prayer the service of the night,Went forth. Without the porch awaiting himHe saw Alphonso, pacing to and froWith patient step and eye reverted oft.He, springing forward when he heard the doorMove on its heavy hinges, ran to him,And welcomed him with smiles of youthful love.I have been watching yonder moon, quoth heHow it grew pale and paler as the sunScatter’d the flying shades; but woe is me,For on the towers of Cordoba the whileThat baleful crescent glitter’d in the morn,And with its insolent triumph seem’d to mockThe omen I had found.... Last night I dreamtThat thou wert in the field in arms for Spain,And I was at thy side: the infidelsBeset us round, but we with our good swordsHew’d out a way. Methought I stabb’d a MoorWho would have slain thee; but with that I wokeFor joy, and wept to find it but a dream.Thus as he spake a livelier glow o’erspreadHis cheek, and starting tears again suffusedThe brightening lustre of his eyes. The PrinceRegarded him a moment stedfastly,As if in quick resolve; then looking roundOn every side with keen and rapid glance,Drew him within the church. Alphonso’s heartThrobb’d with a joyful boding as he mark’dThe calmness of Pelayo’s countenanceKindle with solemn thoughts, expressing nowHigh purposes of resolute hope. He gazedAll eagerly to hear what most he wish’d.If, said the Prince, thy dream were verified,And I indeed were in the field in armsFor Spain, ... wouldst thou be at Pelayo’s side?...If I should break these bonds, and fly to rearOur country’s banner on our native hills,Wouldst thou, Alphonso, share my dangerous flight,Dear boy, ... and wilt thou take thy lot with meFor death, or for deliverance?Shall I swear?Replied the impatient boy; and laying handUpon the altar, on his knee he bent,Looking towards Pelayo with such joyOf reverential love, as if a GodWere present to receive the eager vow.Nay, quoth Pelayo: what hast thou to doWith oaths?... Bright emanation as thou art,It were a wrong to thy unsullied soul,A sin to nature, were I to requirePromise or vow from thee! Enough for meThat thy heart answers to the stirring call.Alphonso, follow thou in happy faithAlway the indwelling voice that counsels thee;And then, let fall the issue as it may,Shall all thy paths be in the light of Heaven,The peace of Heaven be with thee in all hours.How then, exclaim’d the boy, shall I dischargeThe burthen of this happiness, ... how easeMy overflowing soul!... Oh gracious God,Shall I behold my mother’s face again, ...My father’s hall, ... my native hills and vales,And hear the voices of their streams again, ...And free as I was born amid those scenesBeloved, maintain my country’s freedom there, ...Or, failing in the sacred enterprise,Die as becomes a Spaniard?... Saying thus,He lifted up his hands and eyes towardThe image of the Crucified, and cried,O Thou who didst with thy most precious bloodRedeem us, Jesu! help us while we seekEarthly redemption from this yoke of shameAnd misbelief and death.The noble boyThen rose, and would have knelt again to claspPelayo’s knees, and kiss his hand in actOf homage; but the Prince, preventing this,Bent over him in fatherly embrace,And breathed a fervent blessing on his head.
