XVIII.THE ACCLAMATION.
Now, when from Covadonga, down the valeHolding his way, the princely mountaineerCame with that happy family in sightOf Cangas and his native towers, far offHe saw before the gate, in fair array,The assembled land. Broad banners were display’d,And spears were sparkling to the sun, shields shone,And helmets glitter’d, and the blairing horn,With frequent sally of impatient joy,Provoked the echoes round. Well he areeds,From yonder ensigns and augmented force,That Odoar and the Primate from the westHave brought their aid; but wherefore all were thusInstructed as for some great festival,He found not, till Favila’s quicker eyeCatching the ready buckler, the glad boyLeapt up, and clapping his exultant hands,Shouted, King! King! my father shall be KingThis day! Pelayo started at the word,And the first thought which smote him brought a sighFor Roderick’s fall; the second was of hope,Deliverance for his country, for himselfEnduring fame, and glory for his line.That high prophetic forethought gather’d strength,As looking to his honour’d mate, he readHer soul’s accordant augury; her eyesBrighten’d; the quicken’d action of the bloodTinged with a deeper hue her glowing cheek,And on her lips there sate a smile which spakeThe honourable pride of perfect love,Rejoicing, for her husband’s sake, to shareThe lot he chose, the perils he defied,The lofty fortune which their faith foresaw.Roderick, in front of all the assembled troops,Held the broad buckler, following to the endThat steady purpose to the which his zealHad this day wrought the Chiefs. Tall as himself,Erect it stood beside him, and his handsHung resting on the rim. This was an hourThat sweeten’d life, repaid and recompensedAll losses; and although it could not healAll griefs, yet laid them for awhile to rest.The active agitating joy that fill’dThe vale, that with contagious influence spreadThrough all the exulting mountaineers, that gaveNew ardour to all spirits, to all breastsInspired fresh impulse of excited hope,Moved every tongue, and strengthen’d every limb, ...That joy which every man reflected sawFrom every face of all the multitude,And heard in every voice, in every sound,Reach’d not the King. Aloof from sympathy,He from the solitude of his own soulBeheld the busy scene. None shared or knewHis deep and incommunicable joy;None but that heavenly Father, who aloneBeholds the struggles of the heart, aloneSees and rewards the secret sacrifice.Among the chiefs conspicuous, Urban stood,He whom, with well-weigh’d choice, in arduous timeTo arduous office the consenting ChurchHad call’d when Sindered fear-smitten fled;Unfaithful shepherd, who for life aloneSolicitous, forsook his flock, when mostIn peril and in suffering they requiredA pastor’s care. Far off at Rome he dwellsIn ignominious safety, while the ChurchKeeps in her annals the deserter’s name,But from the service which with daily zealDevout her ancient prelacy recalls,Blots it, unworthy to partake her prayers.Urban, to that high station thus being call’d,From whence disanimating fear had drivenThe former primate, for the general wealConsulting first, removed with timely careThe relics and the written works of Saints,Toledo’s choicest treasure, prized beyondAll wealth, their living and their dead remains;These to the mountain fastnesses he boreOf unsubdued Cantabria, there deposed,One day to be the boast of yet unbuiltOviedo, and the dear idolatryOf multitudes unborn. To things of stateThen giving thought mature, he held adviceWith Odoar, whom of counsel competentAnd firm of heart he knew. What then they plann’d,Time and the course of over-ruled eventsTo earlier act had ripen’d, than their hopeHad ever in its gladdest dream proposed;And here by agents unforeseen, and meansBeyond the scope of foresight brought about,This day they saw their dearest heart’s desireAccorded them: All-able ProvidenceThus having ordered all, that Spain this hourWith happiest omens, and on surest base,Should from its ruins rear again her throne.For acclamation and for sacring nowOne form must serve, more solemn for the breachOf old observances, whose absence hereDeeplier impress’d the heart, than all displayOf regal pomp and wealth pontifical,Of vestments radiant with their gems, and stiffWith ornature of gold; the glittering train,The long procession, and the full-voiced choir.This day the forms of piety and war,In strange but fitting union must combine.Not in his alb and cope and oraryCame Urban now, nor wore he mitre here,Precious or auriphrygiate; bare of headHe stood, all else in arms complete, and o’erHis gorget’s iron rings the pall was thrownOf wool undyed, which on the Apostle’s tombGregory had laid, and sanctified with prayer;That from the living Pontiff and the deadReplete with holiness, it might impartDoubly derived its grace. One Page besideBore his broad-shadow’d helm; another’s handHeld the long spear, more suited in these timesFor Urban, than the crosier richly wroughtWith silver foliature, the elaborate workOf Grecian or Italian artist, train’dIn the eastern capital, or sacred Rome,Still o’er the West predominant, though fallen.Better the spear befits the shepherd’s handWhen robbers break the fold. Now he had laidThe weapon by, and held a natural crossOf rudest form, unpeel’d, even as it grewOn the near oak that morn.Mutilate alikeOf royal rites was this solemnity.Where was the rubied crown, the sceptre where,And where the golden pome, the proud arrayOf ermines, aureate vests, and jewelry,With all which Leuvigild for after kingsLeft, ostentatious of his power? The MoorHad made his spoil of these, and on the fieldOf Xeres, where contending multitudesHad trampled it beneath their bloody feet,The standard of the Goths forgotten layDefiled, and rotting there in sun and rain.Utterly is it lost; nor ever moreHerald or antiquary’s patient searchShall from forgetfulness avail to saveThose blazon’d arms, so fatally of oldRenown’d through all the affrighted Occident.That banner, before which imperial RomeFirst to a conqueror bow’d her head abased;Which when the dreadful Hun, with all his powers,Came like a deluge rolling o’er the world,Made head, and in the front of battle brokeHis force, till then resistless; which so oftHad with alternate fortune braved the Frank:Driven the Byzantine from the farthest shoresOf Spain, long lingering there, to final flight;And of their kingdoms and their name despoil’dThe Vandal, and the Alan, and the Sueve;Blotted from human records is it nowAs it had never been. So let it restWith things forgotten! But Oblivion ne’erShall cancel from the historic roll, nor Time,Who changeth all, obscure that fated sign,Which brighter now than mountain snows at noonTo the bright sun displays its argent field.Rose not the vision then upon thy soul,O Roderick, when within that argent fieldThou saw’st the rampant Lion, red as ifUpon some noblest quarry he had roll’d,Rejoicing in his satiate rage, and drunkWith blood and fury? Did the auguriesWhich open’d on thy spirit bring with themA perilous consolation, deadening heartAnd soul, yea worse than death, ... that thou through allThy checquer’d way of life, evil and good,Thy errors and thy virtues, had’st but beenThe poor mere instrument of things ordain’d,Doing or suffering, impotent alikeTo will or act, ... perpetually bemock’dWith semblance of