Poured forth her gifts profuse; perennial springs
Flowed for her habitants, and genial suns,
With kindly showers to bless the happy clime,
Combined in vain their gentle influences:
For patient servitude was there, who bowed
His neck beneath the Moor, and silent grief
That eats into the soul. The walls and stones
Seemed to reproach their dwellers; stately piles
Yet undecayed, the mighty monuments
Of Roman pomp, Barbaric palaces,
And Gothic halls, where haughty Barons late
Gladdened their faithful vassals with the feast
And flowing bowl, alike the spoiler's now.

He came where Minho rolled its ampler stream
By Auria's ancient walls, fresh horrors met
His startled view; for prostrate in the dust
Those walls were laid, and towers and temples stood
Tottering in frightful ruins, as the flame

Had left them black and bare; and through the streets,
All with the recent wreck of war bestrewn,

Helmet and turban, scymitar and sword,
Christian and Moor in death promiscuous lay,

Hleapt rudely from the ruins round, enclosed
A narrow space and there upon the ground
Four bodies, decently composed, were laid,
Though horrid all with wounds and clotted gore;
A venerable ancient, by his side

A comely matron, for whose middle age,
(If ruthless slaughter had not intervened,)
Nature it seemed, and gentle Time, might well
Have many a calm declining year in store;
The third an armed warrior, on his breast
An infant, over whom his arms were crost.
There, with firm eye and steady countenance,
Unfaltering, she addrest him,-there they lie,
Child, Husband, Parents,-Adosinda's all!

I could not break the earth with these poor hands,
Nor other tomb provide,-but let that pass!
Auria itself is now but one wide tomb
For all its habitants: 19-What better grave?
What worthier monument ?-Oh cover not
Their blood, thou Earth! and ye, ye blessed Souls
Of Heroes and of murdered Innocents,
Oh never let your everlasting cries
Cease round the eternal throne, till the Most High
For all these unexampled wrengs hath given
Full,-overflowing vengeance!

While she spake

cracked

Like the dry slime of some receding flood;

And half-burnt bodies, which allured from far
The wolf and raven, and to impious food
Tempted the houseless dog.

A thrilling pang,
A sweat like death, a sickness of the soul,
Came over Roderick. Soon they past away,
And admiration in their stead arose,
Stern joy, and inextinguishable hope,

With wrath, and hate, and sacred vengeance now
Indissolubly linked. O valiant race,

O people excellently brave, he cried,
True Goths ye fell, and faithful to the last;
Though overpowered triumphant, and in death
Unconquered! Holy be your memory!
Blessed and glorious now and evermore
Be your heroic names!-Led by the sound,
As thus he cried aloud, a woman came
Toward him from the ruins. For the love
Of Christ, she said, lend me a little while
Thy charitable help!-Her words, her voice,
Her look, more horror to his heart conveyed
Than all the havoc round: for though she spake
With the calm utterance of despair, in tones
Deep-breathed and low, yet never sweeter voice
Poured forth its hymns in ecstacy to Heaven.
Her hands were bloody, and her garments stained
With blood, her face with blood and dust defiled.
Beauty and youth, and grace and majesty,
Had every charm of form and feature given:
But now upon her rigid countenance
Severest anguish set a fixedness

Ghastlier than death.

But soon With quiet mien collectedly, like one Who from intense devotion, and the act Of ardent prayer, arising, girds himself For this world's daily business,-she arose, And said to Roderick, Help me now to raise The covering of the tomb.

With half-burnt planks, Which she had gathered for this funeral use, They roofed the vault : then laying stones above They closed it down: last, rendering all secure, Stones upon stones they piled, till all appeared A huge and shapeless heap. Enough, she cried; And taking Roderick's hands in both her own, And wringing them with fervent thankfulness, May God shew mercy to thee, she exclaimed, When most thou needest mercy! Who thou art I know not; not of Auria, for of all Her sons and daughters, save the one who stands Before thee, not a soul is left alive. But thou hast rendered to me, in my hour Of need, the only help which man could give. What else of consolation may be found For one so utterly bereft, from Heaven And from myself must come. That I shall sink beneath calamity. This visitation, like a lightning-stroke, Hath scathed the fruit and blossom of my youth; One hour hath orphaned me, and widowed me, And made me childless. In this sepulchre Lie buried all my earthward hopes and fears, All human loves and natural charities ;— All womanly tenderness, all gentle thoughts, All female weakness too, I bury here,

For deem not thou

A little way along, where four low walls,

Revenge and death:-the bitterness of death

Is past, and Heaven already hath vouchsafed
A foretaste of revenge.