Fain would Pelayo have that hour obey’dThe call, commencing his adventurous flight,As one whose soul impatiently enduredHis country’s thraldom, and in daily prayerImploring her deliverance, cried to Heaven,How long, O Lord, how long!... But other thoughtsCurbing his spirit, made him yet awhileSustain the weight of bondage. Him alone,Of all the Gothic baronage, the MoorsWatch’d with regard of wary policy, ...Knowing his powerful name, his noble mind,And how in him the old Iberian blood,Of royal and remotest ancestry,From undisputed source flow’d undefiled;His mother’s after-guilt attainting notThe claim legitimate he derived from her,Her first-born in her time of innocence.He too of Chindasuintho’s regal lineSole remnant now, drew after him the loveOf all true Goths, uniting in himselfThus by this double right, the general heartOf Spain. For this the renegado crew,Wretches in whom their conscious guilt and fearEngender’d cruellest hatred, still advisedThe extinction of Pelayo’s house; but mostThe apostate Prelate, in iniquityWitiza’s genuine brother as in blood,Orpas, pursued his life. He never ceasedWith busy zeal, true traitor, to infuseHis deadly rancour in the Moorish chief;Their only danger, ever he observed,Was from Pelayo; root his lineage out,The Caliph’s empire then would be secure,And universal Spain, all hope of changeBeing lost, receive the Prophet’s conquering law.Then did the Arch-villain urge the Moor at onceTo cut off future peril, telling himDeath was a trusty keeper, and that noneE’er broke the prison of the grave. But hereKeen malice overshot its mark: the Moor,Who from the plunder of their native landHad bought the recreant crew that join’d his armsOr cheaplier with their own possessions bribedTheir sordid souls, saw through the flimsy showOf policy wherewith they sought to cloakOld enmity, and selfish aims: he scorn’dTo let their private purposes inclineHis counsels, and believing Spain subdued,Smiled, in the pride of power and victory,Disdainful at the thought of farther strife.Howbeit he held Pelayo at his court,And told him that until his countrymenSubmissively should lay their weapons down,He from his children and paternal hearthApart must dwell; nor hope to see againHis native mountains and their vales beloved,Till all the Asturian and Cantabrian hillsHad bow’d before the Caliph; CordobaMust be his nightly prison till that hour.This night, by special favour from the MoorAsk’d and vouchsafed, he pass’d without the wallsKeeping his yearly vigil; on this nightTherefore the princely Spaniard could not fly,Being thus in strongest bonds by honour held;Nor would he by his own escape exposeTo stricter bondage, or belike to death,Count Pedro’s son. The ancient enmityOf rival houses from Pelayo’s heartHad, like a thing forgotten, pass’d away;He pitied child and parent, separatedBy the stern mandate of unfeeling power,And almost with a father’s eyes beheldThe boy, his fellow in captivity.For young Alphonso was in truth an heirOf nature’s largest patrimony; richIn form and feature, growing strength of limb,A gentle heart, a soul affectionate,A joyous spirit fill’d with generous thoughts,And genius heightening and ennobling all;The blossom of all manly virtues madeHis boyhood beautiful. Shield, gracious Heaven,In this ungenial season perilous, ...Thus would Pelayo sometimes breathe in prayerThe aspirations of prophetic hope, ...Shield, gracious Heaven, the blooming tree! and letThis goodly promise, for thy people’s sake,Yield its abundant fruitage.When the Prince,With hope and fear and grief and shame disturb’d,And sad remembrance, and the shadowy lightOf days before him, thronging as in dreams,Whose quick succession fill’d and overpower’dAwhile the unresisting faculty,Could in the calm of troubled thoughts subduedSeek in his heart for counsel, his first careWas for the boy; how best they might evadeThe Moor, and renegade’s more watchful eye;And leaving in some unsuspicious guiseThe city, through what unfrequented trackSafeliest pursue with speed their dangerous way.Consumed in cares like these, the fleeting hoursWent by. The lamps and tapers now grew pale,And through the eastern window slanting fellThe roseate ray of morn. Within those wallsReturning day restored no cheerful soundsOr joyous motions of awakening life;But in the stream of light