volition, yet in allBlind worker of the ways of destiny!That thought intolerable, which in the hourOf woe indignant conscience had repell’d,As little might it find reception now,When the regenerate spirit self-approvedBeheld its sacrifice complete. With faithElate, he saw the banner’d Lion floatRefulgent, and recall’d that thrilling shoutWhich he had heard when on Romano’s graveThe joy of victory woke him from his dream,And sent him with prophetic hope to workFulfilment of the great events ordain’d,There in imagination’s inner worldPrefigured to his soul.Alone, advancedBefore the ranks, the Goth in silence stood,While from all voices round, loquacious joyMingled its buzz continuous with the blastOf horn, shrill pipe, and tinkling cymbals’ clash,And sound of deafening drum. But when the PrinceDrew nigh, and Urban with the Cross upheldStept forth to meet him, all at once were still’dWith instantaneous hush; as when the wind,Before whose violent gusts the forest oaks,Tossing like billows their tempestuous heads,Roar like a raging sea, suspends its force,And leaves so dead a calm that not a leafMoves on the silent spray. The passing airBore with it from the woodland undisturb’dThe ringdove’s wooing, and the quiet voiceOf waters warbling near.Son of a raceOf Heroes and of Kings! the Primate thusAddress’d him, Thou in whom the Gothic blood,Mingling with old Iberia’s, hath restoredTo Spain a ruler of her native line,Stand forth, and in the face of God and manSwear to uphold the right, abate the wrong,With equitable hand, protect the CrossWhereon thy lips this day shall seal their vow,And underneath that hallow’d symbol, wageHoly and inextinguishable warAgainst the accursëd nation that usurpsThy country’s sacred soil!So speak of meNow and for ever, O my countrymen!Replied Pelayo; and so deal with meHere and hereafter, thou, Almighty God,In whom I put my trust!Lord God of Hosts,Urban pursued, of Angels and of MenCreator and Disposer, King of Kings,Ruler of Earth and Heaven, ... look down this day,And multiply thy blessings on the headOf this thy servant, chosen in thy sight!Be thou his counsellor, his comforter,His hope, his joy, his refuge, and his strength;Crown him with justice, and with fortitude,Defend him with thine all-sufficient shield,Surround him every where with the right handOf thine all-present power, and with the mightOf thine omnipotence, send in his aidThy unseen Angels forth, that potentlyAnd royally against all enemiesHe may endure and triumph! Bless the landO’er which he is appointed: bless thou itWith the waters of the firmament, the springsOf the low-lying deep, the fruits which SunAnd Moon mature for man, the precious storesOf the eternal hills, and all the giftsOf Earth, its wealth and fulness!Then he tookPelayo’s hand, and on his finger placedThe mystic circlet.... With this ring, O Prince,To our dear Spain, who like a widow nowMourneth in desolation, I thee wed:For weal or woe thou takest her, till deathDispart the union: Be it blest to her,To thee, and to thy seed!Thus when he ceased,He gave the awaited signal. Roderick broughtThe buckler: Eight for strength and stature chosenCame to their honour’d office: Round the shieldStanding, they lower it for the Chieftain’s feet,Then, slowly raised upon their shoulders, liftThe steady weight. Erect Pelayo stands,And thrice he brandishes the burnish’d sword,While Urban to the assembled people cries,Spaniards, behold your King! The multitudeThen sent forth all their voice with glad acclaim,Raising the loudReal; thrice did the wordRing through the air, and echo from the wallsOf Cangas. Far and wide the thundering shout,Rolling among reduplicating rocks,Peal’d o’er the hills, and up the mountain vales.The wild ass starting in the forest gladeRan to the covert; the affrighted wolfSkulk’d through the thicket to a closer brake;The sluggish bear, awakened in his den,Roused up and answer’d with a sullen growl,Low-breathed and long; and at the uproar scared,The brooding eagle from her nest took wing.Heroes and Chiefs of old! and ye who boreFirm to the last your part in that dread strife,When Julian and Witiza’s viler raceBetray’d their country, hear ye from yon HeavenThe joyful acclamation which proclaimsThat Spain is born again! O ye who diedIn that disastrous field, and ye who fellEmbracing with a martyr’s love your deathAmid the flames of Auria; and all yeVictims innumerable, whose cries unheardOn earth, but heard in Heaven, from all the landWent up for vengeance; not in vain ye cryBefore the eternal throne!... Rest innocent blood!Vengeance is due, and vengeance will be given,Rest innocent blood! The appointed age is come!The star that harbingers a glorious dayHath risen! Lo there the Avenger stands! Lo thereHe brandishes the avenging sword! Lo thereThe avenging banner spreads its argent fieldRefulgent with auspicious light!... Rejoice,O Leon, for thy banner is displayed,Rejoice with all thy mountains, and thy valesAnd streams! And thou, O Spain, through all thy realms,For thy deliverance cometh! Even now,As from all sides the miscreant hosts move on ...From southern Betis; from the western lands,Where through redundant vales smooth Minho flows,And Douro pours through vine-clad hills the wealthOf Leon’s gathered waters; from the plainsBurgensian, in old time Vardulia call’d,But in their castellated strength ere longTo be design’d Castille, a deathless name;From midland regions where Toledo reignsProud city on her royal eminence,And Tagus bends his sickle round the sceneOf Roderick’s fall; from rich Rioja’s fields;Dark Ebro’s shores; the walls of Salduba,Seat of the Sedetanians old, by RomeCæsarian and August denominate,Now Zaragoza, in this later timeAbove all cities of the earth renown’dFor duty perfectly perform’d; ... East, WestAnd South, where’er their gather’d multitudesUrged by the speed of vigorous tyranny,With more than with commeasurable strengthHaste to prevent the danger, crush the hopesOf rising Spain, and rivet round her neckThe eternal yoke, ... the ravenous fowls of heavenFlock there presentient of their food obscene,Following the accursed armies, whom too wellThey know their purveyors long. Pursue their march,Ominous attendants! Ere the moon hath fill’dHer horns, these purveyors shall become the prey,And ye on Moorish not on Christian fleshWearying your beaks, shall clog your scaly feetWith foreign gore. Soon will ye learn to know,Followers and harbingers of blood, the flagOf Leon where it bids you to your feast!Terror and flight shall with that flag go forth,And Havoc and the Dogs of War and Death.Thou Covadonga with the tainted streamOf Deva, and this now rejoicing vale,Soon its primitial triumphs wilt behold!Nor shall the glories of the noon be lessThan such miraculous promise of the dawn:Witness Clavijo, where the dreadful cryOf Santiago, then first heard, o’erpower’dThe Akbar, and that holier name blasphemedBy misbelieving lips! Simancas, thouBe witness! And do ye your record bear,Tolosan mountains, where the AlmohadeBeheld his myriads scatter’d and destroy’d,Like locusts swept before the stormy North!Thou too, Salado, on that later dayWhen Africa received her final foil,And thy swoln stream incarnadined, roll’d backThe invaders to the deep, ... there shall they tossTill on their native Mauritanian shoreThe waves shall cast their bones to whiten there.
