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An oaken galilee, now black with age, His old Iberian ancestors were laid.

Two stately oaks stood near, in the full growth
Of many a century. They had flourished there
Before the Gothic sword was felt in Spain,
And when the ancient sceptre of the Goths

Was broken, there they flourished still. Their boughs
Mingled on high, and stretching wide around,
Formed a deep shade, beneath which canopy
Upon the ground Count Julian's board was spread,
For to his daughter he had left his tent
Pitched 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 reachi
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 joined 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 deemed Alcahman had secured
The easy means of certain victory,)—
Could reach the spot. Both thus in their intent
According, somewhat had they now allayed
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 performed
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 marked
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 called had seen the blow from whence it came,
And seized the murderer. Miscreant! he exclaimed,
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 passed 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 gathered 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
Redressed 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 mixt went forth,
And curses checked 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 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 awful 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
Employed; 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,
Hastened to form their ranks against the Moors.
Julian meantime toward the altar turned
His languid eyes: That Image, is it not
St Peter, he inquired, he who denied

His Lord and was forgiveu?-Roderick rejoined,
It is the Apostle; and may that same Lord,
O Julian, to thy soul's salvation bless
The seasonable thought!

The dying Count

Then fixed 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 steeled
My spirit, and perhaps I do not fear
This passage as I ought. But if to feel
That I have sinned, and from my soul renounce
The Impostor's faith, which never in that soul
Obtained 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 sinned 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 turned,
And took the bread, and breaking it, pursued,
Julian! receive from me the Bread of Life! 63
la silence reverently the Count partook
The reconciling rite, and to his lips
Roderick then held the consecrated cup.

Me too! exclaimed Florinda, who till then
Had listened 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 awful 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! exclaimed
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 tamëst the strong limb, and conquerëst
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 healed, the wrong redressed, the throne
Rebuilt by that same hand which pulled it down,
And these curst 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 ordained,

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! exclaimed the Goth, as he performed
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 flushed, and in her eyes there beamed
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.

XXV.

RODERICK IN BATTLE.

EIGHT thousand men had to Asturias marched
Beneath Count Julian's banner; the remains
Of that brave army which in Africa

So well against the Musselman made head,
Till sense of injuries insupportable,
And raging thirst of vengeance, overthrew
Their leader's noble spirit. To revenge

His quarrel, twice that number left their bones,
Slain in unnatural battle, on the field

Of Xeres, where the sceptre from the Goths
By righteous Heaven was reft. Others had fallen
Consumed in sieges, alway by the Moor
To the front of war opposed. The policy,
With whatsoever show of honour cloaked,
Was gross, and this surviving band had oft
At their carousals of the flagrant wrong
Held such discourse as stirs the mounting blood,
The common danger with one discontent
Affecting chiefs and men. Nor had the bonds
Of rooted discipline and faith attached,
Thus long restrained them, had they not known well
That Julian in their just resentment shared,
And fixed their hopes on him. Slight impulse now
Sufficed to make these fiery martialists
Break forth in open fury; and though first
Count Pedro listened with suspicious ear
To Julian's dying errand, deeming it

Some new decoy of treason,-when he found
A second legate followed Virimar,
And then a third, and saw the turbulence

Chiefs

Of the camp, and how against the Moors in haste
They formed their lines, he knew that Providence
This hour had for his country interposed,
And in such faith advanced to use the aid
Thus wonderously ordained. The eager
Hasten to greet him, Cottila and Paul,
Basil and Miro, Theudered, Gunderick,
Felix, and all who held authority;
The zealous services of their brave host
They proffered, and besought him instantly
To lead against the African their force
Combined, and in good hour assail a foe
Divided, not for such attack prepared.

He died, and with a manly penitence:

They who condemn him most should call to mind
How grievous was the wrong which maddened him;
Be that remembered in his history,

And let no shame be offered his remains. 64

As Pedro would have answered, a loud cry
Of menacing imprecation from the troops
Arose; for Orpas, by the Moorish Chief
Sent to allay the storm his villany

Had stirred, came hastening on a milk-white steed,
And at safe distance having checked the rein,
Beckoned for parley. 'T was Orelio

On which he rode, Roderick's own battle-horse,
Who from his master's hand had wont to feed,
And with a glad docility obey

His voice familiar. At the sight the Goth
Started, and indignation to his soul

Brought back the thoughts and feelings of old time.
Suffer me, Count, he cried, to answer him,
And hold these back the while! Thus having said,
He waited no reply, but as he was,

Bareheaded, in his weeds, and all unarmed,
Advanced toward the renegade. Sir Priest,
Quoth Orpas as he came, I hold no talk
With thee; my errand is with Gunderick
And the Captains of the host, to whom I bring
Such liberal offers and clear proof-