the speckled motes,As if in mimicry of insect play,Floated with mazy movement. Sloping downOver the altar pass’d the pillar’d beam,And rested on the sinful woman’s graveAs if it enter’d there, a light from Heaven.So be it! cried Pelayo, even so!As in a momentary interval,When thought expelling thought, had left his mindOpen and passive to the influxesOf outward sense, his vacant eye was there....So be it, Heavenly Father, even so!Thus may thy vivifying goodness shedForgiveness there; for let not thou the groansOf dying penitence, nor my bitter prayersBefore thy mercy-seat, be heard in vain!And thou, poor soul, who from the dolorous houseOf weeping and of pain, dost look to meTo shorten and assuage thy penal term,Pardon me that these hours in other thoughtsAnd other duties than this garb, this nightEnjoin, should thus have past! Our mother-landExacted of my heart the sacrifice;And many a vigil must thy son performHenceforth in woods and mountain fastnesses,And tented fields, outwatching for her sakeThe starry host, and ready for the workOf day, before the sun begins his course.The noble Mountaineer, concluding thenWith silent prayer the service of the night,Went forth. Without the porch awaiting himHe saw Alphonso, pacing to and froWith patient step and eye reverted oft.He, springing forward when he heard the doorMove on its heavy hinges, ran to him,And welcomed him with smiles of youthful love.I have been watching yonder moon, quoth heHow it grew pale and paler as the sunScatter’d the flying shades; but woe is me,For on the towers of Cordoba the whileThat baleful crescent glitter’d in the morn,And with its insolent triumph seem’d to mockThe omen I had found.... Last night I dreamtThat thou wert in the field in arms for Spain,And I was at thy side: the infidelsBeset us round, but we with our good swordsHew’d out a way. Methought I stabb’d a MoorWho would have slain thee; but with that I wokeFor joy, and wept to find it but a dream.Thus as he spake a livelier glow o’erspreadHis cheek, and starting tears again suffusedThe brightening lustre of his eyes. The PrinceRegarded him a moment stedfastly,As if in quick resolve; then looking roundOn every side with keen and rapid glance,Drew him within the church. Alphonso’s heartThrobb’d with a joyful boding as he mark’dThe calmness of Pelayo’s countenanceKindle with solemn thoughts, expressing nowHigh purposes of resolute hope. He gazedAll eagerly to hear what most he wish’d.If, said the Prince, thy dream were verified,And I indeed were in the field in armsFor Spain, ... wouldst thou be at Pelayo’s side?...If I should break these bonds, and fly to rearOur country’s banner on our native hills,Wouldst thou, Alphonso, share my dangerous flight,Dear boy, ... and wilt thou take thy lot with meFor death, or for deliverance?Shall I swear?Replied the impatient boy; and laying handUpon the altar, on his knee he bent,Looking towards Pelayo with such joyOf reverential love, as if a GodWere present to receive the eager vow.Nay, quoth Pelayo: what hast thou to doWith oaths?... Bright emanation as thou art,It were a wrong to thy unsullied soul,A sin to nature, were I to requirePromise or vow from thee! Enough for meThat thy heart answers to the stirring call.Alphonso, follow thou in happy faithAlway the indwelling voice that counsels thee;And then, let fall the issue as it may,Shall all thy paths be in the light of Heaven,The peace of Heaven be with thee in all hours.How then, exclaim’d the boy, shall I dischargeThe burthen of this happiness, ... how easeMy overflowing soul!... Oh gracious God,Shall I behold my mother’s face again, ...My father’s hall, ... my native hills and vales,And hear the voices of their streams again, ...And free as I was born amid those scenesBeloved, maintain my country’s freedom there, ...Or, failing in the sacred enterprise,Die as becomes a Spaniard?... Saying thus,He lifted up his hands and eyes towardThe image of the Crucified, and cried,O Thou who didst with thy most precious bloodRedeem us, Jesu! help us while we seekEarthly redemption from this yoke of shameAnd misbelief and death.The noble boyThen rose, and would have knelt again to claspPelayo’s knees, and kiss his hand in actOf homage; but the Prince, preventing this,Bent over him in fatherly embrace,And breathed a fervent blessing on his head.
