His precious charge. Behind the men divide
In order’d files; green boyhood presses there,
And waning eld, pleading a youthful soul,
Intreats admission. All is ardour here,
Hope and brave purposes and minds resolved.
Nor where the weaker sex is left apart
Doth aught of fear find utterance, though perchance
Some paler cheeks might there be seen, some eyes
Big with sad bodings, and some natural tears.
Count Pedro’s war-horse in the vacant space
Strikes with impatient hoof the trodden turf,
And gazing round upon the martial show,
Proud of his stately trappings, flings his head,
And snorts and champs the bit, and neighing shrill
Wakes the near echo with his voice of joy.
The page beside him holds his master’s spear
And shield and helmet. In the castle-gate
Count Pedro stands, his countenance resolved
But mournful, for Favinia on his arm
Hung, passionate with her fears, and held him back.
Go not, she cried, with this deluded crew!
She hath not, Pedro, with her frantic words
Bereft thy faculty, ... she is crazed with grief,
And her delirium hath infected these:
But, Pedro, thou art calm; thou dost not share
The madness of the crowd; thy sober mind
Surveys the danger in its whole extent,
And sees the certain ruin, ... for thou know’st
I know thou hast no hope. Unhappy man,
Why then for this most desperate enterprize
Wilt thou devote thy son, thine only child?
Not for myself I plead, nor even for thee;
Thou art a soldier, and thou canst not fear
The face of death; and I should welcome it
As the best visitant whom Heaven could send.
Not for our lives I speak then, ... were they worth
The thought of preservation; ... Nature soon
Must call for them; the sword that should cut short
Sorrow’s slow work were merciful to us.
But spare Alphonso! there is time and hope
In store for him. O thou who gavest him life,
Seal not his death, his death and mine at once!
Peace! he replied: thou know’st there is no choice,
I did not raise the storm; I cannot turn
Its course aside! but where yon banner goes
Thy Lord must not be absent! Spare me then,
Favinia, lest I hear thy honour’d name
Now first attainted with deserved reproach.
The boy is in God’s hands. He who of yore
Walk’d with the sons of Judah in the fire,
And from the lion’s den drew Daniel forth
Unhurt, can save him, ... if it be his will.
Even as he spake, the astonish’d troop set up
A shout of joy which rung through all the hills.
Alphonso heeds not how they break their ranks
And gather round to greet him; from his horse
Precipitate and panting off he springs.
Pedro grew pale, and trembled at his sight;
Favinia claspt her hands, and looking up
To Heaven as she embraced the boy, exclaim’d,
Lord God, forgive me for my sinful fears;
Unworthy that I am, ... my son, my son!
XII.
THE VOW.
Always I knew thee for a generous foe,
Pelayo! said the Count; and in our time
Of enmity, thou too, I know, didst feel
The feud between us was but of the house,
Not of the heart. Brethren in arms henceforth
We stand or fall together: nor will I
Look to the event with one misgiving thought, ...
That were to prove myself unworthy now
Of Heaven’s benignant providence, this hour,
Scarcely by less than miracle, vouchsafed.
I will believe that we have days in store
Of hope, now risen again as from the dead, ...
Of vengeance, ... of portentous victory, ...
Yea, maugre all unlikelihoods, ... of peace.
Let us then here indissolubly knit
Our ancient houses, that those happy days,
When they arrive, may find us more than friends,
And bound by closer than fraternal ties.
Thou hast a daughter, Prince, to whom my heart
Yearns now, as if in winning infancy
Her smiles had been its daily food of love.
I need not tell thee what Alphonso is, ...
Thou know’st the boy!
Already had that hope,
Replied Pelayo, risen within my soul.
O Thou, who in thy mercy from the house
Of Moorish bondage hast deliver’d us,
Fulfil the pious purposes for which
Here, in thy presence, thus we pledge our hands!