Now, when from Covadonga, down the valeHolding his way, the princely mountaineerCame with that happy family in sightOf Cangas and his native towers, far offHe saw before the gate, in fair array,The assembled land. Broad banners were display’d,And spears were sparkling to the sun, shields shone,And helmets glitter’d, and the blairing horn,With frequent sally of impatient joy,Provoked the echoes round. Well he areeds,From yonder ensigns and augmented force,That Odoar and the Primate from the westHave brought their aid; but wherefore all were thusInstructed as for some great festival,He found not, till Favila’s quicker eyeCatching the ready buckler, the glad boyLeapt up, and clapping his exultant hands,Shouted, King! King! my father shall be KingThis day! Pelayo started at the word,And the first thought which smote him brought a sighFor Roderick’s fall; the second was of hope,Deliverance for his country, for himselfEnduring fame, and glory for his line.That high prophetic forethought gather’d strength,As looking to his honour’d mate, he readHer soul’s accordant augury; her eyesBrighten’d; the quicken’d action of the bloodTinged with a deeper hue her glowing cheek,And on her lips there sate a smile which spakeThe honourable pride of perfect love,Rejoicing, for her husband’s sake, to shareThe lot he chose, the perils he defied,The lofty fortune which their faith foresaw.Roderick, in front of all the assembled troops,Held the broad buckler, following to the endThat steady purpose to the which his zealHad this day wrought the Chiefs. Tall as himself,Erect it stood beside him, and his handsHung resting on the rim. This was an hourThat sweeten’d life, repaid and recompensedAll losses; and although it could not healAll griefs, yet laid them for awhile to rest.The active agitating joy that fill’dThe vale, that with contagious influence spreadThrough all the exulting mountaineers, that gaveNew ardour to all spirits, to all breastsInspired fresh impulse of excited hope,Moved every tongue, and strengthen’d every limb, ...That joy which every man reflected sawFrom every face of all the multitude,And heard in every voice, in every sound,Reach’d not the King. Aloof from sympathy,He from the solitude of his own soulBeheld the busy scene. None shared or knewHis deep and incommunicable joy;None but that heavenly Father, who aloneBeholds the struggles of the heart, aloneSees and rewards the secret sacrifice.Among the chiefs conspicuous, Urban stood,He whom, with well-weigh’d choice, in arduous timeTo arduous office the consenting ChurchHad call’d when Sindered fear-smitten fled;Unfaithful shepherd, who for life aloneSolicitous, forsook his flock, when mostIn peril and in suffering they requiredA pastor’s care. Far off at Rome he dwellsIn ignominious safety, while the ChurchKeeps in her annals the deserter’s name,But from the service which with daily zealDevout her ancient prelacy recalls,Blots it, unworthy to partake her prayers.Urban, to that high station thus being call’d,From whence disanimating fear had drivenThe former primate, for the general wealConsulting first, removed with timely careThe relics and the written works of Saints,Toledo’s choicest treasure, prized beyondAll wealth, their living and their dead remains;These to the mountain fastnesses he boreOf unsubdued Cantabria, there deposed,One day to be the boast of yet unbuiltOviedo, and the dear idolatryOf multitudes unborn. To things of stateThen giving thought mature, he held adviceWith Odoar, whom of counsel competentAnd firm of heart he knew. What then they plann’d,Time and the course of over-ruled eventsTo earlier act had ripen’d, than their hopeHad ever in its gladdest dream proposed;And here by agents unforeseen, and meansBeyond the scope of foresight brought about,This day they saw their dearest heart’s desireAccorded them: All-able ProvidenceThus having ordered all, that Spain this hourWith happiest omens, and on surest base,Should from its ruins rear again her throne.For acclamation and for sacring nowOne form must serve, more solemn for the breachOf old observances, whose absence hereDeeplier impress’d the heart, than all displayOf regal pomp and wealth pontifical,Of vestments radiant with their gems, and stiffWith ornature of gold; the glittering train,The long procession, and the full-voiced choir.This day the forms of piety and war,In strange but fitting union must combine.Not in his alb and cope and oraryCame Urban now, nor wore he mitre here,Precious or auriphrygiate; bare of headHe stood, all else in arms complete, and o’erHis gorget’s iron rings the pall was thrownOf wool undyed, which on the Apostle’s tombGregory had laid, and sanctified with prayer;That from the living Pontiff and the deadReplete with holiness, it might impartDoubly derived its grace. One Page besideBore his broad-shadow’d helm; another’s handHeld the long spear, more suited in these timesFor Urban, than the crosier richly wroughtWith silver foliature, the elaborate workOf Grecian or Italian artist, train’dIn the eastern capital, or sacred Rome,Still o’er the West predominant, though fallen.Better the spear befits the shepherd’s handWhen robbers break the fold. Now he had laidThe weapon by, and held a natural crossOf rudest form, unpeel’d, even as it grewOn the near oak that morn.Mutilate alikeOf royal rites was this solemnity.Where was the rubied crown, the sceptre where,And where the golden pome, the proud arrayOf ermines, aureate vests, and jewelry,With all which Leuvigild for after kingsLeft, ostentatious of his power? The MoorHad made his spoil of these, and on the fieldOf Xeres, where contending multitudesHad trampled it beneath their bloody feet,The standard of the Goths forgotten layDefiled, and rotting there in sun and rain.Utterly is it lost; nor ever moreHerald or antiquary’s patient searchShall from forgetfulness avail to saveThose blazon’d arms, so fatally of oldRenown’d through all the affrighted Occident.That banner, before which imperial RomeFirst to a conqueror bow’d her head abased;Which when the dreadful Hun, with all his powers,Came like a deluge rolling o’er the world,Made head, and in the front of battle brokeHis force, till then resistless; which so oftHad with alternate fortune braved the Frank:Driven the Byzantine from the farthest shoresOf Spain, long lingering there, to final flight;And of their kingdoms and their name despoil’dThe Vandal, and the Alan, and the Sueve;Blotted from human records is it nowAs it had never been. So let it restWith things forgotten! But Oblivion ne’erShall cancel from the historic roll, nor Time,Who changeth all, obscure that fated sign,Which brighter now than mountain snows at noonTo the bright sun displays its argent field.Rose not the vision then upon thy soul,O Roderick, when within that argent fieldThou saw’st the rampant Lion, red as ifUpon some noblest quarry he had roll’d,Rejoicing in his satiate rage, and drunkWith blood and fury? Did the auguriesWhich open’d on thy spirit bring with themA perilous consolation, deadening heartAnd soul, yea worse than death, ... that thou through allThy checquer’d way of life, evil and good,Thy errors and thy virtues, had’st but beenThe poor mere instrument of things ordain’d,Doing or suffering, impotent alikeTo will or act, ... perpetually bemock’dWith semblance of volition, yet in