Fain would Pelayo have that hour obey’dThe call, commencing his adventurous flight,As one whose soul impatiently enduredHis country’s thraldom, and in daily prayerImploring her deliverance, cried to Heaven,How long, O Lord, how long!... But other thoughtsCurbing his spirit, made him yet awhileSustain the weight of bondage. Him alone,Of all the Gothic baronage, the MoorsWatch’d with regard of wary policy, ...Knowing his powerful name, his noble mind,And how in him the old Iberian blood,Of royal and remotest ancestry,From undisputed source flow’d undefiled;His mother’s after-guilt attainting notThe claim legitimate he derived from her,Her first-born in her time of innocence.He too of Chindasuintho’s regal lineSole remnant now, drew after him the loveOf all true Goths, uniting in himselfThus by this double right, the general heartOf Spain. For this the renegado crew,Wretches in whom their conscious guilt and fearEngender’d cruellest hatred, still advisedThe extinction of Pelayo’s house; but mostThe apostate Prelate, in iniquityWitiza’s genuine brother as in blood,Orpas, pursued his life. He never ceasedWith busy zeal, true traitor, to infuseHis deadly rancour in the Moorish chief;Their only danger, ever he observed,Was from Pelayo; root his lineage out,The Caliph’s empire then would be secure,And universal Spain, all hope of changeBeing lost, receive the Prophet’s conquering law.Then did the Arch-villain urge the Moor at onceTo cut off future peril, telling himDeath was a trusty keeper, and that noneE’er broke the prison of the grave. But hereKeen malice overshot its mark: the Moor,Who from the plunder of their native landHad bought the recreant crew that join’d his armsOr cheaplier with their own possessions bribedTheir sordid souls, saw through the flimsy showOf policy wherewith they sought to cloakOld enmity, and selfish aims: he scorn’dTo let their private purposes inclineHis counsels, and believing Spain subdued,Smiled, in the pride of power and victory,Disdainful at the thought of farther strife.Howbeit he held Pelayo at his court,And told him that until his countrymenSubmissively should lay their weapons down,He from his children and paternal hearthApart must dwell; nor hope to see againHis native mountains and their vales beloved,Till all the Asturian and Cantabrian hillsHad bow’d before the Caliph; CordobaMust be his nightly prison till that hour.This night, by special favour from the MoorAsk’d and vouchsafed, he pass’d without the wallsKeeping his yearly vigil; on this nightTherefore the princely Spaniard could not fly,Being thus in strongest bonds by honour held;Nor would he by his own escape exposeTo stricter bondage, or belike to death,Count Pedro’s son. The ancient enmityOf rival houses from Pelayo’s heartHad, like a thing forgotten, pass’d away;He pitied child and parent, separatedBy the stern mandate of unfeeling power,And almost with a father’s eyes beheldThe boy, his fellow in captivity.For young Alphonso was in truth an heirOf nature’s largest patrimony; richIn form and feature, growing strength of limb,A gentle heart, a soul affectionate,A joyous spirit fill’d with generous thoughts,And genius heightening and ennobling all;The blossom of all manly virtues madeHis boyhood beautiful. Shield, gracious Heaven,In this ungenial season perilous, ...Thus would Pelayo sometimes breathe in prayerThe aspirations of prophetic hope, ...Shield, gracious Heaven, the blooming tree! and letThis goodly promise, for thy people’s sake,Yield its abundant fruitage.When the Prince,With hope and fear and grief and shame disturb’d,And sad remembrance, and the shadowy lightOf days before him, thronging as in dreams,Whose quick succession fill’d and overpower’dAwhile the unresisting faculty,Could in the calm of troubled thoughts subduedSeek in his heart for counsel, his first careWas for the boy; how best they might evadeThe Moor, and renegade’s more watchful eye;And leaving in some unsuspicious guiseThe city, through what unfrequented trackSafeliest pursue with speed their dangerous way.Consumed in cares like these, the fleeting hoursWent by. The lamps and tapers now grew pale,And through the eastern window slanting fellThe roseate ray of morn. Within those wallsReturning day restored no cheerful soundsOr joyous motions of awakening life;But in the stream of light the speckled motes,As if in mimicry of insect play,Floated with mazy movement. Sloping downOver the altar pass’d the pillar’d beam,And rested on the sinful woman’s graveAs if it enter’d there, a light from Heaven.So be it! cried Pelayo, even so!As in a momentary interval,When thought expelling thought, had left his mindOpen and passive to the influxesOf outward sense, his vacant eye was there....So be it, Heavenly Father, even so!Thus may thy vivifying goodness shedForgiveness there; for let not thou the groansOf dying penitence, nor my bitter prayersBefore thy mercy-seat, be heard in vain!And thou, poor soul, who from the dolorous houseOf weeping and of pain, dost look to meTo shorten and assuage thy penal term,Pardon me that these hours in other thoughtsAnd other duties than this garb, this nightEnjoin, should thus have past! Our mother-landExacted of my heart the sacrifice;And many a vigil must thy son performHenceforth in woods and mountain fastnesses,And tented fields, outwatching for her sakeThe starry host, and ready for the workOf day, before the sun begins his course.