Strange hour to plight espousals! yielding half
To superstitious thoughts, Favinia cried,
And these strange witnesses!... The times are strange,
With thoughtful speech composed her Lord replies,
And what thou seest accords with them. This day
Is wonderful; nor could auspicious Heaven
With fairer or with fitter omen gild
Our enterprize, when strong in heart and hope
We take the field, preparing thus for works
Of piety and love. Unwillingly
I yielded to my people’s general voice,
Thinking that she who with her powerful words
To this excess had roused and kindled them,
Spake from the spirit of her griefs alone,
Not with prophetic impulse. Be that sin
Forgiven me! and the calm and quiet faith
Which, in the place of incredulity,
Hath fill’d me, now that seeing I believe,
Doth give of happy end to righteous cause
A presage, not presumptuous, but assured.
Then Pedro told Pelayo how from vale
To vale the exalted Adosinda went,
Exciting sire and son, in holy war
Conquering or dying, to secure their place
In Paradise: and how reluctantly,
And mourning for his child by his own act
Thus doom’d to death, he bade with heavy heart
His banner be brought forth. Devoid alike
Of purpose and of hope himself, he meant
To march toward the western Mountaineers,
Where Odoar by his counsel might direct
Their force conjoin’d. Now, said he, we must haste
To Cangas, there, Pelayo, to secure,
With timely speed, I trust in God, thy house.
Then looking to his men, he cried, Bring forth
The armour which in Wamba’s wars I wore...
Alphonso’s heart leapt at the auspicious words.
Count Pedro mark’d the rising glow of joy,..
Doubly to thee, Alphonso, he pursued,
This day above all other days is blest,
From whence as from a birth-day thou wilt date
Thy life in arms!
Rejoicing in their task,
The servants of the house with emulous love
Dispute the charge. One brings the cuirass, one
The buckler; this excitingly displays
The sword, his comrade lifts the helm on high:
The greaves, the gauntlets they divide; a spur
Seems now to dignify the officious hand
Which for such service bears it to his Lord.
Greek artists in the imperial city forged
That splendid armour, perfect in their craft;
With curious skill they wrought it, framed alike
To shine amid the pageantry of war,
And for the proof of battle. Many a time
Alphonso from his nurse’s lap had stretch’d
His infant hands toward it eagerly,
Where gleaming to the central fire it hung
High in the hall; and many a time had wish’d
With boyish ardour, that the day were come
When Pedro to his prayers would grant the boon,
His dearest heart’s desire. Count Pedro then
Would smile, and in his heart rejoice to see
The noble instinct manifest itself.
Then too Favinia with maternal pride
Would turn her eyes exulting to her Lord,
And in that silent language bid him mark
His spirit in his boy; all danger then
Was distant, and if secret forethought faint
Of manhood’s perils, and the chance of war,
Hateful to mothers, pass’d across her mind,
The ill remote gave to the present hour
A heighten’d feeling of secure delight.
No season this for old solemnities,
For wassailry and sport; ... the bath, the bed,
The vigil, ... all preparatory rites
Omitted now, ... here in the face of Heaven,
Before the vassals of his father’s house,
With them in instant peril to partake
The chance of life or death, the heroic boy
Dons his first arms; the coated scales of steel
Which o’er the tunic to his knees depend,
The hose, the sleeves of mail; bareheaded then
He stood. But when Count Pedro took the spurs
And bent his knee in service to his son,
Alphonso from that gesture half drew back,
Starting in reverence, and a deeper hue
Spread o’er the glow of joy which flush’d his cheeks.
Do thou the rest, Pelayo! said the Count;
So shall the ceremony of this hour
Exceed in honour what in form it lacks.
The Prince from Hoya’s faithful hand receiv’d
The sword; he girt it round the youth, and drew
And placed it in his hand; unsheathing then
His own good falchion, with its burnish’d blade
He touch’d Alphonso’s neck, and with a kiss
Gave him his rank in arms.