allBlind worker of the ways of destiny!That thought intolerable, which in the hourOf woe indignant conscience had repell’d,As little might it find reception now,When the regenerate spirit self-approvedBeheld its sacrifice complete. With faithElate, he saw the banner’d Lion floatRefulgent, and recall’d that thrilling shoutWhich he had heard when on Romano’s graveThe joy of victory woke him from his dream,And sent him with prophetic hope to workFulfilment of the great events ordain’d,There in imagination’s inner worldPrefigured to his soul.Alone, advancedBefore the ranks, the Goth in silence stood,While from all voices round, loquacious joyMingled its buzz continuous with the blastOf horn, shrill pipe, and tinkling cymbals’ clash,And sound of deafening drum. But when the PrinceDrew nigh, and Urban with the Cross upheldStept forth to meet him, all at once were still’dWith instantaneous hush; as when the wind,Before whose violent gusts the forest oaks,Tossing like billows their tempestuous heads,Roar like a raging sea, suspends its force,And leaves so dead a calm that not a leafMoves on the silent spray. The passing airBore with it from the woodland undisturb’dThe ringdove’s wooing, and the quiet voiceOf waters warbling near.Son of a raceOf Heroes and of Kings! the Primate thusAddress’d him, Thou in whom the Gothic blood,Mingling with old Iberia’s, hath restoredTo Spain a ruler of her native line,Stand forth, and in the face of God and manSwear to uphold the right, abate the wrong,With equitable hand, protect the CrossWhereon thy lips this day shall seal their vow,And underneath that hallow’d symbol, wageHoly and inextinguishable warAgainst the accursëd nation that usurpsThy country’s sacred soil!So speak of meNow and for ever, O my countrymen!Replied Pelayo; and so deal with meHere and hereafter, thou, Almighty God,In whom I put my trust!Lord God of Hosts,Urban pursued, of Angels and of MenCreator and Disposer, King of Kings,Ruler of Earth and Heaven, ... look down this day,And multiply thy blessings on the headOf this thy servant, chosen in thy sight!Be thou his counsellor, his comforter,His hope, his joy, his refuge, and his strength;Crown him with justice, and with fortitude,Defend him with thine all-sufficient shield,Surround him every where with the right handOf thine all-present power, and with the mightOf thine omnipotence, send in his aidThy unseen Angels forth, that potentlyAnd royally against all enemiesHe may endure and triumph! Bless the landO’er which he is appointed: bless thou itWith the waters of the firmament, the springsOf the low-lying deep, the fruits which SunAnd Moon mature for man, the precious storesOf the eternal hills, and all the giftsOf Earth, its wealth and fulness!Then he tookPelayo’s hand, and on his finger placedThe mystic circlet.... With this ring, O Prince,To our dear Spain, who like a widow nowMourneth in desolation, I thee wed:For weal or woe thou takest her, till deathDispart the union: Be it blest to her,To thee, and to thy seed!Thus when he ceased,He gave the awaited signal. Roderick broughtThe buckler: Eight for strength and stature chosenCame to their honour’d office: Round the shieldStanding, they lower it for the Chieftain’s feet,Then, slowly raised upon their shoulders, liftThe steady weight. Erect Pelayo stands,And thrice he brandishes the burnish’d sword,While Urban to the assembled people cries,Spaniards, behold your King! The multitudeThen sent forth all their voice with glad acclaim,Raising the loudReal; thrice did the wordRing through the air, and echo from the wallsOf Cangas. Far and wide the thundering shout,Rolling among reduplicating rocks,Peal’d o’er the hills, and up the mountain vales.The wild ass starting in the forest gladeRan to the covert; the affrighted wolfSkulk’d through the thicket to a closer brake;The sluggish bear, awakened in his den,Roused up and answer’d with a sullen growl,Low-breathed and long; and at the uproar scared,The brooding eagle from her nest took wing.Heroes and Chiefs of old! and ye who boreFirm to the last your part in that dread strife,When Julian and Witiza’s viler raceBetray’d their country, hear ye from yon HeavenThe joyful acclamation which proclaimsThat Spain is born again! O ye who diedIn that disastrous field, and ye who fellEmbracing with a martyr’s love your deathAmid the flames of Auria; and all yeVictims innumerable, whose cries unheardOn earth, but heard in Heaven, from all the landWent up for vengeance; not in vain ye cryBefore the eternal throne!... Rest innocent blood!Vengeance is due, and vengeance will be given,Rest innocent blood! The appointed age is come!The star that harbingers a glorious dayHath risen! Lo there the Avenger stands! Lo thereHe brandishes the avenging sword! Lo thereThe avenging banner spreads its argent fieldRefulgent with auspicious light!... Rejoice,O Leon, for thy banner is displayed,Rejoice with all thy mountains, and thy valesAnd streams! And thou, O Spain, through all thy realms,For thy deliverance cometh! Even now,As from all sides the miscreant hosts move on ...From southern Betis; from the western lands,Where through redundant vales smooth Minho flows,And Douro pours through vine-clad hills the wealthOf Leon’s gathered waters; from the plainsBurgensian, in old time Vardulia call’d,But in their castellated strength ere longTo be design’d Castille, a deathless name;From midland regions where Toledo reignsProud city on her royal eminence,And Tagus bends his sickle round the sceneOf Roderick’s fall; from rich Rioja’s fields;Dark Ebro’s shores; the walls of Salduba,Seat of the Sedetanians old, by RomeCæsarian and August denominate,Now Zaragoza, in this later timeAbove all cities of the earth renown’dFor duty perfectly perform’d; ... East, WestAnd South, where’er their gather’d multitudesUrged by the speed of vigorous tyranny,With more than with commeasurable strengthHaste to prevent the danger, crush the hopesOf rising Spain, and rivet round her neckThe eternal yoke, ... the ravenous fowls of heavenFlock there presentient of their food obscene,Following the accursed armies, whom too wellThey know their purveyors long. Pursue their march,Ominous attendants! Ere the moon hath fill’dHer horns, these purveyors shall become the prey,And ye on Moorish not on Christian fleshWearying your beaks, shall clog your scaly feetWith foreign gore. Soon will ye learn to know,Followers and harbingers of blood, the flagOf Leon where it bids you to your feast!Terror and flight shall with that flag go forth,And Havoc and the Dogs of War and Death.Thou Covadonga with the tainted streamOf Deva, and this now rejoicing vale,Soon its primitial triumphs wilt behold!Nor shall the glories of the noon be lessThan such miraculous promise of the dawn:Witness Clavijo, where the dreadful cryOf Santiago, then first heard, o’erpower’dThe Akbar, and that holier name blasphemedBy misbelieving lips! Simancas, thouBe witness! And do ye your record bear,Tolosan mountains, where the AlmohadeBeheld his myriads scatter’d and destroy’d,Like locusts swept before the stormy North!Thou too, Salado, on that later dayWhen Africa received her final foil,And thy swoln stream incarnadined, roll’d backThe invaders to the deep, ... there shall they tossTill on their native Mauritanian shoreThe waves shall cast their bones to whiten there.
