XXIV.RODERICK AND COUNT JULIAN.
Thou hast been busy, Death! this day, and yetBut half thy work is done; the Gates of HellAre throng’d, yet twice ten thousand spirits more,Who from their warm and healthful tenementsFear no divorce, must ere the sun go downEnter the world of woe! the Gate of HeavenIs open too, and Angels round the throneOf Mercy on their golden harps this dayShall sing the triumphs of Redeeming Love.There was a Church at Cangas dedicateTo that Apostle unto whom his LordHad given the keys; a humble edifice,Whose rude and time-worn structure suited wellThat vale among the mountains. Its low roofWith stone plants and with moss was overgrown,Short fern, and richer weeds which from the eavesHung their long tresses down. White lichens clothedThe sides, save where the ivy spread, which bower’dThe porch, and clustering round the pointed wall,Wherein two bells, each open to the wind,Hung side by side, threaded with hairy shootsThe double nich; and climbing to the cross,Wreathed it and half conceal’d its sacred formWith bushy tufts luxuriant. Here in the font, ...Borne hither with rejoicing and with prayersOf all the happy land who saw in himThe lineage of their ancient Chiefs renew’d, ...The Prince had been immersed: and here withinAn oaken galilee, now black with age,His old Iberian ancestors were laid.Two stately oaks stood nigh, in the full growthOf many a century. They had flourish’d thereBefore the Gothic sword was felt in Spain,And when the ancient sceptre of the GothsWas broken, there they flourish’d still. Their boughsMingled on high, and stretching wide around,Form’d a deep shade, beneath which canopyUpon the ground Count Julian’s board was spread,For to his daughter he had left his tentPitch’d for her use hard by. He at the boardSate with his trusted Captains, Gunderick,Felix and Miro, Theudered and Paul,Basil and Cottila, and Virimar,Men through all fortunes faithful to their Lord,And to that old and tried fidelity,By personal love and honour held in tiesStrong as religious bonds. As there they sate,In the distant vale a rising dust was seen,And frequent flash of steel, ... the flying fightOf men who, by a fiery foe pursued,Put forth their coursers at full speed, to reachThe aid in which they trust. Up sprung the Chiefs,And hastily taking helm and shield, and spear,Sped to their post.Amid the chesnut grovesOn Sella’s side, Alphonso had in chargeTo watch the foe; a prowling band came nigh,Whom with the ardour of impetuous youthHe charged and followed them in close pursuit:Quick succours join’d them; and the strife grew hot,Ere Pedro hastening to bring off his son,Or Julian and his Captains, ... bent alikeThat hour to abstain from combat, (for by thisFull sure they deem’d Alcahman had securedThe easy means of certain victory,) ...Could reach the spot. Both thus in their intentAccording, somewhat had they now allay’dThe fury of the fight, though still spears flew,And strokes of sword and mace were interchanged,When passing through the troop a Moor came upOn errand from the Chief, to Julian sent;A fatal errand fatally perform’dFor Julian, for the Chief, and for himself,And all that host of Musselmen he brought;For while with well-dissembled words he luredThe warrior’s ear, the dexterous ruffian mark’dThe favouring moment and unguarded place,And plunged a javelin in his side. The Count,Fell, but in falling called to Cottila,Treachery! the Moor! the Moor!... He too on whomHe call’d had seen the blow from whence it came,And seized the murderer. Miscreant! he exclaim’d,Who set thee on? The Musselman, who sawHis secret purpose baffled, undismayed,Replies, What I have done is authorized;To punish treachery and prevent worse illOrpas and Abulcacem sent me here;The service of the Caliph and the FaithRequired the blow.The Prophet and the FiendReward thee then! cried Cottila; meantimeTake thou from me thy proper earthly meed;Villain!... and lifting as he spake the sword,He smote him on the neck: the trenchant bladeThrough vein and artery pass’d and yielding boneAnd on the shoulder, as the assassin dropt,His head half-severed fell. The curse of GodFall on the Caliph and the Faith and thee!Stamping for anguish, Cottila pursued;African dogs, thus is it ye requiteOur services?... But dearly shall ye payFor this day’s work!... O Fellow-soldiers, here,Stretching his hands toward the host, he cried,Behold your noble leader basely slain!He who for twenty years hath led us forthTo war, and brought us home with victory,Here he lies foully murdered, ... by the Moors, ...Those whom he trusted, whom he served so well!Our turn is next! but neither will we waitIdly, nor tamely fall!Amid the grief,Tumult, and rage, of those who gather’d round,When Julian could be heard, I have yet life,He said, for vengeance. Virimar, speed thouTo yonder Mountaineers, and tell their ChiefsThat Julian’s veteran army joins this dayPelayo’s standard! The command devolvesOn Gunderick. Fellow-soldiers, who so wellRedress’d the wrongs of your old General,Ye will not let his death go unrevenged!...Tears then were seen on many an iron cheek,And groans were heard from many a resolute heart,And vows with imprecations mix’d went forth,And curses check’d by sobs. Bear me apart,Said Julian, with a faint and painful voice,And let me see my daughter ere I die.Scarce had he spoken when the pitying throngDivide before her. Eagerly she came;A deep and fearful lustre in her eye,A look of settled woe, ... pale, deadly pale,Yet to no lamentations giving way,Nor tears nor groans; ... within her breaking heartShe bore the grief, and kneeling solemnlyBeside him, raised her aweful hands to heaven,And cried, Lord God! be with him in this hourTwo things have I to think of, O my child,Vengeance and thee; said Julian. For the firstI have provided: what remains of lifeAs best may comfort thee may so be bestEmploy’d; let me be borne