Thus long the crowd
Had look’d intently on, in silence hush’d;
Loud and continuous now with one accord,
Shout following shout, their acclamations rose;
Blessings were breathed from every heart, and joy,
Powerful alike in all, which as with force
Of an inebriating cup inspired
The youthful, from the eye of age drew tears.
The uproar died away, when standing forth,
Roderick with lifted hand besought a pause
For speech, and moved towards the youth. I too,
Young Baron, he began, must do my part;
Not with prerogative of earthly power,
But as the servant of the living God,
The God of Hosts. This day thou promisest
To die when honour calls thee for thy faith,
For thy liege Lord, and for thy native land;
The duties which at birth we all contract,
Are by the high profession of this hour
Made thine especially. Thy noble blood,
The thoughts with which thy childhood hath been fed,
And thine own noble nature more than all,
Are sureties for thee. But these dreadful times
Demand a farther pledge; for it hath pleased
The Highest, as he tried his Saints of old,
So in the fiery furnace of his wrath
To prove and purify the sons of Spain;
And they must knit their spirits to the proof,
Or sink, for ever lost. Hold forth thy sword,
Young Baron, and before thy people take
The vow which, in Toledo’s sacred name,
Poor as these weeds bespeak me, I am here
To minister with delegated power.
With reverential awe was Roderick heard
By all, so well authority became
That mien and voice and countenance austere.
Pelayo with complacent eye beheld
The unlook’d-for interposal, and the Count
Bends toward Alphonso his approving head.
The youth obedient loosen’d from his belt
The sword, and looking, while his heart beat fast,
To Roderick, reverently expectant stood.
O noble youth, the Royal Goth pursued,
Thy country is in bonds; an impious foe
Oppresses her; he brings with him strange laws,
Strange language, evil customs, and false faith,
And forces them on Spain. Swear that thy soul
Will make no covenant with these accursed,
But that the sword shall be from this day forth
Thy children’s portion, to be handed down
From sire to son, a sacred heritage,
Through every generation, till the work
Be done, and this insulted land hath drunk
In sacrifice, the last invader’s blood!
Bear witness, ancient Mountains! cried the youth,
And ye, my native Streams, who hold your course
For ever; ... this dear Earth, and yonder Sky,
Be witness! for myself I make the vow,
And for my children’s children. Here I stand
Their sponsor, binding them in sight of Heaven,
As by a new baptismal sacrament,
To wage hereditary holy war,
Perpetual, patient, persevering war,
Till not one living enemy pollute
The sacred soil of Spain.
So as he ceased,
While yet toward the clear blue firmament
His eyes were raised, he lifted to his lips
The sword, with reverent gesture bending then
Devoutly kiss’d its cross.
And ye! exclaimed
Roderick, as turning to the assembled troop
He motion’d with authoritative hand, ...
Ye children of the hills and sons of Spain!
Through every heart the rapid feeling ran, ...
For us! they answer’d all with one accord,
And at the word they knelt: People and Prince,
The young and old, the father and the son,
At once they knelt; with one accord they cried,
For us, and for our seed! with one accord
They cross’d their fervent arms, and with bent head
Inclined toward that aweful voice from whence
The inspiring impulse came. The Royal Goth
Made answer, I receive your vow for Spain
And for the Lord of Hosts: your cause is good,
Go forward in his spirit and his strength.
Ne’er in his happiest hours had Roderick
With such commanding majesty dispensed
His princely gifts, as dignified him now,
When with slow movement, solemnly upraised,
Toward the kneeling troop he spread his arms,
As if the expanded soul diffused itself,
And carried to all spirits with the act
Its effluent inspiration. Silently
The people knelt, and when they rose, such awe
Held them in silence, that the eagle’s cry,
Who far above them, at her highest flight
A speck scarce visible, gyred round and round,
Was heard distinctly; and the mountain stream,
Which from the distant glen sent forth its sounds
Wafted upon the wind, grew audible
In that deep hush of feeling, like the voice
Of waters in the stillness of the night.