Look here! she cried,
And drawing back, held forth her bloody hands,—
'Tis Moorish!-In the day of massacre,
A captain of Alcahman's murderous host
Reserved me from the slaughter. Not because
My rank and station tempted him with thoughts
Of ransom, for amid the general waste
Of ruin all was lost :-Nor yet, be sure,

That pity moved him,-they who from this race
Accurst for pity look, such pity find

As ravenous wolves shew the defenceless flock.
My husband at my feet had fallen; my babe,—
Spare me that thought, O God!-and then-even then
Amid the maddening throes of agony

Which rent my soul,-when if this solid Earth
Had opened and let out the central fire,
Before whose all-involving flames wide Heaven
Shall shrivel like a scroll and be consumed,
The universal wreck had been to me
Relief and comfort;-even then this Moor
Turned on me his libidinous eyes, and bade
His men reserve me safely for an hour
Of dalliance,-me!-me in my agonies!

But when I found for what this miscreant child
Of Hell had snatched me from the butchery,
The very horror of that monstrous thought
Saved me from madness; I was calm at once,-
Yea comforted and reconciled to life:
Hatred became to me the life of life,
Its purpose and its power.

The glutted Moors

At length broke up. This hell-dog turned aside
Toward his home: We travelled fast and far,
Till by a forest edge at eve he pitched
His tents. I washed and ate at his command,
Forcing revolted nature; I composed

My garments and bound up my scattered hair:
And when he took my hand, and to his couch
Would fain have drawn me, gently I retired
From that abominable touch, and said,
Forbear to-night I pray thee, for this day
A widow, as thou seest me, am I made;
Therefore, according to our law, must watch
And pray to-night. The loathsome villain paused
Ere he assented, then laid down to rest;
While at the door of the pavilion, I

Knelt on the ground, and bowed my face to earth;
But when the neighbouring tents had ceased their stir,
The fires were out, and all were fast asleep,
Then I arose. The blessed Moon from Heaven
Lent me her holy light. I did not pray

For strength, for strength was given me as I drew
The scymitar, and, standing o'er his couch,
Raised it in both my hands with steady aim,
And smote his neck. Upward, as from a spring
When newly opened by the husbandman,
The villain's life-blood spouted. Twice I struck,
So making vengeance sure; then, praising God,
Retired amid the wood, and measured back
My patient way to Auria, to perform
This duty which thou seest.

As thus she spake,
Roderick intently listening had forgot
His crown, his kingdom, his calamities,

His crimes, so like a spell upon the Goth
Her powerful words prevailed. With open lips,
And eager ear, and eyes which, while they watched
Her features, caught the spirit that she breathed,
Mute and enrapt he stood, and motionless;
The vision rose before him; and that shout,
Which, like a thunder-peal, victorious Spain
Sent through the welkin, rung within his soul
Its deep prophetic echoes. On his brow
The pride and power of former majesty
Dawned once again, but changed and purified:
Duty and high heroic purposes,

Now hallowed it, and, as with inward light,
Illumed his meagre countenance austere.

Awhile in silence Adosinda stood,

Reading his altered visage, and the thoughts
Which thus transfigured him. Aye, she exclaimed,
The tale hath moved thee: it might move the dead,
Quicken captivity's dead soul, and rouse
This prostrate country from her mortal trance:
Therefore I live to tell it. And for this
Hath the Lord God Almighty given to me

A spirit not mine own, and strength from Heaven;
Dealing with me as in the days of old

With that Bethulian Matron, when she saved
His people from the spoiler. What remains
But that the life which he hath thus preserved
I consecrate to him? Not veiled and vowed
To pass my days in holiness and peace;
between sepulchral walls immured,
Alive to penitence alone; my rule

Nor

yet

He hath himself prescribed, and hath infused
A passion in this woman's breast, wherein
All passions and all virtues are combined:
Love, hatred, joy, and anguish, and despair,
And hope, and natural piety, and faith,
Make up the mighty feeling. Call it not
Revenge: thus sanctified and thus sublimed,
"T is duty, 't is devotion. Like the grace
Of God, it came and saved me; and in it
Spain must have her salvation. In thy hands
Here, on the grave of all my family,

I make my vow.