Now, when from Covadonga, down the valeHolding his way, the princely mountaineerCame with that happy family in sightOf Cangas and his native towers, far offHe saw before the gate, in fair array,The assembled land. Broad banners were display’d,And spears were sparkling to the sun, shields shone,And helmets glitter’d, and the blairing horn,With frequent sally of impatient joy,Provoked the echoes round. Well he areeds,From yonder ensigns and augmented force,That Odoar and the Primate from the westHave brought their aid; but wherefore all were thusInstructed as for some great festival,He found not, till Favila’s quicker eyeCatching the ready buckler, the glad boyLeapt up, and clapping his exultant hands,Shouted, King! King! my father shall be KingThis day! Pelayo started at the word,And the first thought which smote him brought a sighFor Roderick’s fall; the second was of hope,Deliverance for his country, for himselfEnduring fame, and glory for his line.That high prophetic forethought gather’d strength,As looking to his honour’d mate, he readHer soul’s accordant augury; her eyesBrighten’d; the quicken’d action of the bloodTinged with a deeper hue her glowing cheek,And on her lips there sate a smile which spakeThe honourable pride of perfect love,Rejoicing, for her husband’s sake, to shareThe lot he chose, the perils he defied,The lofty fortune which their faith foresaw.
Now, when from Covadonga, down the vale
Holding his way, the princely mountaineer
Came with that happy family in sight
Of Cangas and his native towers, far off
He saw before the gate, in fair array,
The assembled land. Broad banners were display’d,
And spears were sparkling to the sun, shields shone,
And helmets glitter’d, and the blairing horn,
With frequent sally of impatient joy,
Provoked the echoes round. Well he areeds,
From yonder ensigns and augmented force,
That Odoar and the Primate from the west
Have brought their aid; but wherefore all were thus
Instructed as for some great festival,
He found not, till Favila’s quicker eye
Catching the ready buckler, the glad boy
Leapt up, and clapping his exultant hands,
Shouted, King! King! my father shall be King
This day! Pelayo started at the word,
And the first thought which smote him brought a sigh
For Roderick’s fall; the second was of hope,
Deliverance for his country, for himself
Enduring fame, and glory for his line.
That high prophetic forethought gather’d strength,
As looking to his honour’d mate, he read
Her soul’s accordant augury; her eyes
Brighten’d; the quicken’d action of the blood
Tinged with a deeper hue her glowing cheek,
And on her lips there sate a smile which spake
The honourable pride of perfect love,
Rejoicing, for her husband’s sake, to share
The lot he chose, the perils he defied,
The lofty fortune which their faith foresaw.
Roderick, in front of all the assembled troops,Held the broad buckler, following to the endThat steady purpose to the which his zealHad this day wrought the Chiefs. Tall as himself,Erect it stood beside him, and his handsHung resting on the rim. This was an hourThat sweeten’d life, repaid and recompensedAll losses; and although it could not healAll griefs, yet laid them for awhile to rest.The active agitating joy that fill’dThe vale, that with contagious influence spreadThrough all the exulting mountaineers, that gaveNew ardour to all spirits, to all breastsInspired fresh impulse of excited hope,Moved every tongue, and strengthen’d every limb, ...That joy which every man reflected sawFrom every face of all the multitude,And heard in every voice, in every sound,Reach’d not the King. Aloof from sympathy,He from the solitude of his own soulBeheld the busy scene. None shared or knewHis deep and incommunicable joy;None but that heavenly Father, who aloneBeholds the struggles of the heart, aloneSees and rewards the secret sacrifice.
Roderick, in front of all the assembled troops,
Held the broad buckler, following to the end
That steady purpose to the which his zeal
Had this day wrought the Chiefs. Tall as himself,
Erect it stood beside him, and his hands
Hung resting on the rim. This was an hour
That sweeten’d life, repaid and recompensed
All losses; and although it could not heal
All griefs, yet laid them for awhile to rest.
The active agitating joy that fill’d
The vale, that with contagious influence spread
Through all the exulting mountaineers, that gave
New ardour to all spirits, to all breasts
Inspired fresh impulse of excited hope,
Moved every tongue, and strengthen’d every limb, ...
That joy which every man reflected saw
From every face of all the multitude,
And heard in every voice, in every sound,
Reach’d not the King. Aloof from sympathy,
He from the solitude of his own soul
Beheld the busy scene. None shared or knew
His deep and incommunicable joy;
None but that heavenly Father, who alone
Beholds the struggles of the heart, alone
Sees and rewards the secret sacrifice.
Among the chiefs conspicuous, Urban stood,He whom, with well-weigh’d choice, in arduous timeTo arduous office the consenting ChurchHad call’d when Sindered fear-smitten fled;Unfaithful shepherd, who for life aloneSolicitous, forsook his flock, when mostIn peril and in suffering they requiredA pastor’s care. Far off at Rome he dwellsIn ignominious safety, while the ChurchKeeps in her annals the deserter’s name,But from the service which with daily zealDevout her ancient prelacy recalls,Blots it, unworthy to partake her prayers.Urban, to that high station thus being call’d,From whence disanimating fear had drivenThe former primate, for the general wealConsulting first, removed with timely careThe relics and the written works of Saints,Toledo’s choicest treasure, prized beyondAll wealth, their living and their dead remains;These to the mountain fastnesses he boreOf unsubdued Cantabria, there deposed,One day to be the boast of yet unbuiltOviedo, and the dear idolatryOf multitudes unborn. To things of stateThen giving thought mature, he held adviceWith Odoar, whom of counsel competentAnd firm of heart he knew. What then they plann’d,Time and the course of over-ruled eventsTo earlier act had ripen’d, than their hopeHad ever in its gladdest dream proposed;And here by agents unforeseen, and meansBeyond the scope of foresight brought about,This day they saw their dearest heart’s desireAccorded them: All-able ProvidenceThus having ordered all, that Spain this hourWith happiest omens, and on surest base,Should from its ruins rear again her throne.
Among the chiefs conspicuous, Urban stood,
He whom, with well-weigh’d choice, in arduous time
To arduous office the consenting Church
Had call’d when Sindered fear-smitten fled;
Unfaithful shepherd, who for life alone
Solicitous, forsook his flock, when most
In peril and in suffering they required
A pastor’s care. Far off at Rome he dwells
In ignominious safety, while the Church
Keeps in her annals the deserter’s name,
But from the service which with daily zeal
Devout her ancient prelacy recalls,
Blots it, unworthy to partake her prayers.
Urban, to that high station thus being call’d,
From whence disanimating fear had driven
The former primate, for the general weal
Consulting first, removed with timely care
The relics and the written works of Saints,
Toledo’s choicest treasure, prized beyond
All wealth, their living and their dead remains;
These to the mountain fastnesses he bore
Of unsubdued Cantabria, there deposed,
One day to be the boast of yet unbuilt
Oviedo, and the dear idolatry
Of multitudes unborn. To things of state
Then giving thought mature, he held advice
With Odoar, whom of counsel competent
And firm of heart he knew. What then they plann’d,
Time and the course of over-ruled events
To earlier act had ripen’d, than their hope
Had ever in its gladdest dream proposed;
And here by agents unforeseen, and means
Beyond the scope of foresight brought about,
This day they saw their dearest heart’s desire
Accorded them: All-able Providence
Thus having ordered all, that Spain this hour
With happiest omens, and on surest base,
Should from its ruins rear again her throne.
