XIII.COUNT EUDON.

That aweful silence still endured, when one,Who to the northern entrance of the valeHad turn’d his casual eye, exclaim’d, The Moors!...For from the forest verge a troop were seenHastening toward Pedro’s hall. Their forward speedWas check’d when they beheld his banner spread,And saw his order’d spears in prompt arrayMarshall’d to meet their coming. But the prideOf power and insolence of long commandPrick’d on their Chief presumptuous: We are comeLate for prevention, cried the haughty Moor,But never time more fit for punishment!These unbelieving slaves must feel and knowTheir 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 ChiefIn full career; he bore him from his horseA 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 filesOpen’d a path. Pelayo, who that dayFought in the ranks afoot, for other warYet unequipp’d, pursued and smote the foe,But ever on Alphonso at his sideRetain’d a watchful eye. The gallant boyGave his good sword that hour its earliest tasteOf Moorish blood, ... that sword whose hungry edge,Through the fair course of all his glorious lifeFrom that auspicious day, was fed so well.Cheap was the victory now for Spain achieved;For the first fervour of their zeal inspiredThe 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’dIn such impetuous onset to receiveA greeting deadly as their own intent;Victims they thought to find, not men preparedAnd eager for the fight; their confidenceTherefore gave way to wonder, and dismayEffected what astonishment began.Scatter’d before the impetuous Mountaineers,Buckler and spear and scymitar they dropt,As in precipitate route they fled beforeThe Asturian sword: the vales and hills and rocksReceived their blood, and where they fell the wolvesAt evening found them.From the fight apartTwo Africans had stood, who held in chargeCount Eudon. When they saw their countrymenFalter, give way, and fly before the foe,One turn’d toward him with malignant rage,And saying, Infidel! thou shalt not liveTo join their triumph! aim’d against his neckThe moony falchion’s point. His comrade raisedA hasty hand and turn’d its edge aside,Yet so that o’er the shoulder glancing downIt 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 feetFell and embraced his knees. The mountaineerWho found them thus, withheld at Eudon’s voiceHis wrathful hand, and led them to his Lord.Count Pedro and Alphonso and the PrinceStood on a little rocky eminenceWhich overlook’d the vale. Pedro had putHis helmet off, and with sonorous hornBlew 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 speedImported more than vengeance. Thrice he sentThe long-resounding signal forth, which rungFrom hill to hill, re-echoing far and wide.Slow and unwillingly his men obey’dThe swelling horn’s reiterated call;Repining that a single foe escapedThe retribution of that righteous hour.With lingering step reluctant from the chaseThey turn’d, ... their veins full-swoln, their sinews strungFor battle still, their hearts unsatisfied;Their swords were dropping still with Moorish blood,And where they wiped their reeking brows, the stainOf Moorish gore was left. But when they cameWhere Pedro, with Alphonso at his side,Stood to behold their coming, then they press’dAll emulous, with gratulation round,Extolling for his deeds that day display’dThe noble boy. Oh! when had Heaven, they said,With such especial favour manifestIllustrated 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 beMany, and all like this.Thus they indulgedThe honest heart, exuberant of love,When that loquacious joy at once was check’d,For Eudon and the Moor were brought beforeCount Pedro. Both came fearfully and pale,But with a different fear: the AfricanFelt at this crisis of his destinySuch apprehension as without reproachMight blanch a soldier’s cheek, when life and deathHang on another’s will, and helplesslyHe must abide the issue. But the thoughtsWhich quail’d Count Eudon’s heart, and made his limbsQuiver, were of his own unworthiness,Old enmity, and that he stood in powerOf 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 eyesAghast, ... the Moor can tell I had no choice;They forced me from my castle: ... in the fightThey would have slain me: ... see I bleed! The MoorCan witness that a Moorish scymitarInflicted 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 clearMy innocence!Thus as he ceased, with fearAnd rapid utterance panting open-mouth’d,Count Pedro half represt a mournful smile,Wherein compassion seem’d to mitigateHis deep contempt. Methinks, said he, the MoorMight with more reason look himself to findAn intercessor, than be call’d uponTo play the pleader’s part. Didst thou then saveThe Baron from thy comrades?Let my LordShow 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 sawHow the fight fared: I turn’d the scymitarAside, and trust that life will be the meedFor 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 forceIn Gegio? and if others like yourselvesAre in the field?The African replied,We came from Gegio, order’d to secureThis Baron on the way, and seek thee hereTo bear thee hence in bonds. A messengerFrom Cordoba, whose speed denoted wellHe came with urgent tidings, was the causeOf this our sudden movement. We went forthThree hundred men; an equal force was sentFor 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 appearancesDenote alarm and vigilance.The PrinceFix’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 yetToo late, ... their numbers, ... their victorious force,Which hath already trodden in the dustThe sceptre of the Goths: ... the throne destroy’d, ...Our towns subdued, ... our country overrun, ...The people to the yoke of their new LordsResign’d in peace.... Can I not mediate?...Were it not better through my agencyTo gain such terms, ... such honourable terms....Terms! cried Pelayo, cutting short at onceThat dastard speech, and checking, ere it grewToo powerful for restraint, the incipient wrathWhich in indignant murmurs breathing round,Rose like a gathering storm, learn thou what termsAsturias, this day speaking by my voice,Doth constitute to be the law betweenThee and thy Country. Our portentous age,As with an earthquake’s desolating force,Hath loosen’d and disjointed the whole frameOf social order, and she calls not nowFor 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 partakeThe cup which we have pledged; she claims from noneThe dauntless fortitude, the mind resolved,Which only God can give; ... therefore such peaceAs 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 LordWho to his Country doth acknowledge none.The summons which thou hast not heart to give,I and Count Pedro over thy domainsWill send abroad; the vassals who were thineWill fight beneath our banners, and our wantsShall from thy lands, as from a patrimonyWhich hath reverted to the common stock,Be fed: such tribute, too, as to the MoorsThou renderest, we will take: It is the priceWhich in this land for weakness must be paidWhile evil stars prevail. And mark me, Chief!Fear is a treacherous counsellor! I knowThou thinkëst that beneath his horses’s hoofsThe Moor will trample our poor numbers down;But join not, in contempt of us and Heaven,His multitudes! for if thou shouldst be foundAgainst thy country, on the readiest treeThose recreant bones shall rattle in the wind,When the birds have left them bare.As thus he spake,Count Eudon heard and trembled: every jointWas loosen’d, every fibre of his fleshThrill’d, and from every pore effused, cold sweatClung on his quivering limbs. Shame forced it forth,Envy, and inward consciousness, and fearPredominant, which stifled in his heartHatred and rage. Before his livid lipsCould 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 consultThy better mind at leisure. Let this MoorAttend upon thee there, and when thou wilt,Follow thy fortunes.... To Pelayo thenHe 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 prayersPursued them at their parting, and the tearsWhich fell were tears of fervour, not of grief.The sun was verging to the western slopeOf Heaven, but they till midnight travell’d on;Renewing then at early dawn their way,They held their unremitting course from mornTill latest eve, such urgent cause impell’d;And night had closed around, when to the valeWhere Sella in her ampler bed receivesPionia’s stream they came. Massive and blackPelayo’s castle there was seen; its linesAnd battlements against the deep blue skyDistinct in solid darkness visible.No light is in the tower. Eager to knowThe worst, and with that fatal certaintyTo terminate intolerable dread,He spurr’d his courser forward. All his fearsToo surely are fulfill’d, ... for open standThe doors, and mournfully at times a dogFills 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!