within the church,And thou, with that good man who follows thee,Attend me there.Thus when Florinda heardHer father speak, a gleam of heavenly joyShone through the anguish of her countenance.O gracious God, she cried, my prayers are heard;Now let me die!... They raised him from the earth;He, knitting as they lifted him his brow,Drew in through open lips and teeth firm-closedHis painful breath, and on the lance laid hand,Lest its long shaft should shake the mortal wound.Gently his men with slow and steady stepTheir suffering burthen bore, and in the ChurchBefore the altar laid him down, his headUpon Florinda’s knees.... Now, friends, said he,Farewell. I ever hoped to meet my deathAmong ye, like a soldier, ... but not thus!Go join the Asturians; and in after years,When of your old commander ye shall talk,How well he loved his followers, what he wasIn battle, and how basely he was slain,Let not the tale its fit completion lack,But say how bravely was his death revenged.Vengeance! in that good word doth Julian makeHis testament; your faithful swords must giveThe will its full performance. Leave me now,I have done with worldly things. Comrades, farewell,And love my memory!They with copious tearsOf burning anger, grief exasperatingTheir rage, and fury giving force to grief,Hasten’d to form their ranks against the Moors.Julian meantime toward the altar turn’dHis languid eyes: That Image, is it notSt. Peter, he inquired, he who deniedHis Lord and was forgiven?... Roderick rejoin’d,It is the Apostle; and may that same Lord,O Julian, to thy soul’s salvation blessThe seasonable thought!The dying CountThen fix’d upon the Goth his earnest eyes,No time, said he, is this for bravery,As little for dissemblance. I would fainDie in the faith wherein my fathers died,Whereto they pledged me in mine infancy....A soldier’s habits, he pursued, have steel’dMy spirit, and perhaps I do not fearThis passage as I ought. But if to feelThat I have sinn’d, and from my soul renounceThe Impostor’s faith, which never in that soulObtain’d a place, ... if at the Saviour’s feet,Laden with guilt, to cast myself and cry,Lord, I believe! help thou my unbelief!...If this in the sincerity of deathSufficeth, ... Father, let me from thy lipsReceive the assurances with which the ChurchDoth bless the dying Christian.Roderick raisedHis eyes to Heaven, and crossing on his breastHis open palms, Mysterious are thy waysAnd merciful, O gracious Lord! he cried,Who to this end hast thus been pleased to leadMy wandering steps! O Father, this thy sonHath sinn’d and gone astray: but hast not ThouSaid, When the sinner from his evil waysTurneth, that he shall save his soul alive,And Angels at the sight rejoice in Heaven?Therefore do I, in thy most holy name,Into thy family receive againHim who was lost, and in that name absolveThe Penitent.... So saying on the headOf Julian solemnly he laid his hands.Then to the altar tremblingly he turn’d,And took the bread, and breaking it, pursued,Julian! receive from me the Bread of Life!In silence reverently the Count partookThe reconciling rite, and to his lipsRoderick then held the consecrated cup.Me too! exclaim’d Florinda, who till thenHad listen’d speechlessly; Thou Man of God,I also must partake! The Lord hath heardMy prayers! one sacrament, ... one hour, ... one grave, ...One resurrection!That dread office done,Count Julian with amazement saw the PriestKneel down before him. By the sacramentWhich we have here partaken, Roderick cried,In this most aweful moment; by that hope, ...That holy faith which comforts thee in death,Grant thy forgiveness, Julian, ere thou diest!Behold the man who most hath injured thee!Roderick, the wretched Goth, the guilty causeOf all thy guilt, ... the unworthy instrumentOf thy redemption, ... kneels before thee here,And prays to be forgiven!Roderick! exclaim’dThe dying Count, ... Roderick!... and from the floorWith violent effort half he raised himself;The spear hung heavy in his side, and painAnd weakness overcame him, that he fellBack on his daughter’s lap. O Death, cried he, ...Passing his hand across his cold damp brow, ...Thou tamest the strong limb, and conquerestThe stubborn heart! But yesterday I saidOne Heaven could not contain mine enemyAnd me: and now I lift my dying voiceTo say, Forgive me, Lord, as I forgiveHim who hath done the wrong!... He closed his eyesA moment; then with sudden impulse cried, ...Roderick, thy wife is dead, ... the Church hath powerTo free thee from thy vows, ... the broken heartMight yet be heal’d, the wrong redress’d, the throneRebuilt by that same hand which pull’d it down,And these cursed Africans.... Oh for a monthOf that waste life which millions misbestow!...His voice was passionate, and in his eyeWith glowing animation while he spakeThe vehement spirit shone: its effort soonWas past, and painfully with feeble breathIn slow and difficult utterance he pursued, ...Vain hope, if all the evil was ordain’d,And this wide wreck the will and work of Heaven,We but the poor occasion! Death will makeAll clear, and joining us in better worlds,Complete our union there! Do for me nowOne friendly office more: ... draw forth the spear,And free me from this pain!... Receive his soul,Saviour! exclaim’d the Goth, as he perform’dThe fatal service. Julian cried, O friend!...True friend!... and gave to him his dying hand.Then said he to Florinda, I go first,Thou followest!... kiss me, child!... and now good night!When from her father’s body she arose,Her cheek was flush’d, and in her eyes there beam’dA wilder brightness. On the Goth she gazedWhile underneath the emotions of that hourExhausted life gave way. O God! she said,Lifting her hands, thou hast restored me all, ...All ... in one hour!... and round his neck she threwHer arms and cried, My Roderick! mine in Heaven!Groaning, he claspt her close, and in that actAnd agony her happy spirit fled.