Fain would Pelayo have that hour obey’d
The call, commencing his adventurous flight,
As one whose soul impatiently endured
His country’s thraldom, and in daily prayer
Imploring her deliverance, cried to Heaven,
How long, O Lord, how long!... But other thoughts
Curbing his spirit, made him yet awhile
Sustain the weight of bondage. Him alone,
Of all the Gothic baronage, the Moors
Watch’d with regard of wary policy, ...
Knowing his powerful name, his noble mind,
And how in him the old Iberian blood,
Of royal and remotest ancestry,
From undisputed source flow’d undefiled;
His mother’s after-guilt attainting not
The claim legitimate he derived from her,
Her first-born in her time of innocence.
He too of Chindasuintho’s regal line
Sole remnant now, drew after him the love
Of all true Goths, uniting in himself
Thus by this double right, the general heart
Of Spain. For this the renegado crew,
Wretches in whom their conscious guilt and fear
Engender’d cruellest hatred, still advised
The extinction of Pelayo’s house; but most
The apostate Prelate, in iniquity
Witiza’s genuine brother as in blood,
Orpas, pursued his life. He never ceased
With busy zeal, true traitor, to infuse
His deadly rancour in the Moorish chief;
Their only danger, ever he observed,
Was from Pelayo; root his lineage out,
The Caliph’s empire then would be secure,
And universal Spain, all hope of change
Being lost, receive the Prophet’s conquering law.
Then did the Arch-villain urge the Moor at once
To cut off future peril, telling him
Death was a trusty keeper, and that none
E’er broke the prison of the grave. But here
Keen malice overshot its mark: the Moor,
Who from the plunder of their native land
Had bought the recreant crew that join’d his arms
Or cheaplier with their own possessions bribed
Their sordid souls, saw through the flimsy show
Of policy wherewith they sought to cloak
Old enmity, and selfish aims: he scorn’d
To let their private purposes incline
His counsels, and believing Spain subdued,
Smiled, in the pride of power and victory,
Disdainful at the thought of farther strife.
Howbeit he held Pelayo at his court,
And told him that until his countrymen
Submissively should lay their weapons down,
He from his children and paternal hearth
Apart must dwell; nor hope to see again
His native mountains and their vales beloved,
Till all the Asturian and Cantabrian hills
Had bow’d before the Caliph; Cordoba
Must be his nightly prison till that hour.
This night, by special favour from the Moor
Ask’d and vouchsafed, he pass’d without the walls
Keeping his yearly vigil; on this night
Therefore the princely Spaniard could not fly,
Being thus in strongest bonds by honour held;
Nor would he by his own escape expose
To stricter bondage, or belike to death,
Count Pedro’s son. The ancient enmity
Of rival houses from Pelayo’s heart
Had, like a thing forgotten, pass’d away;
He pitied child and parent, separated
By the stern mandate of unfeeling power,
And almost with a father’s eyes beheld
The boy, his fellow in captivity.
For young Alphonso was in truth an heir
Of nature’s largest patrimony; rich
In form and feature, growing strength of limb,
A gentle heart, a soul affectionate,
A joyous spirit fill’d with generous thoughts,
And genius heightening and ennobling all;
The blossom of all manly virtues made
His boyhood beautiful. Shield, gracious Heaven,
In this ungenial season perilous, ...
Thus would Pelayo sometimes breathe in prayer
The aspirations of prophetic hope, ...
Shield, gracious Heaven, the blooming tree! and let
This goodly promise, for thy people’s sake,
Yield its abundant fruitage.