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 PrinceStood on a little rocky eminenceWhich overlook’d the vale. Pedro had putHis helmet off, and with sonorous hornBlew 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 speedImported more than vengeance. Thrice he sentThe long-resounding signal forth, which rungFrom hill to hill, re-echoing far and wide.Slow and unwillingly his men obey’dThe swelling horn’s reiterated call;Repining that a single foe escapedThe retribution of that righteous hour.With lingering step reluctant from the chaseThey turn’d, ... their veins full-swoln, their sinews strungFor battle still, their hearts unsatisfied;Their swords were dropping still with Moorish blood,And where they wiped their reeking brows, the stainOf Moorish gore was left. But when they cameWhere Pedro, with Alphonso at his side,Stood to behold their coming, then they press’dAll emulous, with gratulation round,Extolling for his deeds that day display’dThe noble boy. Oh! when had Heaven, they said,With such especial favour manifestIllustrated 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 beMany, and all like this.Thus they indulgedThe honest heart, exuberant of love,When that loquacious joy at once was check’d,For Eudon and the Moor were brought beforeCount Pedro. Both came fearfully and pale,But with a different fear: the AfricanFelt at this crisis of his destinySuch apprehension as without reproachMight blanch a soldier’s cheek, when life and deathHang on another’s will, and helplesslyHe must abide the issue. But the thoughtsWhich quail’d Count Eudon’s heart, and made his limbsQuiver, were of his own unworthiness,Old enmity, and that he stood in powerOf 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 eyesAghast, ... the Moor can tell I had no choice;They forced me from my castle: ... in the fightThey would have slain me: ... see I bleed! The MoorCan witness that a Moorish scymitarInflicted 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 clearMy innocence!Thus as he ceased, with fearAnd rapid utterance panting open-mouth’d,Count Pedro half represt a mournful smile,Wherein compassion seem’d to mitigateHis deep contempt. Methinks, said he, the MoorMight with more reason look himself to findAn intercessor, than be call’d uponTo play the pleader’s part. Didst thou then saveThe Baron from thy comrades?Let my LordShow 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 sawHow the fight fared: I turn’d the scymitarAside, and trust that life will be the meedFor 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 forceIn Gegio? and if others like yourselvesAre in the field?The African replied,We came from Gegio, order’d to secureThis Baron on the way, and seek thee hereTo bear thee hence in bonds. A messengerFrom Cordoba, whose speed denoted wellHe came with urgent tidings, was the causeOf this our sudden movement. We went forthThree hundred men; an equal force was sentFor 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 appearancesDenote alarm and vigilance.The PrinceFix’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 yetToo late, ... their numbers, ... their victorious force,Which hath already trodden in the dustThe sceptre of the Goths: ... the throne destroy’d, ...Our towns subdued, ... our country overrun, ...The people to the yoke of their new LordsResign’d in peace.... Can I not mediate?...Were it not better through my agencyTo gain such terms, ... such honourable terms....