Thou hast been busy, Death! this day, and yetBut half thy work is done; the Gates of HellAre throng’d, yet twice ten thousand spirits more,Who from their warm and healthful tenementsFear no divorce, must ere the sun go downEnter the world of woe! the Gate of HeavenIs open too, and Angels round the throneOf Mercy on their golden harps this dayShall sing the triumphs of Redeeming Love.There was a Church at Cangas dedicateTo that Apostle unto whom his LordHad given the keys; a humble edifice,Whose rude and time-worn structure suited wellThat vale among the mountains. Its low roofWith stone plants and with moss was overgrown,Short fern, and richer weeds which from the eavesHung their long tresses down. White lichens clothedThe sides, save where the ivy spread, which bower’dThe porch, and clustering round the pointed wall,Wherein two bells, each open to the wind,Hung side by side, threaded with hairy shootsThe double nich; and climbing to the cross,Wreathed it and half conceal’d its sacred formWith bushy tufts luxuriant. Here in the font, ...Borne hither with rejoicing and with prayersOf all the happy land who saw in himThe lineage of their ancient Chiefs renew’d, ...The Prince had been immersed: and here withinAn oaken galilee, now black with age,His old Iberian ancestors were laid.Two stately oaks stood nigh, in the full growthOf many a century. They had flourish’d thereBefore the Gothic sword was felt in Spain,And when the ancient sceptre of the GothsWas broken, there they flourish’d still. Their boughsMingled on high, and stretching wide around,Form’d a deep shade, beneath which canopyUpon the ground Count Julian’s board was spread,For to his daughter he had left his tentPitch’d for her use hard by. He at the boardSate with his trusted Captains, Gunderick,Felix and Miro, Theudered and Paul,Basil and Cottila, and Virimar,Men through all fortunes faithful to their Lord,And to that old and tried fidelity,By personal love and honour held in tiesStrong as religious bonds. As there they sate,In the distant vale a rising dust was seen,And frequent flash of steel, ... the flying fightOf men who, by a fiery foe pursued,Put forth their coursers at full speed, to reachThe aid in which they trust. Up sprung the Chiefs,And hastily taking helm and shield, and spear,Sped to their post.Amid the chesnut grovesOn Sella’s side, Alphonso had in chargeTo watch the foe; a prowling band came nigh,Whom with the ardour of impetuous youthHe charged and followed them in close pursuit:Quick succours join’d them; and the strife grew hot,Ere Pedro hastening to bring off his son,Or Julian and his Captains, ... bent alikeThat hour to abstain from combat, (for by thisFull sure they deem’d Alcahman had securedThe easy means of certain victory,) ...Could reach the spot. Both thus in their intentAccording, somewhat had they now allay’dThe fury of the fight, though still spears flew,And strokes of sword and mace were interchanged,When passing through the troop a Moor came upOn errand from the Chief, to Julian sent;A fatal errand fatally perform’dFor Julian, for the Chief, and for himself,And all that host of Musselmen he brought;For while with well-dissembled words he luredThe warrior’s ear, the dexterous ruffian mark’dThe favouring moment and unguarded place,And plunged a javelin in his side. The Count,Fell, but in falling called to Cottila,Treachery! the Moor! the Moor!... He too on whomHe call’d had seen the blow from whence it came,And seized the murderer. Miscreant! he exclaim’d,Who set thee on? The Musselman, who sawHis secret purpose baffled, undismayed,Replies, What I have done is authorized;To punish treachery and prevent worse illOrpas and Abulcacem sent me here;The service of the Caliph and the FaithRequired the blow.The Prophet and the FiendReward thee then! cried Cottila; meantimeTake thou from me thy proper earthly meed;Villain!... and lifting as he spake the sword,He smote him on the neck: the trenchant bladeThrough vein and artery pass’d and yielding boneAnd on the shoulder, as the assassin dropt,His head half-severed fell. The curse of GodFall on the Caliph and the Faith and thee!Stamping for anguish, Cottila pursued;African dogs, thus is it ye requiteOur services?... But dearly shall ye payFor this day’s work!... O Fellow-soldiers, here,Stretching his hands toward the host, he cried,Behold your noble leader basely slain!He who for twenty years hath led us forthTo war, and brought us home with victory,Here he lies foully murdered, ... by the Moors, ...Those whom he trusted, whom he served so well!Our turn is next! but neither will we waitIdly, nor tamely fall!Amid the grief,Tumult, and rage, of those who gather’d round,When Julian could be heard, I have yet life,He said, for vengeance. Virimar, speed thouTo yonder Mountaineers, and tell their ChiefsThat Julian’s veteran army joins this dayPelayo’s standard! The command devolvesOn Gunderick. Fellow-soldiers, who so wellRedress’d the wrongs of your old General,Ye will not let his death go unrevenged!...Tears then were seen on many an iron cheek,And groans were heard from many a resolute heart,And vows with imprecations mix’d went forth,And curses check’d by sobs. Bear me apart,Said Julian, with a faint and painful voice,And let me see my daughter ere I die.Scarce had he spoken when the pitying throngDivide before her. Eagerly she came;A deep and fearful lustre in her eye,A look of settled woe, ... pale, deadly pale,Yet to no lamentations giving way,Nor tears nor groans; ... within her breaking heartShe bore the grief, and kneeling solemnlyBeside him, raised her aweful hands to heaven,And cried, Lord God! be with him in this hourTwo things have I to think of, O my child,Vengeance and thee; said Julian. For the firstI have provided: what remains of lifeAs best may comfort thee may so be bestEmploy’d; let me be borne within the church,And