For acclamation and for sacring nowOne form must serve, more solemn for the breachOf old observances, whose absence hereDeeplier impress’d the heart, than all displayOf regal pomp and wealth pontifical,Of vestments radiant with their gems, and stiffWith ornature of gold; the glittering train,The long procession, and the full-voiced choir.This day the forms of piety and war,In strange but fitting union must combine.Not in his alb and cope and oraryCame Urban now, nor wore he mitre here,Precious or auriphrygiate; bare of headHe stood, all else in arms complete, and o’erHis gorget’s iron rings the pall was thrownOf wool undyed, which on the Apostle’s tombGregory had laid, and sanctified with prayer;That from the living Pontiff and the deadReplete with holiness, it might impartDoubly derived its grace. One Page besideBore his broad-shadow’d helm; another’s handHeld the long spear, more suited in these timesFor Urban, than the crosier richly wroughtWith silver foliature, the elaborate workOf Grecian or Italian artist, train’dIn the eastern capital, or sacred Rome,Still o’er the West predominant, though fallen.Better the spear befits the shepherd’s handWhen robbers break the fold. Now he had laidThe weapon by, and held a natural crossOf rudest form, unpeel’d, even as it grewOn the near oak that morn.Mutilate alikeOf royal rites was this solemnity.Where was the rubied crown, the sceptre where,And where the golden pome, the proud arrayOf ermines, aureate vests, and jewelry,With all which Leuvigild for after kingsLeft, ostentatious of his power? The MoorHad made his spoil of these, and on the fieldOf Xeres, where contending multitudesHad trampled it beneath their bloody feet,The standard of the Goths forgotten layDefiled, and rotting there in sun and rain.Utterly is it lost; nor ever moreHerald or antiquary’s patient searchShall from forgetfulness avail to saveThose blazon’d arms, so fatally of oldRenown’d through all the affrighted Occident.That banner, before which imperial RomeFirst to a conqueror bow’d her head abased;Which when the dreadful Hun, with all his powers,Came like a deluge rolling o’er the world,Made head, and in the front of battle brokeHis force, till then resistless; which so oftHad with alternate fortune braved the Frank:Driven the Byzantine from the farthest shoresOf Spain, long lingering there, to final flight;And of their kingdoms and their name despoil’dThe Vandal, and the Alan, and the Sueve;Blotted from human records is it nowAs it had never been. So let it restWith things forgotten! But Oblivion ne’erShall cancel from the historic roll, nor Time,Who changeth all, obscure that fated sign,Which brighter now than mountain snows at noonTo the bright sun displays its argent field.
For acclamation and for sacring now
One form must serve, more solemn for the breach
Of old observances, whose absence here
Deeplier impress’d the heart, than all display
Of regal pomp and wealth pontifical,
Of vestments radiant with their gems, and stiff
With ornature of gold; the glittering train,
The long procession, and the full-voiced choir.
This day the forms of piety and war,
In strange but fitting union must combine.
Not in his alb and cope and orary
Came Urban now, nor wore he mitre here,
Precious or auriphrygiate; bare of head
He stood, all else in arms complete, and o’er
His gorget’s iron rings the pall was thrown
Of wool undyed, which on the Apostle’s tomb
Gregory had laid, and sanctified with prayer;
That from the living Pontiff and the dead
Replete with holiness, it might impart
Doubly derived its grace. One Page beside
Bore his broad-shadow’d helm; another’s hand
Held the long spear, more suited in these times
For Urban, than the crosier richly wrought
With silver foliature, the elaborate work
Of Grecian or Italian artist, train’d
In the eastern capital, or sacred Rome,
Still o’er the West predominant, though fallen.
Better the spear befits the shepherd’s hand
When robbers break the fold. Now he had laid
The weapon by, and held a natural cross
Of rudest form, unpeel’d, even as it grew
On the near oak that morn.
Mutilate alike
Of royal rites was this solemnity.
Where was the rubied crown, the sceptre where,
And where the golden pome, the proud array
Of ermines, aureate vests, and jewelry,
With all which Leuvigild for after kings
Left, ostentatious of his power? The Moor
Had made his spoil of these, and on the field
Of Xeres, where contending multitudes
Had trampled it beneath their bloody feet,
The standard of the Goths forgotten lay
Defiled, and rotting there in sun and rain.
Utterly is it lost; nor ever more
Herald or antiquary’s patient search
Shall from forgetfulness avail to save
Those blazon’d arms, so fatally of old
Renown’d through all the affrighted Occident.
That banner, before which imperial Rome
First to a conqueror bow’d her head abased;
Which when the dreadful Hun, with all his powers,
Came like a deluge rolling o’er the world,
Made head, and in the front of battle broke
His force, till then resistless; which so oft
Had with alternate fortune braved the Frank:
Driven the Byzantine from the farthest shores
Of Spain, long lingering there, to final flight;
And of their kingdoms and their name despoil’d
The Vandal, and the Alan, and the Sueve;
Blotted from human records is it now
As it had never been. So let it rest
With things forgotten! But Oblivion ne’er
Shall cancel from the historic roll, nor Time,
Who changeth all, obscure that fated sign,
Which brighter now than mountain snows at noon
To the bright sun displays its argent field.