XIII.
COUNT EUDON.
That aweful silence still endured, when one,
Who to the northern entrance of the vale
Had turn’d his casual eye, exclaim’d, The Moors!...
For from the forest verge a troop were seen
Hastening toward Pedro’s hall. Their forward speed
Was check’d when they beheld his banner spread,
And saw his order’d spears in prompt array
Marshall’d to meet their coming. But the pride
Of power and insolence of long command
Prick’d on their Chief presumptuous: We are come
Late for prevention, cried the haughty Moor,
But never time more fit for punishment!
These unbelieving slaves must feel and know
Their master’s arm!... On, faithful Musselmen,
On ... on, ... and hew down the rebellious dogs!...
Then as he spurr’d his steed, Allah is great!
Mahommed is his Prophet! he exclaim’d,
And led the charge.
Count Pedro met the Chief
In full career; he bore him from his horse
A full spear’s length upon the lance transfix’d;
Then leaving in his breast the mortal shaft,
Pass’d on, and breaking through the turban’d files
Open’d a path. Pelayo, who that day
Fought in the ranks afoot, for other war
Yet unequipp’d, pursued and smote the foe,
But ever on Alphonso at his side
Retain’d a watchful eye. The gallant boy
Gave his good sword that hour its earliest taste
Of Moorish blood, ... that sword whose hungry edge,
Through the fair course of all his glorious life
From that auspicious day, was fed so well.
Cheap was the victory now for Spain achieved;
For the first fervour of their zeal inspired
The Mountaineers, ... the presence of their Chiefs,
The sight of all dear objects, all dear ties,
The air they breathed, the soil whereon they trod,
Duty, devotion, faith, and hope and joy.
And little had the misbelievers ween’d
In such impetuous onset to receive
A greeting deadly as their own intent;
Victims they thought to find, not men prepared
And eager for the fight; their confidence
Therefore gave way to wonder, and dismay
Effected what astonishment began.
Scatter’d before the impetuous Mountaineers,
Buckler and spear and scymitar they dropt,
As in precipitate route they fled before
The Asturian sword: the vales and hills and rocks
Received their blood, and where they fell the wolves
At evening found them.
From the fight apart
Two Africans had stood, who held in charge
Count Eudon. When they saw their countrymen
Falter, give way, and fly before the foe,
One turn’d toward him with malignant rage,
And saying, Infidel! thou shalt not live
To join their triumph! aim’d against his neck
The moony falchion’s point. His comrade raised
A hasty hand and turn’d its edge aside,
Yet so that o’er the shoulder glancing down
It scarr’d him as it pass’d. The murderous Moor,
Not tarrying to secure his vengeance, fled;
While he of milder mood, at Eudon’s feet
Fell and embraced his knees. The mountaineer
Who found them thus, withheld at Eudon’s voice
His wrathful hand, and led them to his Lord.
Count Pedro and Alphonso and the Prince
Stood on a little rocky eminence
Which overlook’d the vale. Pedro had put
His helmet off, and with sonorous horn
Blew the recall; for well he knew what thoughts,
Calm as the Prince appear’d and undisturb’d,
Lay underneath his silent fortitude;
And how at this eventful juncture speed
Imported more than vengeance. Thrice he sent
The long-resounding signal forth, which rung
From hill to hill, re-echoing far and wide.
Slow and unwillingly his men obey’d
The swelling horn’s reiterated call;
Repining that a single foe escaped
The retribution of that righteous hour.
With lingering step reluctant from the chase
They turn’d, ... their veins full-swoln, their sinews strung
For battle still, their hearts unsatisfied;
Their swords were dropping still with Moorish blood,
And where they wiped their reeking brows, the stain
Of Moorish gore was left. But when they came
Where Pedro, with Alphonso at his side,
Stood to behold their coming, then they press’d
All emulous, with gratulation round,
Extolling for his deeds that day display’d
The noble boy. Oh! when had Heaven, they said,
With such especial favour manifest
Illustrated a first essay in arms!