thou, with that good man who follows thee,Attend me there.Thus when Florinda heardHer father speak, a gleam of heavenly joyShone through the anguish of her countenance.O gracious God, she cried, my prayers are heard;Now let me die!... They raised him from the earth;He, knitting as they lifted him his brow,Drew in through open lips and teeth firm-closedHis painful breath, and on the lance laid hand,Lest its long shaft should shake the mortal wound.Gently his men with slow and steady stepTheir suffering burthen bore, and in the ChurchBefore the altar laid him down, his headUpon Florinda’s knees.... Now, friends, said he,Farewell. I ever hoped to meet my deathAmong ye, like a soldier, ... but not thus!Go join the Asturians; and in after years,When of your old commander ye shall talk,How well he loved his followers, what he wasIn battle, and how basely he was slain,Let not the tale its fit completion lack,But say how bravely was his death revenged.Vengeance! in that good word doth Julian makeHis testament; your faithful swords must giveThe will its full performance. Leave me now,I have done with worldly things. Comrades, farewell,And love my memory!They with copious tearsOf burning anger, grief exasperatingTheir rage, and fury giving force to grief,Hasten’d to form their ranks against the Moors.Julian meantime toward the altar turn’dHis languid eyes: That Image, is it notSt. Peter, he inquired, he who deniedHis Lord and was forgiven?... Roderick rejoin’d,It is the Apostle; and may that same Lord,O Julian, to thy soul’s salvation blessThe seasonable thought!The dying CountThen fix’d upon the Goth his earnest eyes,No time, said he, is this for bravery,As little for dissemblance. I would fainDie in the faith wherein my fathers died,Whereto they pledged me in mine infancy....A soldier’s habits, he pursued, have steel’dMy spirit, and perhaps I do not fearThis passage as I ought. But if to feelThat I have sinn’d, and from my soul renounceThe Impostor’s faith, which never in that soulObtain’d a place, ... if at the Saviour’s feet,Laden with guilt, to cast myself and cry,Lord, I believe! help thou my unbelief!...If this in the sincerity of deathSufficeth, ... Father, let me from thy lipsReceive the assurances with which the ChurchDoth bless the dying Christian.Roderick raisedHis eyes to Heaven, and crossing on his breastHis open palms, Mysterious are thy waysAnd merciful, O gracious Lord! he cried,Who to this end hast thus been pleased to leadMy wandering steps! O Father, this thy sonHath sinn’d and gone astray: but hast not ThouSaid, When the sinner from his evil waysTurneth, that he shall save his soul alive,And Angels at the sight rejoice in Heaven?Therefore do I, in thy most holy name,Into thy family receive againHim who was lost, and in that name absolveThe Penitent.... So saying on the headOf Julian solemnly he laid his hands.Then to the altar tremblingly he turn’d,And took the bread, and breaking it, pursued,Julian! receive from me the Bread of Life!In silence reverently the Count partookThe reconciling rite, and to his lipsRoderick then held the consecrated cup.Me too! exclaim’d Florinda, who till thenHad listen’d speechlessly; Thou Man of God,I also must partake! The Lord hath heardMy prayers! one sacrament, ... one hour, ... one grave, ...One resurrection!That dread office done,Count Julian with amazement saw the PriestKneel down before him. By the sacramentWhich we have here partaken, Roderick cried,In this most aweful moment; by that hope, ...That holy faith which comforts thee in death,Grant thy forgiveness, Julian, ere thou diest!Behold the man who most hath injured thee!Roderick, the wretched Goth, the guilty causeOf all thy guilt, ... the unworthy instrumentOf thy redemption, ... kneels before thee here,And prays to be forgiven!Roderick! exclaim’dThe dying Count, ... Roderick!... and from the floorWith violent effort half he raised himself;The spear hung heavy in his side, and painAnd weakness overcame him, that he fellBack on his daughter’s lap. O Death, cried he, ...Passing his hand across his cold damp brow, ...Thou tamest the strong limb, and conquerestThe stubborn heart! But yesterday I saidOne Heaven could not contain mine enemyAnd me: and now I lift my dying voiceTo say, Forgive me, Lord, as I forgiveHim who hath done the wrong!... He closed his eyesA moment; then with sudden impulse cried, ...Roderick, thy wife is dead, ... the Church hath powerTo free thee from thy vows, ... the broken heartMight yet be heal’d, the wrong redress’d, the throneRebuilt by that same hand which pull’d it down,And these cursed Africans.... Oh for a monthOf that waste life which millions misbestow!...His voice was passionate, and in his eyeWith glowing animation while he spakeThe vehement spirit shone: its effort soonWas past, and painfully with feeble breathIn slow and difficult utterance he pursued, ...Vain hope, if all the evil was ordain’d,And this wide wreck the will and work of Heaven,We but the poor occasion! Death will makeAll clear, and joining us in better worlds,Complete our union there! Do for me nowOne friendly office more: ... draw forth the spear,And free me from this pain!... Receive his soul,Saviour! exclaim’d the Goth, as he perform’dThe fatal service. Julian cried, O friend!...True friend!... and gave to him his dying hand.Then said he to Florinda, I go first,Thou followest!... kiss me, child!... and now good night!When from her father’s body she arose,Her cheek was flush’d, and in her eyes there beam’dA wilder brightness. On the Goth she gazedWhile underneath the emotions of that hourExhausted life gave way. O God! she said,Lifting her hands, thou hast restored me all, ...All ... in one hour!... and round his neck she threwHer arms and cried, My Roderick! mine in Heaven!Groaning, he claspt her close, and in that actAnd agony her happy spirit fled.