When the Prince,
With hope and fear and grief and shame disturb’d,
And sad remembrance, and the shadowy light
Of days before him, thronging as in dreams,
Whose quick succession fill’d and overpower’d
Awhile the unresisting faculty,
Could in the calm of troubled thoughts subdued
Seek in his heart for counsel, his first care
Was for the boy; how best they might evade
The Moor, and renegade’s more watchful eye;
And leaving in some unsuspicious guise
The city, through what unfrequented track
Safeliest pursue with speed their dangerous way.
Consumed in cares like these, the fleeting hours
Went by. The lamps and tapers now grew pale,
And through the eastern window slanting fell
The roseate ray of morn. Within those walls
Returning day restored no cheerful sounds
Or joyous motions of awakening life;
But in the stream of light the speckled motes,
As if in mimicry of insect play,
Floated with mazy movement. Sloping down
Over the altar pass’d the pillar’d beam,
And rested on the sinful woman’s grave
As if it enter’d there, a light from Heaven.
So be it! cried Pelayo, even so!
As in a momentary interval,
When thought expelling thought, had left his mind
Open and passive to the influxes
Of outward sense, his vacant eye was there....
So be it, Heavenly Father, even so!
Thus may thy vivifying goodness shed
Forgiveness there; for let not thou the groans
Of dying penitence, nor my bitter prayers
Before thy mercy-seat, be heard in vain!
And thou, poor soul, who from the dolorous house
Of weeping and of pain, dost look to me
To shorten and assuage thy penal term,
Pardon me that these hours in other thoughts
And other duties than this garb, this night
Enjoin, should thus have past! Our mother-land
Exacted of my heart the sacrifice;
And many a vigil must thy son perform
Henceforth in woods and mountain fastnesses,
And tented fields, outwatching for her sake
The starry host, and ready for the work
Of day, before the sun begins his course.
The noble Mountaineer, concluding thenWith silent prayer the service of the night,Went forth. Without the porch awaiting himHe saw Alphonso, pacing to and froWith patient step and eye reverted oft.He, springing forward when he heard the doorMove on its heavy hinges, ran to him,And welcomed him with smiles of youthful love.I have been watching yonder moon, quoth heHow it grew pale and paler as the sunScatter’d the flying shades; but woe is me,For on the towers of Cordoba the whileThat baleful crescent glitter’d in the morn,And with its insolent triumph seem’d to mockThe omen I had found.... Last night I dreamtThat thou wert in the field in arms for Spain,And I was at thy side: the infidelsBeset us round, but we with our good swordsHew’d out a way. Methought I stabb’d a MoorWho would have slain thee; but with that I wokeFor joy, and wept to find it but a dream.
The noble Mountaineer, concluding then
With silent prayer the service of the night,
Went forth. Without the porch awaiting him
He saw Alphonso, pacing to and fro
With patient step and eye reverted oft.
He, springing forward when he heard the door
Move on its heavy hinges, ran to him,
And welcomed him with smiles of youthful love.
I have been watching yonder moon, quoth he
How it grew pale and paler as the sun
Scatter’d the flying shades; but woe is me,
For on the towers of Cordoba the while
That baleful crescent glitter’d in the morn,
And with its insolent triumph seem’d to mock
The omen I had found.... Last night I dreamt
That thou wert in the field in arms for Spain,
And I was at thy side: the infidels
Beset us round, but we with our good swords
Hew’d out a way. Methought I stabb’d a Moor
Who would have slain thee; but with that I woke
For joy, and wept to find it but a dream.