The Goth,

Breaking with scornful voice his speech, exclaimed,
What, could no steed but Roderick's serve thy tura?
I should have thought some sleek and sober mule
Long trained in shackles to procession pace,
More suited to my lord of Seville's use
Than this good war-horse,-he who never bore
A villain, until Orpas crost his back!-

Wretch! cried the astonished renegade, and stoopt,
Foaming with anger, from the saddle-bow
To reach his weapon. Ere the hasty hand
Trembling in passion could perform its will,
Roderick had seized the reins. How now, he cried,
Orelio! old companion,-my good horse,-

Off with this recreant burthen!-And with that
He raised his hand, and reared and backed the steed,
To that remembered voice and arm of power
Obedient. Down the helpless traitor fell
Violently thrown, and Roderick over him
Thrice led with just and unrelenting hand
The trampling hoofs. Go, join Witiza now,

While thus they communed, Roderick from the church Where he lies howling, the avenger cried,

Came forth, and seeing Pedro, bent his way
Toward them. Sirs, said he, the Count is dead:
He died a Christian, reconciled to Heaven,
In faith; and when his daughter had received
His dying breath, her spirit too took flight.
One sacrament, one death, united them;
And I beseech ye, ye who from the work
Of blood which lies before us may return,-
If, as I think, it should not be my fate-
That in one grave with Christian ceremonies
Ye lay them side by side. In Heaven I ween
They are met through mercy :—ill befall the man
Who should in death divide them!-Then he turned
His speech to Pedro in an under voice;
The King, said he, I know with noble mind
Will judge of the departed; christian-like

And tell him Roderick sent thee!

At that sight,
Count Julian's soldiers and the Asturian host
Set up a shout, a joyful shout, which rung
Wide through the welkin. Their exulting cry

With louder acclamation was renewed,
When from the expiring miscreant's neck they saw
That Roderick took the shield, and round his own
Hung it, and vaulted in the seat. My horse!
My noble horse! he cried, with flattering hand
Patting his high-arched neck! the renegade,
I thank him for 't, hath kept thee daintily!
Orelio, thou art in thy beauty still,
Thy pride and strength! Orelio, my good horse,
Once more thou bearest to the field thy Lord,
He who so oft hath fed and cherished thee,

He for whose sake, wherever thou wert seen,
Thou wert by all men honoured. Once again
Thou hast thy proper master! Do thy part
As thou wert wont; and bear him gloriously,
My beautiful Orelio,—to the last-

The happiest of his fields!-Then he drew forth
The scymitar, and waving it aloft,

Rode toward the troops; its unaccustomed shape
Disliked him: Renegade in all things! cried
The Goth, and cast it from him; to the Chiefs
Then said, If I have done ye service here,
Help me, I pray you, to a Spanish sword!
The trustiest blade that e'er in Bilbilis

Was dipt, would not to-day be misbestowed

On this right hand!-Go, some one, Gunderick cried, And bring Count Julian's sword. Whoc'er thou art, The worth which thou hast shown avenging him Entitles thee to wear it.

But thou goest

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Replied the Goth; there's many a mountaineer,
Who in no better armour cased this day
Than his wonted leathern gipion,65 will be found
In the hottest battle, yet bring off untouched
The unguarded life he ventures-Taking then
Count Julian's sword, he fitted round his wrist
The chain, and eying the elaborate steel
With stern regard of joy, The African
Under unhappy stars was born, he cried,
Who tastes thy edge!-Make ready for the charge!
They come-they come!-On, brethren, to the field,
The word is Vengeance!

Vengeance was the word;
From man to man, and rank to rank it past,
By every heart enforced, by every voice
Sent forth in loud defiance of the foe.

The enemy in shriller sounds returned

Their Akbar, and the Prophet's trusted name.
The horsemen lowered their spears, the infantry
Deliberately with slow and steady step

Have drank of Kaf's dark fountain, and he comes
Strong in his immortality! Fly! fly!

They said, this is no human foe!-Nor less
Of wonder filled the Spaniards when they saw
How flight and terror went before his way,
And slaughter in his path. Behold, cries one,
With what command and knightly ease he sits
The intrepid steed, and deals from side to side
His dreadful blows! Not Roderick in his power
Bestrode with such command and majesty
That noble war-horse. His loose robe this day
Is death's black banner, shaking from its folds
Dismay and ruin. Of no mortal mould

Is he who in that garb of peace affronts
Whole hosts, and sees them scatter where he turns!
Auspicious Heaven beholds us, and some Saint
Revisits earth!