Thou hast been busy, Death! this day, and yetBut half thy work is done; the Gates of HellAre throng’d, yet twice ten thousand spirits more,Who from their warm and healthful tenementsFear no divorce, must ere the sun go downEnter the world of woe! the Gate of HeavenIs open too, and Angels round the throneOf Mercy on their golden harps this dayShall sing the triumphs of Redeeming Love.
Thou hast been busy, Death! this day, and yet
But half thy work is done; the Gates of Hell
Are throng’d, yet twice ten thousand spirits more,
Who from their warm and healthful tenements
Fear no divorce, must ere the sun go down
Enter the world of woe! the Gate of Heaven
Is open too, and Angels round the throne
Of Mercy on their golden harps this day
Shall sing the triumphs of Redeeming Love.
There was a Church at Cangas dedicateTo that Apostle unto whom his LordHad given the keys; a humble edifice,Whose rude and time-worn structure suited wellThat vale among the mountains. Its low roofWith stone plants and with moss was overgrown,Short fern, and richer weeds which from the eavesHung their long tresses down. White lichens clothedThe sides, save where the ivy spread, which bower’dThe porch, and clustering round the pointed wall,Wherein two bells, each open to the wind,Hung side by side, threaded with hairy shootsThe double nich; and climbing to the cross,Wreathed it and half conceal’d its sacred formWith bushy tufts luxuriant. Here in the font, ...Borne hither with rejoicing and with prayersOf all the happy land who saw in himThe lineage of their ancient Chiefs renew’d, ...The Prince had been immersed: and here withinAn oaken galilee, now black with age,His old Iberian ancestors were laid.
There was a Church at Cangas dedicate
To that Apostle unto whom his Lord
Had given the keys; a humble edifice,
Whose rude and time-worn structure suited well
That vale among the mountains. Its low roof
With stone plants and with moss was overgrown,
Short fern, and richer weeds which from the eaves
Hung their long tresses down. White lichens clothed
The sides, save where the ivy spread, which bower’d
The porch, and clustering round the pointed wall,
Wherein two bells, each open to the wind,
Hung side by side, threaded with hairy shoots
The double nich; and climbing to the cross,
Wreathed it and half conceal’d its sacred form
With bushy tufts luxuriant. Here in the font, ...
Borne hither with rejoicing and with prayers
Of all the happy land who saw in him
The lineage of their ancient Chiefs renew’d, ...
The Prince had been immersed: and here within
An oaken galilee, now black with age,
His old Iberian ancestors were laid.
Two stately oaks stood nigh, in the full growthOf many a century. They had flourish’d thereBefore the Gothic sword was felt in Spain,And when the ancient sceptre of the GothsWas broken, there they flourish’d still. Their boughsMingled on high, and stretching wide around,Form’d a deep shade, beneath which canopyUpon the ground Count Julian’s board was spread,For to his daughter he had left his tentPitch’d for her use hard by. He at the boardSate with his trusted Captains, Gunderick,Felix and Miro, Theudered and Paul,Basil and Cottila, and Virimar,Men through all fortunes faithful to their Lord,And to that old and tried fidelity,By personal love and honour held in tiesStrong as religious bonds. As there they sate,In the distant vale a rising dust was seen,And frequent flash of steel, ... the flying fightOf men who, by a fiery foe pursued,Put forth their coursers at full speed, to reachThe aid in which they trust. Up sprung the Chiefs,And hastily taking helm and shield, and spear,Sped to their post.Amid the chesnut grovesOn Sella’s side, Alphonso had in chargeTo watch the foe; a prowling band came nigh,Whom with the ardour of impetuous youthHe charged and followed them in close pursuit:Quick succours join’d them; and the strife grew hot,Ere Pedro hastening to bring off his son,Or Julian and his Captains, ... bent alikeThat hour to abstain from combat, (for by thisFull sure they deem’d Alcahman had securedThe easy means of certain victory,) ...Could reach the spot. Both thus in their intentAccording, somewhat had they now allay’dThe fury of the fight, though still spears flew,And strokes of sword and mace were interchanged,When passing through the troop a Moor came upOn errand from the Chief, to Julian sent;A fatal errand fatally perform’dFor Julian, for the Chief, and for himself,And all that host of Musselmen he brought;For while with well-dissembled words he luredThe warrior’s ear, the dexterous ruffian mark’dThe favouring moment and unguarded place,And plunged a javelin in his side. The Count,Fell, but in falling called to Cottila,Treachery! the Moor! the Moor!... He too on whomHe call’d had seen the blow from whence it came,And seized the murderer. Miscreant! he exclaim’d,Who set thee on? The Musselman, who sawHis secret purpose baffled, undismayed,Replies, What I have done is authorized;To punish treachery and prevent worse illOrpas and Abulcacem sent me here;The service of the Caliph and the FaithRequired the blow.The Prophet and the FiendReward thee then! cried Cottila; meantimeTake thou from me thy proper earthly meed;Villain!... and lifting as he spake the sword,He smote him on the neck: the trenchant bladeThrough vein and artery pass’d and yielding boneAnd on the shoulder, as the assassin dropt,His head half-severed fell. The curse of GodFall on the Caliph and the Faith and thee!Stamping for anguish, Cottila pursued;African dogs, thus is it ye requiteOur services?... But dearly shall ye payFor this day’s work!... O Fellow-soldiers, here,Stretching his hands toward the host, he cried,Behold your noble leader basely slain!He who for twenty years hath led us forthTo war, and brought us home with victory,Here he lies foully murdered, ... by the Moors, ...Those whom he trusted, whom he served so well!Our turn is next! but neither will we waitIdly, nor tamely fall!Amid the grief,Tumult, and rage, of those who gather’d round,When Julian could be heard, I have yet life,He said, for vengeance. Virimar, speed thouTo yonder Mountaineers, and tell their ChiefsThat Julian’s veteran army joins this dayPelayo’s standard! The command devolvesOn Gunderick. Fellow-soldiers, who so wellRedress’d the wrongs of your old General,Ye will not let his death go unrevenged!...Tears then were seen on many an iron cheek,And groans were heard from many a resolute heart,And vows with imprecations mix’d went forth,And curses check’d by sobs. Bear me apart,Said Julian, with a faint and painful voice,And let me see my daughter ere I die.
