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 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 loud _Real_; 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 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.
XIX.
RODERICK AND RUSILLA.
When all had been perform’d, the royal Goth
Look’d up towards the chamber in the tower,
Where gazing on the multitude below,
Alone Rusilla stood. He met her eye,
For it was singling him amid the crowd;
Obeying then the hand which beckon’d him,
He went with heart prepared, nor shrinking now,
But arm’d with self-approving thoughts that hour.
Entering in tremulous haste, he closed the door,
And turn’d to clasp her knees; but lo, she spread
Her arms, and catching him in close embrace,
Fell on his neck, and cried, My Son, my Son!...
Ere long, controlling that first agony
With effort of strong will, backward she bent,
And gazing on his head now shorn and grey,
And on his furrow’d countenance, exclaim’d,
Still, still, my Roderick! the same noble mind!
The same heroic heart! Still, still, my Son; ...
Changed, ... yet not wholly fallen, ... not wholly lost,
He cried, ... not wholly in the sight of Heaven
Unworthy, O my Mother, nor in thine!
She lock’d her arms again around his neck,
Saying, Lord, let me now depart in peace!
And bow’d her head again, and silently
Gave way to tears.
When that first force was spent,
And passion in exhaustment found relief, ...
I knew thee, said Rusilla, when the dog
Rose from my feet, and lick’d his master’s hand.
All flash’d upon me then; the instinctive sense
That goes unerringly where reason fails, ...
The voice, the eye, ... a mother’s thoughts are quick, ...
Miraculous as it seem’d, ... Siverian’s tale, ...
Florinda’s, ... every action, ... every word, ...
Each strengthening each, and all confirming all,
Reveal’d thee, O my Son! but I restrain’d
My heart, and yielded to thy holier will
The thoughts which rose to tempt a soul not yet
Wean’d wholly from the world.
What thoughts? replied
Roderick. That I might see thee yet again
Such as thou wert, she answer’d; not alone
To Heaven and me restored, but to thyself, ...
Thy Crown, ... thy Country, ... all within thy reach;
Heaven so disposing all things, that the means
Which wrought the ill, might work the remedy.
Methought I saw thee once again the hope, ...
The strength, ... the pride of Spain! The miracle
Which I beheld made all things possible.
I know the inconstant people how their mind,
With every breath of good or ill report,
Fluctuates, like summer corn before the breeze;
Quick in their hatred, quicker in their love,
Generous and hasty, soon would they redress
All wrongs of former obloquy ... I thought
Of happiness restored, ... the broken heart
Heal’d, ... and Count Julian, for his daughter’s sake,
Turning in thy behalf against the Moors
His powerful sword: ... all possibilities
That could be found or fancied, built a dream
Before me; such as easiest might illude
A lofty spirit train’d in palaces,
And not alone amid the flatteries
Of youth with thoughts of high ambition fed
When all is sunshine, but through years of woe,
When sorrow sanctified their use, upheld
By honourable pride and earthly hopes.
I thought I yet might nurse upon my knee
Some young Theodofred, and see in him
Thy Father’s image and thine own renew’d,
And love to think the little hand which there
Play’d with the bauble, should in after days
Wield the transmitted sceptre; ... that through him
The ancient seed should be perpetuate, ...
That precious seed revered so long, desired
So dearly, and so wonderously preserved.
Nay, he replied, Heaven hath not with its bolts
Scathed the proud summit of the tree, and left
The trunk unflaw’d; ne’er shall it clothe its boughs
Again, nor push again its scyons forth,
Head, root, and branch, all mortified alike!...
Long ere these locks were shorn had I cut off
The thoughts of royalty! Time might renew
Their growth, as for Manoah’s captive son,
And I too on the miscreant race, like him,
Might prove my strength regenerate; but the hour,
When in its second best nativity,
My soul was born again through grace, this heart
Died to the world. Dreams such as thine pass now
Like evening clouds before me; if I think
How beautiful they seem, ’tis but to feel
How soon they fade, how fast the night shuts in.
But in that World to which my hopes look on,
Time enters not, nor Mutability;
Beauty and goodness are unfading there;
Whatever there is given us to enjoy,
That we enjoy for ever, still the same....
Much might Count Julian’s sword atchieve for Spain
And me, but more will his dear daughter’s soul
Effect in Heaven; and soon will she be there
An Angel at the throne of Grace, to plead
In his behalf and mine.
I knew thy heart,
She answer’d, and subdued the vain desire.
It was the World’s last effort. Thou hast chosen
The better part. Yes, Roderick, even on earth
There is a praise above the monarch’s fame,
A higher, holier, more enduring praise,
And this will yet be thine!
O tempt me not,
Mother! he cried; nor let ambition take
That specious form to cheat us! What but this,
Fallen as I am, have I to offer Heaven?
The ancestral sceptre, public fame, content
Of private life, the general good report,
Power, reputation, happiness, ... whate’er
The heart of man desires to constitute
His earthly weal, ... unerring Justice claim’d
In forfeiture. I with submitted soul
Bow to the righteous law and kiss the rod.
Only while thus submitted, suffering thus, ...