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 onceThat dastard speech, and checking, ere it grewToo powerful for restraint, the incipient wrathWhich in indignant murmurs breathing round,Rose like a gathering storm, learn thou what termsAsturias, this day speaking by my voice,Doth constitute to be the law betweenThee and thy Country. Our portentous age,As with an earthquake’s desolating force,Hath loosen’d and disjointed the whole frameOf social order, and she calls not nowFor 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 partakeThe cup which we have pledged; she claims from noneThe dauntless fortitude, the mind resolved,Which only God can give; ... therefore such peaceAs 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 LordWho to his Country doth acknowledge none.The summons which thou hast not heart to give,I and Count Pedro over thy domainsWill send abroad; the vassals who were thineWill fight beneath our banners, and our wantsShall from thy lands, as from a patrimonyWhich hath reverted to the common stock,Be fed: such tribute, too, as to the MoorsThou renderest, we will take: It is the priceWhich in this land for weakness must be paidWhile evil stars prevail. And mark me, Chief!Fear is a treacherous counsellor! I knowThou thinkëst that beneath his horses’s hoofsThe Moor will trample our poor numbers down;But join not, in contempt of us and Heaven,His multitudes! for if thou shouldst be foundAgainst thy country, on the readiest treeThose recreant bones shall rattle in the wind,When the birds have left them bare.As thus he spake,Count Eudon heard and trembled: every jointWas loosen’d, every fibre of his fleshThrill’d, and from every pore effused, cold sweatClung on his quivering limbs. Shame forced it forth,Envy, and inward consciousness, and fearPredominant, which stifled in his heartHatred and rage. Before his livid lipsCould 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 consultThy better mind at leisure. Let this MoorAttend upon thee there, and when thou wilt,Follow thy fortunes.... To Pelayo thenHe 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.

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 prayersPursued them at their parting, and the tearsWhich fell were tears of fervour, not of grief.The sun was verging to the western slopeOf Heaven, but they till midnight travell’d on;Renewing then at early dawn their way,They held their unremitting course from mornTill latest eve, such urgent cause impell’d;And night had closed around, when to the valeWhere Sella in her ampler bed receivesPionia’s stream they came. Massive and blackPelayo’s castle there was seen; its linesAnd battlements against the deep blue skyDistinct in solid darkness visible.No light is in the tower. Eager to knowThe worst, and with that fatal certaintyTo terminate intolerable dread,He spurr’d his courser forward. All his fearsToo surely are fulfill’d, ... for open standThe doors, and mournfully at times a dogFills 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!

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!

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