Two stately oaks stood nigh, in the full growth
Of many a century. They had flourish’d there
Before the Gothic sword was felt in Spain,
And when the ancient sceptre of the Goths
Was broken, there they flourish’d still. Their boughs
Mingled on high, and stretching wide around,
Form’d a deep shade, beneath which canopy
Upon the ground Count Julian’s board was spread,
For to his daughter he had left his tent
Pitch’d for her use hard by. He at the board
Sate with his trusted Captains, Gunderick,
Felix and Miro, Theudered and Paul,
Basil and Cottila, and Virimar,
Men through all fortunes faithful to their Lord,
And to that old and tried fidelity,
By personal love and honour held in ties
Strong as religious bonds. As there they sate,
In the distant vale a rising dust was seen,
And frequent flash of steel, ... the flying fight
Of men who, by a fiery foe pursued,
Put forth their coursers at full speed, to reach
The aid in which they trust. Up sprung the Chiefs,
And hastily taking helm and shield, and spear,
Sped to their post.
Amid the chesnut groves
On Sella’s side, Alphonso had in charge
To watch the foe; a prowling band came nigh,
Whom with the ardour of impetuous youth
He charged and followed them in close pursuit:
Quick succours join’d them; and the strife grew hot,
Ere Pedro hastening to bring off his son,
Or Julian and his Captains, ... bent alike
That hour to abstain from combat, (for by this
Full sure they deem’d Alcahman had secured
The easy means of certain victory,) ...
Could reach the spot. Both thus in their intent
According, somewhat had they now allay’d
The fury of the fight, though still spears flew,
And strokes of sword and mace were interchanged,
When passing through the troop a Moor came up
On errand from the Chief, to Julian sent;
A fatal errand fatally perform’d
For Julian, for the Chief, and for himself,
And all that host of Musselmen he brought;
For while with well-dissembled words he lured
The warrior’s ear, the dexterous ruffian mark’d
The favouring moment and unguarded place,
And plunged a javelin in his side. The Count,
Fell, but in falling called to Cottila,
Treachery! the Moor! the Moor!... He too on whom
He call’d had seen the blow from whence it came,
And seized the murderer. Miscreant! he exclaim’d,
Who set thee on? The Musselman, who saw
His secret purpose baffled, undismayed,
Replies, What I have done is authorized;
To punish treachery and prevent worse ill
Orpas and Abulcacem sent me here;
The service of the Caliph and the Faith
Required the blow.
The Prophet and the Fiend
Reward thee then! cried Cottila; meantime
Take thou from me thy proper earthly meed;
Villain!... and lifting as he spake the sword,
He smote him on the neck: the trenchant blade
Through vein and artery pass’d and yielding bone
And on the shoulder, as the assassin dropt,
His head half-severed fell. The curse of God
Fall on the Caliph and the Faith and thee!
Stamping for anguish, Cottila pursued;
African dogs, thus is it ye requite
Our services?... But dearly shall ye pay
For this day’s work!... O Fellow-soldiers, here,
Stretching his hands toward the host, he cried,
Behold your noble leader basely slain!
He who for twenty years hath led us forth
To war, and brought us home with victory,
Here he lies foully murdered, ... by the Moors, ...
Those whom he trusted, whom he served so well!
Our turn is next! but neither will we wait
Idly, nor tamely fall!
Amid the grief,
Tumult, and rage, of those who gather’d round,
When Julian could be heard, I have yet life,
He said, for vengeance. Virimar, speed thou
To yonder Mountaineers, and tell their Chiefs
That Julian’s veteran army joins this day
Pelayo’s standard! The command devolves
On Gunderick. Fellow-soldiers, who so well
Redress’d the wrongs of your old General,
Ye will not let his death go unrevenged!...
Tears then were seen on many an iron cheek,
And groans were heard from many a resolute heart,
And vows with imprecations mix’d went forth,
And curses check’d by sobs. Bear me apart,
Said Julian, with a faint and painful voice,
And let me see my daughter ere I die.