They bless’d the father from whose loins he sprung,
The mother at whose happy breast he fed;
And pray’d that their young hero’s fields might be
Many, and all like this.
Thus they indulged
The honest heart, exuberant of love,
When that loquacious joy at once was check’d,
For Eudon and the Moor were brought before
Count Pedro. Both came fearfully and pale,
But with a different fear: the African
Felt at this crisis of his destiny
Such apprehension as without reproach
Might blanch a soldier’s cheek, when life and death
Hang on another’s will, and helplessly
He must abide the issue. But the thoughts
Which quail’d Count Eudon’s heart, and made his limbs
Quiver, were of his own unworthiness,
Old enmity, and that he stood in power
Of hated and hereditary foes.
I came not with them willingly! he cried,
Addressing Pedro and the Prince at once,
Rolling from each to each his restless eyes
Aghast, ... the Moor can tell I had no choice;
They forced me from my castle: ... in the fight
They would have slain me: ... see I bleed! The Moor
Can witness that a Moorish scymitar
Inflicted this: ... he saved me from worse hurt: ...
I did not come in arms: ... he knows it all; ...
Speak, man, and let the truth be known to clear
My innocence!
Thus as he ceased, with fear
And rapid utterance panting open-mouth’d,
Count Pedro half represt a mournful smile,
Wherein compassion seem’d to mitigate
His deep contempt. Methinks, said he, the Moor
Might with more reason look himself to find
An intercessor, than be call’d upon
To play the pleader’s part. Didst thou then save
The Baron from thy comrades?
Let my Lord
Show mercy to me, said the Musselman,
As I am free from falsehood. We were left,
I and another, holding him in charge;
My fellow would have slain him when he saw
How the fight fared: I turn’d the scymitar
Aside, and trust that life will be the meed
For life by me preserved.
Nor shall thy trust,
Rejoin’d the Count, be vain. Say farther now,
From whence ye came? ... your orders what? ... what force
In Gegio? and if others like yourselves
Are in the field?
The African replied,
We came from Gegio, order’d to secure
This Baron on the way, and seek thee here
To bear thee hence in bonds. A messenger
From Cordoba, whose speed denoted well
He came with urgent tidings, was the cause
Of this our sudden movement. We went forth
Three hundred men; an equal force was sent
For Cangas, on like errand as I ween.
Four hundred in the city then were left.
If other force be moving from the south,
I know not, save that all appearances
Denote alarm and vigilance.
The Prince
Fix’d upon Eudon then his eye severe;
Baron, he said, the die of war is cast;
What part art thou prepared to take? against,
Or with the oppressor?
Not against my friends, ...
Not against you!... the irresolute wretch replied,
Hasty, yet faltering in his fearful speech:
But ... have ye weigh’d it well?... It is not yet
Too late, ... their numbers, ... their victorious force,
Which hath already trodden in the dust
The sceptre of the Goths: ... the throne destroy’d, ...
Our towns subdued, ... our country overrun, ...
The people to the yoke of their new Lords
Resign’d in peace.... Can I not mediate?...
Were it not better through my agency
To gain such terms, ... such honourable terms....
Terms! cried Pelayo, cutting short at once
That dastard speech, and checking, ere it grew
Too powerful for restraint, the incipient wrath
Which in indignant murmurs breathing round,
Rose like a gathering storm, learn thou what terms
Asturias, this day speaking by my voice,
Doth constitute to be the law between
Thee and thy Country. Our portentous age,
As with an earthquake’s desolating force,
Hath loosen’d and disjointed the whole frame
Of social order, and she calls not now
For service with the force of sovereign will.
That which was common duty in old times,
Becomes an arduous, glorious virtue now;
And every one, as between Hell and Heaven,
In free election must be left to chuse.