Only while offering up that name on earth,
Perhaps in trial offer’d to my choice,
Could I present myself before thy sight;
Thus only could endure myself, or fix
My thoughts upon that fearful pass, where Death
Stands in the Gate of Heaven!... Time passes on,
The healing work of sorrow is complete;
All vain desires have long been weeded out,
All vain regrets subdued; the heart is dead,
The soul is ripe and eager for her birth.
Bless me, my Mother! and come when it will
The inevitable hour, we die in peace.
So saying, on her knees he bow’d his head;
She raised her hands to Heaven and blest her child;
Then bending forward, as he rose, embraced
And claspt him to her heart, and cried, Once more
Theodofred, with pride behold thy son!
XX.
THE MOORISH CAMP.
The times are big with tidings; every hour
From east and west and south the breathless scouts
Bring swift alarums in; the gathering foe,
Advancing from all quarters to one point,
Close their wide crescent. Nor was aid of fear
To magnify their numbers needed now,
They came in myriads. Africa had pour’d
Fresh shoals upon the coast of wretched Spain;
Lured from their hungry deserts to the scene
Of spoil, like vultures to the battle-field,
Fierce, unrelenting, habited in crimes,
Like bidden guests the mirthful ruffians flock
To that free feast which in their Prophet’s name
Rapine and Lust proclaim’d. Nor were the chiefs
Of victory less assured, by long success
Elate, and proud of that o’erwhelming strength,
Which, surely they believed, as it had roll’d
Thus far uncheck’d would roll victorious on,
Till, like the Orient, the subjected West
Should bow in reverence at Mahommed’s name;
And pilgrims, from remotest Arctic shores,
Tread with religious feet the burning sands
Of Araby, and Mecca’s stony soil.
Proud of his part in Roderick’s overthrow,
Their leader Abulcacem came, a man
Immitigable, long in war renown’d.
Here Magued comes, who on the conquer’d walls
Of Cordoba, by treacherous fear betray’d,
Planted the moony standard: Ibrahim here,
He, who by Genil and in Darro’s vales,
Had for the Moors the fairest portion won
Of all their spoils, fairest and best maintain’d,
And to the Alpuxarras given in trust
His other name, through them preserved in song
Here too Alcahman, vaunting his late deeds
At Auria, all her children by the sword
Cut off, her bulwarks rased, her towers laid low,
Her dwellings by devouring flames consumed,
Bloody and hard of heart, he little ween’d,
Vain-boastful chief! that from those fatal flames
The fire of retribution had gone forth
Which soon should wrap him round.
The renegades
Here too were seen, Ebba and Sisibert;
A spurious brood, but of their parent’s crimes
True heirs, in guilt begotten, and in ill
Train’d up. The same unnatural rage that turn’d
Their swords against their country, made them seek,
Unmindful of their wretched mother’s end,
Pelayo’s life. No enmity is like
Domestic hatred. For his blood they thirst,
As if that sacrifice might satisfy
Witiza’s guilty ghost, efface the shame
Of their adulterous birth, and one crime more
Crowning a hideous course, emancipate
Thenceforth their spirits from all earthly fear.
This was their only care; but other thoughts
Were rankling in that elder villain’s mind,
Their kinsman Orpas, he of all the crew
Who in this fatal visitation fell,
The foulest and the falsest wretch that e’er
Renounced his baptism. From his cherish’d views
Of royalty cut off, he coveted
Count Julian’s wide domains, and hopeless now
To gain them through the daughter, laid his toils
Against the father’s life, ... the instrument
Of his ambition first, and now design’d
Its victim. To this end with cautious hints,
At favouring season ventured, he possess’d
The leader’s mind; then, subtly fostering
The doubts himself had sown, with bolder charge
He bade him warily regard the Count,
Lest underneath an outward show of faith
The heart uncircumcised were Christian still:
Else, wherefore had Florinda not obey’d
Her dear loved sire’s example, and embraced
The saving truth? Else, wherefore was her hand,
Plighted to him so long, so long withheld,
Till she had found a fitting hour to fly
With that audacious Prince, who now in arms,
Defied the Caliph’s power; ... for who could doubt
That in his company she fled, perhaps
The mover of his flight? What if the Count
Himself had plann’d the evasion which he feign’d
In sorrow to condemn? What if she went
A pledge assured, to tell the mountaineers
That when they met the Musselmen in the heat
Of fight, her father passing to their side
Would draw the victory with him?... Thus he breathed
Fiend-like in Abulcacem’s ear his schemes
Of murderous malice; and the course of things,
Ere long, in part approving his discourse,
Aided his aim, and gave his wishes weight.
For scarce on the Asturian territory
Had they set foot, when, with the speed of fear,
Count Eudon, nothing doubting that their force
Would like a flood sweep all resistance down,
Hasten’d to plead his merits; ... he alone,
Found faithful in obedience through reproach
And danger, when the madden’d multitude
Hurried their chiefs along, and high and low
With one infectious frenzy seized, provoked
The invincible in arms. Pelayo led
The raging crew, ... he doubtless the prime spring
Of all these perilous movements; and ’twas said
He brought the assurance of a strong support,
Count Julian’s aid, for in his company
From Cordoba, Count Julian’s daughter came.