Thus as he spake a livelier glow o’erspreadHis cheek, and starting tears again suffusedThe brightening lustre of his eyes. The PrinceRegarded him a moment stedfastly,As if in quick resolve; then looking roundOn every side with keen and rapid glance,Drew him within the church. Alphonso’s heartThrobb’d with a joyful boding as he mark’dThe calmness of Pelayo’s countenanceKindle with solemn thoughts, expressing nowHigh purposes of resolute hope. He gazedAll eagerly to hear what most he wish’d.If, said the Prince, thy dream were verified,And I indeed were in the field in armsFor Spain, ... wouldst thou be at Pelayo’s side?...If I should break these bonds, and fly to rearOur country’s banner on our native hills,Wouldst thou, Alphonso, share my dangerous flight,Dear boy, ... and wilt thou take thy lot with meFor death, or for deliverance?Shall I swear?Replied the impatient boy; and laying handUpon the altar, on his knee he bent,Looking towards Pelayo with such joyOf reverential love, as if a GodWere present to receive the eager vow.Nay, quoth Pelayo: what hast thou to doWith oaths?... Bright emanation as thou art,It were a wrong to thy unsullied soul,A sin to nature, were I to requirePromise or vow from thee! Enough for meThat thy heart answers to the stirring call.Alphonso, follow thou in happy faithAlway the indwelling voice that counsels thee;And then, let fall the issue as it may,Shall all thy paths be in the light of Heaven,The peace of Heaven be with thee in all hours.
Thus as he spake a livelier glow o’erspread
His cheek, and starting tears again suffused
The brightening lustre of his eyes. The Prince
Regarded him a moment stedfastly,
As if in quick resolve; then looking round
On every side with keen and rapid glance,
Drew him within the church. Alphonso’s heart
Throbb’d with a joyful boding as he mark’d
The calmness of Pelayo’s countenance
Kindle with solemn thoughts, expressing now
High purposes of resolute hope. He gazed
All eagerly to hear what most he wish’d.
If, said the Prince, thy dream were verified,
And I indeed were in the field in arms
For Spain, ... wouldst thou be at Pelayo’s side?...
If I should break these bonds, and fly to rear
Our country’s banner on our native hills,
Wouldst thou, Alphonso, share my dangerous flight,
Dear boy, ... and wilt thou take thy lot with me
For death, or for deliverance?
Shall I swear?
Replied the impatient boy; and laying hand
Upon the altar, on his knee he bent,
Looking towards Pelayo with such joy
Of reverential love, as if a God
Were present to receive the eager vow.
Nay, quoth Pelayo: what hast thou to do
With oaths?... Bright emanation as thou art,
It were a wrong to thy unsullied soul,
A sin to nature, were I to require
Promise or vow from thee! Enough for me
That thy heart answers to the stirring call.
Alphonso, follow thou in happy faith
Alway the indwelling voice that counsels thee;
And then, let fall the issue as it may,
Shall all thy paths be in the light of Heaven,
The peace of Heaven be with thee in all hours.
How then, exclaim’d the boy, shall I dischargeThe burthen of this happiness, ... how easeMy overflowing soul!... Oh gracious God,Shall I behold my mother’s face again, ...My father’s hall, ... my native hills and vales,And hear the voices of their streams again, ...And free as I was born amid those scenesBeloved, maintain my country’s freedom there, ...Or, failing in the sacred enterprise,Die as becomes a Spaniard?... Saying thus,He lifted up his hands and eyes towardThe image of the Crucified, and cried,O Thou who didst with thy most precious bloodRedeem us, Jesu! help us while we seekEarthly redemption from this yoke of shameAnd misbelief and death.The noble boyThen rose, and would have knelt again to claspPelayo’s knees, and kiss his hand in actOf homage; but the Prince, preventing this,Bent over him in fatherly embrace,And breathed a fervent blessing on his head.
How then, exclaim’d the boy, shall I discharge
The burthen of this happiness, ... how ease
My overflowing soul!... Oh gracious God,
Shall I behold my mother’s face again, ...
My father’s hall, ... my native hills and vales,
And hear the voices of their streams again, ...
And free as I was born amid those scenes
Beloved, maintain my country’s freedom there, ...
Or, failing in the sacred enterprise,
Die as becomes a Spaniard?... Saying thus,
He lifted up his hands and eyes toward
The image of the Crucified, and cried,
O Thou who didst with thy most precious blood
Redeem us, Jesu! help us while we seek
Earthly redemption from this yoke of shame
And misbelief and death.
The noble boy
Then rose, and would have knelt again to clasp
Pelayo’s knees, and kiss his hand in act
Of homage; but the Prince, preventing this,
Bent over him in fatherly embrace,
And breathed a fervent blessing on his head.