Rose not the vision then upon thy soul,O Roderick, when within that argent fieldThou saw’st the rampant Lion, red as ifUpon some noblest quarry he had roll’d,Rejoicing in his satiate rage, and drunkWith blood and fury? Did the auguriesWhich open’d on thy spirit bring with themA perilous consolation, deadening heartAnd soul, yea worse than death, ... that thou through allThy checquer’d way of life, evil and good,Thy errors and thy virtues, had’st but beenThe poor mere instrument of things ordain’d,Doing or suffering, impotent alikeTo will or act, ... perpetually bemock’dWith semblance of volition, yet in allBlind worker of the ways of destiny!That thought intolerable, which in the hourOf woe indignant conscience had repell’d,As little might it find reception now,When the regenerate spirit self-approvedBeheld its sacrifice complete. With faithElate, he saw the banner’d Lion floatRefulgent, and recall’d that thrilling shoutWhich he had heard when on Romano’s graveThe joy of victory woke him from his dream,And sent him with prophetic hope to workFulfilment of the great events ordain’d,There in imagination’s inner worldPrefigured to his soul.Alone, advancedBefore the ranks, the Goth in silence stood,While from all voices round, loquacious joyMingled its buzz continuous with the blastOf horn, shrill pipe, and tinkling cymbals’ clash,And sound of deafening drum. But when the PrinceDrew nigh, and Urban with the Cross upheldStept forth to meet him, all at once were still’dWith instantaneous hush; as when the wind,Before whose violent gusts the forest oaks,Tossing like billows their tempestuous heads,Roar like a raging sea, suspends its force,And leaves so dead a calm that not a leafMoves on the silent spray. The passing airBore with it from the woodland undisturb’dThe ringdove’s wooing, and the quiet voiceOf waters warbling near.Son of a raceOf Heroes and of Kings! the Primate thusAddress’d him, Thou in whom the Gothic blood,Mingling with old Iberia’s, hath restoredTo Spain a ruler of her native line,Stand forth, and in the face of God and manSwear to uphold the right, abate the wrong,With equitable hand, protect the CrossWhereon thy lips this day shall seal their vow,And underneath that hallow’d symbol, wageHoly and inextinguishable warAgainst the accursëd nation that usurpsThy country’s sacred soil!So speak of meNow and for ever, O my countrymen!Replied Pelayo; and so deal with meHere and hereafter, thou, Almighty God,In whom I put my trust!Lord God of Hosts,Urban pursued, of Angels and of MenCreator and Disposer, King of Kings,Ruler of Earth and Heaven, ... look down this day,And multiply thy blessings on the headOf this thy servant, chosen in thy sight!Be thou his counsellor, his comforter,His hope, his joy, his refuge, and his strength;Crown him with justice, and with fortitude,Defend him with thine all-sufficient shield,Surround him every where with the right handOf thine all-present power, and with the mightOf thine omnipotence, send in his aidThy unseen Angels forth, that potentlyAnd royally against all enemiesHe may endure and triumph! Bless the landO’er which he is appointed: bless thou itWith the waters of the firmament, the springsOf the low-lying deep, the fruits which SunAnd Moon mature for man, the precious storesOf the eternal hills, and all the giftsOf Earth, its wealth and fulness!Then he tookPelayo’s hand, and on his finger placedThe mystic circlet.... With this ring, O Prince,To our dear Spain, who like a widow nowMourneth in desolation, I thee wed:For weal or woe thou takest her, till deathDispart the union: Be it blest to her,To thee, and to thy seed!Thus when he ceased,He gave the awaited signal. Roderick broughtThe buckler: Eight for strength and stature chosenCame to their honour’d office: Round the shieldStanding, they lower it for the Chieftain’s feet,Then, slowly raised upon their shoulders, liftThe steady weight. Erect Pelayo stands,And thrice he brandishes the burnish’d sword,While Urban to the assembled people cries,Spaniards, behold your King! The multitudeThen sent forth all their voice with glad acclaim,Raising the loudReal; thrice did the wordRing through the air, and echo from the wallsOf Cangas. Far and wide the thundering shout,Rolling among reduplicating rocks,Peal’d o’er the hills, and up the mountain vales.The wild ass starting in the forest gladeRan to the covert; the affrighted wolfSkulk’d through the thicket to a closer brake;The sluggish bear, awakened in his den,Roused up and answer’d with a sullen growl,Low-breathed and long; and at the uproar scared,The brooding eagle from her nest took wing.
Rose not the vision then upon thy soul,
O Roderick, when within that argent field
Thou saw’st the rampant Lion, red as if
Upon some noblest quarry he had roll’d,
Rejoicing in his satiate rage, and drunk
With blood and fury? Did the auguries
Which open’d on thy spirit bring with them
A perilous consolation, deadening heart
And soul, yea worse than death, ... that thou through all
Thy checquer’d way of life, evil and good,
Thy errors and thy virtues, had’st but been
The poor mere instrument of things ordain’d,
Doing or suffering, impotent alike
To will or act, ... perpetually bemock’d
With semblance of volition, yet in all
Blind worker of the ways of destiny!
That thought intolerable, which in the hour
Of woe indignant conscience had repell’d,
As little might it find reception now,
When the regenerate spirit self-approved
Beheld its sacrifice complete. With faith
Elate, he saw the banner’d Lion float
Refulgent, and recall’d that thrilling shout
Which he had heard when on Romano’s grave
The joy of victory woke him from his dream,
And sent him with prophetic hope to work
Fulfilment of the great events ordain’d,
There in imagination’s inner world
Prefigured to his soul.
Alone, advanced
Before the ranks, the Goth in silence stood,
While from all voices round, loquacious joy
Mingled its buzz continuous with the blast
Of horn, shrill pipe, and tinkling cymbals’ clash,
And sound of deafening drum. But when the Prince
Drew nigh, and Urban with the Cross upheld
Stept forth to meet him, all at once were still’d
With instantaneous hush; as when the wind,
Before whose violent gusts the forest oaks,
Tossing like billows their tempestuous heads,
Roar like a raging sea, suspends its force,
And leaves so dead a calm that not a leaf
Moves on the silent spray. The passing air
Bore with it from the woodland undisturb’d
The ringdove’s wooing, and the quiet voice
Of waters warbling near.
Son of a race
Of Heroes and of Kings! the Primate thus
Address’d him, Thou in whom the Gothic blood,
Mingling with old Iberia’s, hath restored
To Spain a ruler of her native line,
Stand forth, and in the face of God and man
Swear to uphold the right, abate the wrong,
With equitable hand, protect the Cross
Whereon thy lips this day shall seal their vow,
And underneath that hallow’d symbol, wage
Holy and inextinguishable war
Against the accursëd nation that usurps
Thy country’s sacred soil!
So speak of me
Now and for ever, O my countrymen!
Replied Pelayo; and so deal with me
Here and hereafter, thou, Almighty God,
In whom I put my trust!
Lord God of Hosts,
Urban pursued, of Angels and of Men
Creator and Disposer, King of Kings,
Ruler of Earth and Heaven, ... look down this day,
And multiply thy blessings on the head
Of this thy servant, chosen in thy sight!
Be thou his counsellor, his comforter,
His hope, his joy, his refuge, and his strength;
Crown him with justice, and with fortitude,
Defend him with thine all-sufficient shield,
Surround him every where with the right hand
Of thine all-present power, and with the might
Of thine omnipotence, send in his aid
Thy unseen Angels forth, that potently
And royally against all enemies
He may endure and triumph! Bless the land
O’er which he is appointed: bless thou it
With the waters of the firmament, the springs
Of the low-lying deep, the fruits which Sun
And Moon mature for man, the precious stores
Of the eternal hills, and all the gifts
Of Earth, its wealth and fulness!
Then he took
Pelayo’s hand, and on his finger placed
The mystic circlet.... With this ring, O Prince,
To our dear Spain, who like a widow now
Mourneth in desolation, I thee wed:
For weal or woe thou takest her, till death
Dispart the union: Be it blest to her,
To thee, and to thy seed!
Thus when he ceased,
He gave the awaited signal. Roderick brought
The buckler: Eight for strength and stature chosen
Came to their honour’d office: Round the shield
Standing, they lower it for the Chieftain’s feet,
Then, slowly raised upon their shoulders, lift
The steady weight. Erect Pelayo stands,
And thrice he brandishes the burnish’d sword,
While Urban to the assembled people cries,
Spaniards, behold your King! The multitude
Then sent forth all their voice with glad acclaim,
Raising the loudReal; thrice did the word
Ring through the air, and echo from the walls
Of Cangas. Far and wide the thundering shout,
Rolling among reduplicating rocks,
Peal’d o’er the hills, and up the mountain vales.