Scarce had he spoken when the pitying throngDivide before her. Eagerly she came;A deep and fearful lustre in her eye,A look of settled woe, ... pale, deadly pale,Yet to no lamentations giving way,Nor tears nor groans; ... within her breaking heartShe bore the grief, and kneeling solemnlyBeside him, raised her aweful hands to heaven,And cried, Lord God! be with him in this hourTwo things have I to think of, O my child,Vengeance and thee; said Julian. For the firstI have provided: what remains of lifeAs best may comfort thee may so be bestEmploy’d; let me be borne within the church,And thou, with that good man who follows thee,Attend me there.Thus when Florinda heardHer father speak, a gleam of heavenly joyShone through the anguish of her countenance.O gracious God, she cried, my prayers are heard;Now let me die!... They raised him from the earth;He, knitting as they lifted him his brow,Drew in through open lips and teeth firm-closedHis painful breath, and on the lance laid hand,Lest its long shaft should shake the mortal wound.Gently his men with slow and steady stepTheir suffering burthen bore, and in the ChurchBefore the altar laid him down, his headUpon Florinda’s knees.... Now, friends, said he,Farewell. I ever hoped to meet my deathAmong ye, like a soldier, ... but not thus!Go join the Asturians; and in after years,When of your old commander ye shall talk,How well he loved his followers, what he wasIn battle, and how basely he was slain,Let not the tale its fit completion lack,But say how bravely was his death revenged.Vengeance! in that good word doth Julian makeHis testament; your faithful swords must giveThe will its full performance. Leave me now,I have done with worldly things. Comrades, farewell,And love my memory!They with copious tearsOf burning anger, grief exasperatingTheir rage, and fury giving force to grief,Hasten’d to form their ranks against the Moors.Julian meantime toward the altar turn’dHis languid eyes: That Image, is it notSt. Peter, he inquired, he who deniedHis Lord and was forgiven?... Roderick rejoin’d,It is the Apostle; and may that same Lord,O Julian, to thy soul’s salvation blessThe seasonable thought!The dying CountThen fix’d upon the Goth his earnest eyes,No time, said he, is this for bravery,As little for dissemblance. I would fainDie in the faith wherein my fathers died,Whereto they pledged me in mine infancy....A soldier’s habits, he pursued, have steel’dMy spirit, and perhaps I do not fearThis passage as I ought. But if to feelThat I have sinn’d, and from my soul renounceThe Impostor’s faith, which never in that soulObtain’d a place, ... if at the Saviour’s feet,Laden with guilt, to cast myself and cry,Lord, I believe! help thou my unbelief!...If this in the sincerity of deathSufficeth, ... Father, let me from thy lipsReceive the assurances with which the ChurchDoth bless the dying Christian.Roderick raisedHis eyes to Heaven, and crossing on his breastHis open palms, Mysterious are thy waysAnd merciful, O gracious Lord! he cried,Who to this end hast thus been pleased to leadMy wandering steps! O Father, this thy sonHath sinn’d and gone astray: but hast not ThouSaid, When the sinner from his evil waysTurneth, that he shall save his soul alive,And Angels at the sight rejoice in Heaven?Therefore do I, in thy most holy name,Into thy family receive againHim who was lost, and in that name absolveThe Penitent.... So saying on the headOf Julian solemnly he laid his hands.Then to the altar tremblingly he turn’d,And took the bread, and breaking it, pursued,Julian! receive from me the Bread of Life!In silence reverently the Count partookThe reconciling rite, and to his lipsRoderick then held the consecrated cup.
Scarce had he spoken when the pitying throng
Divide before her. Eagerly she came;
A deep and fearful lustre in her eye,
A look of settled woe, ... pale, deadly pale,
Yet to no lamentations giving way,
Nor tears nor groans; ... within her breaking heart
She bore the grief, and kneeling solemnly
Beside him, raised her aweful hands to heaven,
And cried, Lord God! be with him in this hour
Two things have I to think of, O my child,
Vengeance and thee; said Julian. For the first
I have provided: what remains of life
As best may comfort thee may so be best
Employ’d; let me be borne within the church,
And thou, with that good man who follows thee,
Attend me there.
Thus when Florinda heard
Her father speak, a gleam of heavenly joy
Shone through the anguish of her countenance.
O gracious God, she cried, my prayers are heard;
Now let me die!... They raised him from the earth;
He, knitting as they lifted him his brow,
Drew in through open lips and teeth firm-closed
His painful breath, and on the lance laid hand,
Lest its long shaft should shake the mortal wound.
Gently his men with slow and steady step
Their suffering burthen bore, and in the Church
Before the altar laid him down, his head
Upon Florinda’s knees.... Now, friends, said he,
Farewell. I ever hoped to meet my death
Among ye, like a soldier, ... but not thus!
Go join the Asturians; and in after years,
When of your old commander ye shall talk,
How well he loved his followers, what he was
In battle, and how basely he was slain,
Let not the tale its fit completion lack,
But say how bravely was his death revenged.
Vengeance! in that good word doth Julian make
His testament; your faithful swords must give
The will its full performance. Leave me now,
I have done with worldly things. Comrades, farewell,
And love my memory!
They with copious tears
Of burning anger, grief exasperating
Their rage, and fury giving force to grief,
Hasten’d to form their ranks against the Moors.
Julian meantime toward the altar turn’d
His languid eyes: That Image, is it not
St. Peter, he inquired, he who denied
His Lord and was forgiven?... Roderick rejoin’d,
It is the Apostle; and may that same Lord,
O Julian, to thy soul’s salvation bless
The seasonable thought!
The dying Count
Then fix’d upon the Goth his earnest eyes,
No time, said he, is this for bravery,
As little for dissemblance. I would fain
Die in the faith wherein my fathers died,
Whereto they pledged me in mine infancy....
A soldier’s habits, he pursued, have steel’d
My spirit, and perhaps I do not fear
This passage as I ought. But if to feel
That I have sinn’d, and from my soul renounce
The Impostor’s faith, which never in that soul
Obtain’d a place, ... if at the Saviour’s feet,
Laden with guilt, to cast myself and cry,
Lord, I believe! help thou my unbelief!...
If this in the sincerity of death
Sufficeth, ... Father, let me from thy lips
Receive the assurances with which the Church
Doth bless the dying Christian.
Roderick raised
His eyes to Heaven, and crossing on his breast
His open palms, Mysterious are thy ways
And merciful, O gracious Lord! he cried,
Who to this end hast thus been pleased to lead
My wandering steps! O Father, this thy son
Hath sinn’d and gone astray: but hast not Thou
Said, When the sinner from his evil ways
Turneth, that he shall save his soul alive,
And Angels at the sight rejoice in Heaven?
Therefore do I, in thy most holy name,
Into thy family receive again
Him who was lost, and in that name absolve
The Penitent.... So saying on the head
Of Julian solemnly he laid his hands.