She said, and kneeling down,
Placed within Roderick's palms her folded hands.
This life, she cried, I dedicate to God,
Therewith to do him service in the way
Which he hath shown. To rouse the land against
This impious, this intolerable yoke,—
To offer up the invader's hateful blood,—
This shall be my employ, my rule and rite,
Observances and sacrifice of faith;

For this I hold the life which he hath given,
A sacred trust; for this, when it shall suit
His service, joyfully will lay it down.
So deal with me as I fulfil the pledge,
O Lord my God, my Saviour and my Judge!

Then rising from the earth, she spread her arms, And looking round with sweeping eyes, exclaimed, Auria, and Spain, and Heaven receive the vow!

IV.

THE MONASTERY OF ST FELIX.

THUS long had Roderick heard her powerful words
In silence, awed before her; but his soul
Was filled the while with swelling sympathy,
And now with impulse not to be restrained
The feeling overpowered him. Hear me too,
Auria, and Spain, and Heaven! he cried; and thoa
Who risest thus above mortality,

Sufferer and patriot, saint and heroine,
The servant and the chosen of the Lord,
For surely such thou art,-receive in me
The first-fruits of thy calling. Kneeling then,
And placing as he spake his hands in hers,
As thou hast sworn, the royal Goth pursued,
Even so I swear; my soul hath found at length
Her rest and refuge; in the invader's blood
She must efface her stains of mortal sin,
And in redeeming this lost land, work out
Redemption for herself. Herein I place
My penance for the past, my hope to come,
My faith and my good works; here offer up
All thoughts and passions of mine inmost heart,
My days and nights,-this flesh, this blood, this life,
Yea this whole being, I devote it here
For Spain. Receive the vow, all Saints in Heaven,
And prosper its good end!-Clap now your wings,
The Goth with louder utterance as he rose
Exclaimed,-clap now your wings exultingly,
Ye ravenous fowl of Heaven; and in your deus
Set up, ye wolves of Spain, a yell of joy;
For lo! a nation hath this day been sworn

To furnish forth your banquet; for a strife

For love and admiration, ever young,-
So for our native country, for her hearths
And altars, for her cradles and her graves,
Hast thou thyself devoted. Let us now
Each to our work. Among the neighbouring hills,
1 to the vassals of my father's house;

Thou to Visonia. Tell the Abbot there
What thou hast seen at Auria; and with him
Take counsel who of all our Baronage

Is worthiest to lead on the sons of Spain,
And wear upon his brow the Spanish crown.
Now, brother, fare thee well! we part in hope,
And we shall meet again, be sure, in joy.

So saying, Adosinda left the King
Alone amid the ruins. There he stood,
As when Elisha, on the farther bank
Of Jordan, saw that elder prophet mount
The fiery chariot, and the steeds of fire,
Trampling the whirlwind, bear him up the sky:
Thus gazing after her did Roderick stand;
And as the immortal Tishbite left behind
Ilis mandle and prophetic power, even so
Had her inspiring presence left infused
The spirit which she breathed. Gazing he stood,
As at a heavenly visitation there

Vouchsafed in mercy to himself and Spain;
And when the heroic mourner from his sight
Had past away,
still reverential awe

Held him suspended there and motionless.
Then turning from the ghastly scene of death
Up murmuring Lona, he began toward
The holy Bierzo his obedient way.

Sil's ample stream he crost, where through the vale

Of Orras, from that sacred land it bears
The whole collected waters: northward then,

Permits no breathing-time, and knows no end Till in this land the last invader bow

His neck beneath the exterminating sword.

Said I not rightly? Adosinda cried;

The will which goads me on is not mine own,
T is from on high,-yea, verily of Heaven!
But who art thou who hast professed with me,
My first sworn brother in the appointed rule?
Tell me thy name.

Ask any thing but that!
The fallen King replied. My name was lost
When from the Goths the sceptre past away.
The nation will arise regenerate;
Strong in her second youth, and beautiful,
And like a spirit which hath shaken off
The clog of dull mortality, shall Spain
Arise in glory. But for my good name
No resurrection is appointed here.

Let it be blotted out on earth in Heaven
There shall be written with it penitence,

And grace and saving faith, and such good deeds
Wrought in atonement as my soul this day
Hath sworn to offer up.

Then be thy name,
She answered, Maccabee, from this day forth:
For this day art thou born again; and like
Those brethren of old times, whose holy names
Live in the memory of all noble hearts

That consecrated pile, amid the wild, Which sainted Fructuoso in his zeal Reared to St Felix, on Visonia's banks. 20

In commune with a priest of age mature,
Whose thoughtful visage and majestic mien
Bespake authority and weight of care,
Odoar, the venerable Abbot, sate;
When ushering Roderick in, the Porter said,
A stranger came from Auria, and required
His private ear. From Auria? said the old man,
Comest thou from Auria, brother? I can spare
Thy painful errand then,—we know the worst.