The wild ass starting in the forest glade
Ran to the covert; the affrighted wolf
Skulk’d through the thicket to a closer brake;
The sluggish bear, awakened in his den,
Roused up and answer’d with a sullen growl,
Low-breathed and long; and at the uproar scared,
The brooding eagle from her nest took wing.
Heroes and Chiefs of old! and ye who boreFirm to the last your part in that dread strife,When Julian and Witiza’s viler raceBetray’d their country, hear ye from yon HeavenThe joyful acclamation which proclaimsThat Spain is born again! O ye who diedIn that disastrous field, and ye who fellEmbracing with a martyr’s love your deathAmid the flames of Auria; and all yeVictims innumerable, whose cries unheardOn earth, but heard in Heaven, from all the landWent up for vengeance; not in vain ye cryBefore the eternal throne!... Rest innocent blood!Vengeance is due, and vengeance will be given,Rest innocent blood! The appointed age is come!The star that harbingers a glorious dayHath risen! Lo there the Avenger stands! Lo thereHe brandishes the avenging sword! Lo thereThe avenging banner spreads its argent fieldRefulgent with auspicious light!... Rejoice,O Leon, for thy banner is displayed,Rejoice with all thy mountains, and thy valesAnd streams! And thou, O Spain, through all thy realms,For thy deliverance cometh! Even now,As from all sides the miscreant hosts move on ...From southern Betis; from the western lands,Where through redundant vales smooth Minho flows,And Douro pours through vine-clad hills the wealthOf Leon’s gathered waters; from the plainsBurgensian, in old time Vardulia call’d,But in their castellated strength ere longTo be design’d Castille, a deathless name;From midland regions where Toledo reignsProud city on her royal eminence,And Tagus bends his sickle round the sceneOf Roderick’s fall; from rich Rioja’s fields;Dark Ebro’s shores; the walls of Salduba,Seat of the Sedetanians old, by RomeCæsarian and August denominate,Now Zaragoza, in this later timeAbove all cities of the earth renown’dFor duty perfectly perform’d; ... East, WestAnd South, where’er their gather’d multitudesUrged by the speed of vigorous tyranny,With more than with commeasurable strengthHaste to prevent the danger, crush the hopesOf rising Spain, and rivet round her neckThe eternal yoke, ... the ravenous fowls of heavenFlock there presentient of their food obscene,Following the accursed armies, whom too wellThey know their purveyors long. Pursue their march,Ominous attendants! Ere the moon hath fill’dHer horns, these purveyors shall become the prey,And ye on Moorish not on Christian fleshWearying your beaks, shall clog your scaly feetWith foreign gore. Soon will ye learn to know,Followers and harbingers of blood, the flagOf Leon where it bids you to your feast!Terror and flight shall with that flag go forth,And Havoc and the Dogs of War and Death.Thou Covadonga with the tainted streamOf Deva, and this now rejoicing vale,Soon its primitial triumphs wilt behold!Nor shall the glories of the noon be lessThan such miraculous promise of the dawn:Witness Clavijo, where the dreadful cryOf Santiago, then first heard, o’erpower’dThe Akbar, and that holier name blasphemedBy misbelieving lips! Simancas, thouBe witness! And do ye your record bear,Tolosan mountains, where the AlmohadeBeheld his myriads scatter’d and destroy’d,Like locusts swept before the stormy North!Thou too, Salado, on that later dayWhen Africa received her final foil,And thy swoln stream incarnadined, roll’d backThe invaders to the deep, ... there shall they tossTill on their native Mauritanian shoreThe waves shall cast their bones to whiten there.
Heroes and Chiefs of old! and ye who bore
Firm to the last your part in that dread strife,
When Julian and Witiza’s viler race
Betray’d their country, hear ye from yon Heaven
The joyful acclamation which proclaims
That Spain is born again! O ye who died
In that disastrous field, and ye who fell
Embracing with a martyr’s love your death
Amid the flames of Auria; and all ye
Victims innumerable, whose cries unheard
On earth, but heard in Heaven, from all the land
Went up for vengeance; not in vain ye cry
Before the eternal throne!... Rest innocent blood!
Vengeance is due, and vengeance will be given,
Rest innocent blood! The appointed age is come!
The star that harbingers a glorious day
Hath risen! Lo there the Avenger stands! Lo there
He brandishes the avenging sword! Lo there
The avenging banner spreads its argent field
Refulgent with auspicious light!... Rejoice,
O Leon, for thy banner is displayed,
Rejoice with all thy mountains, and thy vales
And streams! And thou, O Spain, through all thy realms,
For thy deliverance cometh! Even now,
As from all sides the miscreant hosts move on ...
From southern Betis; from the western lands,
Where through redundant vales smooth Minho flows,
And Douro pours through vine-clad hills the wealth
Of Leon’s gathered waters; from the plains
Burgensian, in old time Vardulia call’d,
But in their castellated strength ere long
To be design’d Castille, a deathless name;
From midland regions where Toledo reigns
Proud city on her royal eminence,
And Tagus bends his sickle round the scene
Of Roderick’s fall; from rich Rioja’s fields;
Dark Ebro’s shores; the walls of Salduba,
Seat of the Sedetanians old, by Rome
Cæsarian and August denominate,
Now Zaragoza, in this later time
Above all cities of the earth renown’d
For duty perfectly perform’d; ... East, West
And South, where’er their gather’d multitudes
Urged by the speed of vigorous tyranny,
With more than with commeasurable strength
Haste to prevent the danger, crush the hopes
Of rising Spain, and rivet round her neck
The eternal yoke, ... the ravenous fowls of heaven
Flock there presentient of their food obscene,
Following the accursed armies, whom too well
They know their purveyors long. Pursue their march,
Ominous attendants! Ere the moon hath fill’d
Her horns, these purveyors shall become the prey,
And ye on Moorish not on Christian flesh
Wearying your beaks, shall clog your scaly feet
With foreign gore. Soon will ye learn to know,
Followers and harbingers of blood, the flag
Of Leon where it bids you to your feast!
Terror and flight shall with that flag go forth,
And Havoc and the Dogs of War and Death.
Thou Covadonga with the tainted stream
Of Deva, and this now rejoicing vale,
Soon its primitial triumphs wilt behold!
Nor shall the glories of the noon be less
Than such miraculous promise of the dawn:
Witness Clavijo, where the dreadful cry
Of Santiago, then first heard, o’erpower’d
The Akbar, and that holier name blasphemed
By misbelieving lips! Simancas, thou
Be witness! And do ye your record bear,
Tolosan mountains, where the Almohade
Beheld his myriads scatter’d and destroy’d,
Like locusts swept before the stormy North!
Thou too, Salado, on that later day
When Africa received her final foil,
And thy swoln stream incarnadined, roll’d back
The invaders to the deep, ... there shall they toss
Till on their native Mauritanian shore
The waves shall cast their bones to whiten there.