Then to the altar tremblingly he turn’d,
And took the bread, and breaking it, pursued,
Julian! receive from me the Bread of Life!
In silence reverently the Count partook
The reconciling rite, and to his lips
Roderick then held the consecrated cup.
Me too! exclaim’d Florinda, who till thenHad listen’d speechlessly; Thou Man of God,I also must partake! The Lord hath heardMy prayers! one sacrament, ... one hour, ... one grave, ...One resurrection!That dread office done,Count Julian with amazement saw the PriestKneel down before him. By the sacramentWhich we have here partaken, Roderick cried,In this most aweful moment; by that hope, ...That holy faith which comforts thee in death,Grant thy forgiveness, Julian, ere thou diest!Behold the man who most hath injured thee!Roderick, the wretched Goth, the guilty causeOf all thy guilt, ... the unworthy instrumentOf thy redemption, ... kneels before thee here,And prays to be forgiven!Roderick! exclaim’dThe dying Count, ... Roderick!... and from the floorWith violent effort half he raised himself;The spear hung heavy in his side, and painAnd weakness overcame him, that he fellBack on his daughter’s lap. O Death, cried he, ...Passing his hand across his cold damp brow, ...Thou tamest the strong limb, and conquerestThe stubborn heart! But yesterday I saidOne Heaven could not contain mine enemyAnd me: and now I lift my dying voiceTo say, Forgive me, Lord, as I forgiveHim who hath done the wrong!... He closed his eyesA moment; then with sudden impulse cried, ...Roderick, thy wife is dead, ... the Church hath powerTo free thee from thy vows, ... the broken heartMight yet be heal’d, the wrong redress’d, the throneRebuilt by that same hand which pull’d it down,And these cursed Africans.... Oh for a monthOf that waste life which millions misbestow!...His voice was passionate, and in his eyeWith glowing animation while he spakeThe vehement spirit shone: its effort soonWas past, and painfully with feeble breathIn slow and difficult utterance he pursued, ...Vain hope, if all the evil was ordain’d,And this wide wreck the will and work of Heaven,We but the poor occasion! Death will makeAll clear, and joining us in better worlds,Complete our union there! Do for me nowOne friendly office more: ... draw forth the spear,And free me from this pain!... Receive his soul,Saviour! exclaim’d the Goth, as he perform’dThe fatal service. Julian cried, O friend!...True friend!... and gave to him his dying hand.Then said he to Florinda, I go first,Thou followest!... kiss me, child!... and now good night!When from her father’s body she arose,Her cheek was flush’d, and in her eyes there beam’dA wilder brightness. On the Goth she gazedWhile underneath the emotions of that hourExhausted life gave way. O God! she said,Lifting her hands, thou hast restored me all, ...All ... in one hour!... and round his neck she threwHer arms and cried, My Roderick! mine in Heaven!Groaning, he claspt her close, and in that actAnd agony her happy spirit fled.
Me too! exclaim’d Florinda, who till then
Had listen’d speechlessly; Thou Man of God,
I also must partake! The Lord hath heard
My prayers! one sacrament, ... one hour, ... one grave, ...
One resurrection!
That dread office done,
Count Julian with amazement saw the Priest
Kneel down before him. By the sacrament
Which we have here partaken, Roderick cried,
In this most aweful moment; by that hope, ...
That holy faith which comforts thee in death,
Grant thy forgiveness, Julian, ere thou diest!
Behold the man who most hath injured thee!
Roderick, the wretched Goth, the guilty cause
Of all thy guilt, ... the unworthy instrument
Of thy redemption, ... kneels before thee here,
And prays to be forgiven!
Roderick! exclaim’d
The dying Count, ... Roderick!... and from the floor
With violent effort half he raised himself;
The spear hung heavy in his side, and pain
And weakness overcame him, that he fell
Back on his daughter’s lap. O Death, cried he, ...
Passing his hand across his cold damp brow, ...
Thou tamest the strong limb, and conquerest
The stubborn heart! But yesterday I said
One Heaven could not contain mine enemy
And me: and now I lift my dying voice
To say, Forgive me, Lord, as I forgive
Him who hath done the wrong!... He closed his eyes
A moment; then with sudden impulse cried, ...
Roderick, thy wife is dead, ... the Church hath power
To free thee from thy vows, ... the broken heart
Might yet be heal’d, the wrong redress’d, the throne
Rebuilt by that same hand which pull’d it down,
And these cursed Africans.... Oh for a month
Of that waste life which millions misbestow!...
His voice was passionate, and in his eye
With glowing animation while he spake
The vehement spirit shone: its effort soon
Was past, and painfully with feeble breath
In slow and difficult utterance he pursued, ...
Vain hope, if all the evil was ordain’d,
And this wide wreck the will and work of Heaven,
We but the poor occasion! Death will make
All clear, and joining us in better worlds,
Complete our union there! Do for me now
One friendly office more: ... draw forth the spear,
And free me from this pain!... Receive his soul,
Saviour! exclaim’d the Goth, as he perform’d
The fatal service. Julian cried, O friend!...
True friend!... and gave to him his dying hand.
Then said he to Florinda, I go first,
Thou followest!... kiss me, child!... and now good night!
When from her father’s body she arose,
Her cheek was flush’d, and in her eyes there beam’d
A wilder brightness. On the Goth she gazed
While underneath the emotions of that hour
Exhausted life gave way. O God! she said,
Lifting her hands, thou hast restored me all, ...
All ... in one hour!... and round his neck she threw
Her arms and cried, My Roderick! mine in Heaven!
Groaning, he claspt her close, and in that act
And agony her happy spirit fled.