Asturias asks not of thee to partake
The cup which we have pledged; she claims from none
The dauntless fortitude, the mind resolved,
Which only God can give; ... therefore such peace
As thou canst find where all around is war,
She leaves thee to enjoy. But think not, Count,
That because thou art weak, one valiant arm,
One generous spirit must be lost to Spain!
The vassal owes no service to the Lord
Who to his Country doth acknowledge none.
The summons which thou hast not heart to give,
I and Count Pedro over thy domains
Will send abroad; the vassals who were thine
Will fight beneath our banners, and our wants
Shall from thy lands, as from a patrimony
Which hath reverted to the common stock,
Be fed: such tribute, too, as to the Moors
Thou renderest, we will take: It is the price
Which in this land for weakness must be paid
While evil stars prevail. And mark me, Chief!
Fear is a treacherous counsellor! I know
Thou thinkëst that beneath his horses’s hoofs
The Moor will trample our poor numbers down;
But join not, in contempt of us and Heaven,
His multitudes! for if thou shouldst be found
Against thy country, on the readiest tree
Those recreant bones shall rattle in the wind,
When the birds have left them bare.
As thus he spake,
Count Eudon heard and trembled: every joint
Was loosen’d, every fibre of his flesh
Thrill’d, and from every pore effused, cold sweat
Clung on his quivering limbs. Shame forced it forth,
Envy, and inward consciousness, and fear
Predominant, which stifled in his heart
Hatred and rage. Before his livid lips
Could shape to utterance their essay’d reply,
Compassionately Pedro interposed.
Go, Baron, to the Castle, said the Count:
There let thy wound be look’d to, and consult
Thy better mind at leisure. Let this Moor
Attend upon thee there, and when thou wilt,
Follow thy fortunes.... To Pelayo then
He turn’d, and saying, All-too-long, O Prince,
Hath this unlook’d-for conflict held thee here, ...
He bade his gallant men begin their march.
Flush’d with success, and in auspicious hour,
The Mountaineers set forth. Blessings and prayers
Pursued them at their parting, and the tears
Which fell were tears of fervour, not of grief.
The sun was verging to the western slope
Of Heaven, but they till midnight travell’d on;
Renewing then at early dawn their way,
They held their unremitting course from morn
Till latest eve, such urgent cause impell’d;
And night had closed around, when to the vale
Where Sella in her ampler bed receives
Pionia’s stream they came. Massive and black
Pelayo’s castle there was seen; its lines
And battlements against the deep blue sky
Distinct in solid darkness visible.
No light is in the tower. Eager to know
The worst, and with that fatal certainty
To terminate intolerable dread,
He spurr’d his courser forward. All his fears
Too surely are fulfill’d, ... for open stand
The doors, and mournfully at times a dog
Fills with his howling the deserted hall.
A moment overcome with wretchedness,
Silent Pelayo stood! recovering then,
Lord God, resign’d he cried, thy will be done!
XIV.
THE RESCUE.
Count, said Pelayo, Nature hath assign’d
Two sovereign remedies for human grief;
Religion, surest, firmest, first and best,
Strength to the weak and to the wounded balm;
And strenuous action next. Think not I came
With unprovided heart. My noble wife,
In the last solemn words, the last farewell
With which she charged her secret messenger,
Told me that whatsoe’er was my resolve,
She bore a mind prepared. And well I know
The evil, be it what it may, hath found
In her a courage equal to the hour.
Captivity, or death, or what worse pangs,
She in her children may be doom’d to feel,
Will never make that steady soul repent
Its virtuous purpose. I too did not cast
My single life into the lot, but knew
These dearer pledges on the die were set;
And if the worst have fallen, I shall but bear
That in my breast, which, with transfiguring power
Of piety, makes chastening sorrow take
The form of hope, and sees, in Death, the friend
And the restoring Angel. We must rest
Perforce, and wait what tidings night may bring,
Haply of comfort. Ho there! kindle fires,
And see if aught of hospitality
Can yet within these mournful walls be found!