Nay, answered Roderick, but thou hast not heard
My tale. Where that devoted city lies

lu ashes, mid the ruins and the dead

I found a woman, whom the Moors had borne

Captive away; but she, by Heaven inspired

And her good heart, with her own arm had wrought
Her own deliverance, smiting in his tent
A lustful Moorish miscreant, as of yore
By Judith's holy deed the Assyrian fell.

And that same spirit which had strengthened her
Worked in her still. Four walls with patient toil
She reared, wherein, as in a sepulchre,
With her own hands she laid her murdered babe,
Her husband and her parents, side by side;
And when we covered in this shapeless tomb,

He holds Pelayo, as suspecting most
That calm and manly spirit; Pedro's son
There too is held as hostage, and secures
His father's faith; Count Eudon is despised,
And so lives unmolested. When he pays
His tribute, an uncomfortable thought

May then perhaps disturb him :--or more like
He meditates how profitable 't were

To be a Moor; and if apostacy

Were all, and to be unbaptized might serve,But I waste breath upon a wretch like this; Pelayo is the only hope of Spain,

Only Pelayo.

Me! Roderick cried;

Me? sinner that I am?-and while he spake
His withered cheek grew paler, and his limbs
Shook. As thou goest among the infidels,
Pursued the Primate, many thou wilt find
Fallen from the faith; by weakness some betrayed,
Some led astray by baser hope of gain,
And haply too by ill example led

Of those in whom they trusted. Yet have these
Their lonely hours, when sorrow, or the touch
Of sickness, and that awful power divine
Which hath its dwelling in the heart of man,
Life of his soul, his monitor and judge,
Move them with silent impulse; but they look
For help, and finding none to succour them,
The irrevocable moment passeth by.
Therefore, my brother, in the name of Christ
Thus I lay hands on thee, that in His name
Thou with His gracious promises mayst raise

The fallen, and comfort those that are in need,
And bring salvation to the penitent.
Now, brother, go thy way: the peace of God
Be with thee, and his blessing prosper us!

V.

RODERICK AND SIVERIAN.

BETWEEN St Felix and the regal seat

Of Abdalazis, ancient Cordoba,

Lay many a long day's journey interposed;
And many a mountain range hath Roderick crost,
And many a lovely vale, ere he beheld

Where Betis, winding through the unbounded plain,
Rolled his majestic waters. There at eve
Entering an inn, he took his humble seat

With other travellers round the crackling hearth,
Where heath and cistus gave their fragrant flame.
That flame no longer, as in other times,

Lit up the countenance of easy mirth

And light discourse: the talk which now went round
Was of the grief that prest on every heart;
Of Spain subdued; the sceptre of the Goths
Broken; their nation and their name effaced;
Slaughter and mourning, which had left no house
Unvisited; and shame, which set its mark

On every Spaniard's face. One who had seen
His sons fall bravely at his side, bewailed

The unhappy chance which, rescuing him from death,
Left him the last of all his family;

Yet he rejoiced to think that none who drew
Their blood from him remained to wear the yoke,

Be at the miscreant's beck, and propagate

A breed of slaves to serve them. Here sate one
Who told of fair possessions lost, and babes
To goodly fortunes born, of all bereft.
Another for a virgin daughter mourned,
The lewd barbarian's spoil. A fourth had seen
Ilis only child forsake him in his age,
And for a Moor renounce her hope in Christ.
His was the heaviest grief of all, he said;
And clenching as he spake his hoary locks,
He cursed King Roderick's soul.

Oh curse him not!
Roderick exclaimed, all shuddering as he spake,
Oh, for the love of Jesus, curse him not!
Sufficient is the dreadful load of guilt
Which lies upon his miserable soul!
O brother, do not curse that sinful soul,
Which Jesus suffered on the cross to save!

But then an old man, who had sate thus long
A silent listener, from his seat arose,
And moving round to Roderick took his hand;
Christ bless thee, brother, for that Christian speech!
He said; and shame on me that any tongue
Readier than mine was found to utter it!
His own emotion filled him while he spake,
So that he did not feel how Roderick's hand
Shook like a palsied limb; and none could see
How, at his well-known voice, the countenance
Of that poor traveller suddenly was changed,
And sunk with deadlier paleness; for the flame
Was spent, and from behind him, on the wall
High hung, the lamp with feeble glimmering played.