Aye, cries another, Heaven

Hath ever with especial bounty blest
Above all other lands its favoured Spain;
Chusing her children forth from all mankind
For its peculiar people, as of yore

Abraham's ungrateful race beneath the Law.
Who knows not how on that most holy night
When Peace on Earth by Angels was proclaimed,
The light which o'er the fields of Bethlehem shone,
Irradiated whole Spain 266 not just displayed,
As to the Shepherds, and again withdrawn;
All the long winter hours from eve till morn
Her forests and her mountains and her plains,
Her hills and valleys were embathed in light,
A light which came not from the sun or moon
Or stars, by secondary powers dispensed,
But from the fountain-springs, the Light of Light
Effluent. And wherefore should we not believe
That this may be some Saint or Angel, charged
To lead us to miraculous victory?
Hlath not the Virgin Mother oftentimes
Descending, clothed in glory, sanctified
With feet adorable our happy soil?-
Marked ye not, said another, how he cast
In wrath the unhallowed scymitar away,

Advanced; the bow-strings twang'd, and arrows hissed, And called for Christian weapon? Oh be sure

And javelins hurtled by. Anon the hosts

Met in the shock of battle, horse and man

Conflicting: shield struck shield, and sword and mace
And curtle-axe on helm and buckler rung;
Armour was riven, and wounds were interchanged,

And many a spirit from its mortal hold
Hurried to bliss or bale. Well did the Chiefs
Of Julian's army in that hour support
Their old esteem; and well Count Pedro there
Enhanced his former praise; and by his side,
Rejoicing like a bridegroom in the strife,
Alphonso through the host of infidels
Bore on his bloody lance dismay and death.
But there was worst confusion and uproar,
There widest slaughter and dismay, where, proud
Of his recovered Lord, Orelio plunged
Through thickest ranks, trampling beneath his feet
The living and the dead. Where'er he turns
The Moors divide and fly. What man is this,
Appalled they say, who to the front of war
Bareheaded offers thus his naked life?
Replete with power he is, and terrible,
Like some destroying Angel! Sure his lips

This is the aid of Heaven! On, comrades, on!
A miracle to-day is wrought for Spain!
Victory and Vengeance! Hew the miscreants down,
And spare not! hew them down in sacrifice!
God is with us! his Saints are in the field!
Victory! miraculous Victory!

Thus they

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Of glorious deeds? But how should man resist
Fate's irreversible decrees, or why
Murmur at what must be! They who survive
May mourn the evil which this day begins:
My part will soon be done!-Grief then gave way
To rage, and cursing Guisla, he pursued,

Oh that that treacherous woman were but here!
It were a consolation to give her
The evil death she merits!

That reward

She hath had, a Moor replied. For when we reached
The entrance of the vale, it was her choice
There in the farthest dwellings to be left

Lest she should see her brother's face; but thence
We found her, flying at the overthrow,
And, visiting the treason on her head,

Pierced her with wounds.-Poor vengeance for a host
Destroyed! said Abulcacem in his soul.
Howbeit, resolving to the last to do

His office, he roused up his spirit. Go,
Strike off Count Eudon's head! he cried; the fear
Which brought him to our camp will bring him else
In arms against us now! For Sisibert
And Ebba, he continued thus in thought,
Their uncle's fate for ever bars all plots

Of treason on their part; no hope have they
Of safety but with us. He called them then
With chosen troops to join him in the front
Of battle, that by bravely making head,
Retreat might now be won. Then fiercer raged
The conflict, and more frequent cries of death,
Mingling with imprecations and with prayers,
Rose through the din of war.

By this the blood
Which Deva down her fatal channel poured,
Purpling Pionia's course, had reached and stained
The wider stream of Sella. Soon far off
The frequent glance of spears and gleam of arms
Were seen, which sparkled to the westering orb,
Where down the vale impatient to complete
The glorious work so well that day begun,
Pelayo led his troops. On foot they came,
Chieftains and men alike; the Oaken Cross 67
Triumphant borne on high precedes their march,
And broad and bright the argent banner shone.
Roderick, who, dealing death from side to side,
Had through the Moorish army now made way,
Beheld it flash, and judging well what aid
Approached, with sudden impulse that way rode,
To tell of what had passed-lest in the strife
They should engage with Julian's men, and mar
The mighty consummation. One ran on
To meet him fleet of foot, and having given
His tale to this swift messenger, the Goth
Halted awhile to let Orelio breathe.
Siverian, quoth Pelayo, if mine eyes

Deceive me not, yon horse, whose reeking sides
Are red with slaughter, is the same on whom
The apostate Orpas in his vauntery
Wont to parade the streets of Cordoba.

But thou shouldst know him best; regard him well :
Is 't not Orelio?

Either it is he,

The old man replied, or one so like to him, Whom all thought matchless, that similitude Would be the greater wonder. But behold,

What man is he who in that disarray
Doth with such power and majesty bestride
The noble steed, as if he felt himself
In his own proper seat? Look how he leans
To cherish him; and how the gallant horse
Curves up his stately neck, and bends his head,
As if again to court that gentle touch,
And answer to the voice which praises him.
Can it be Maccabee? rejoined the King,
Or are the secret wishes of my soul
Indeed fulfilled, and hath the grave given up
Its dead! So saying, on the old man he turned
Eyes full of wide astonishment, which told
The incipient thought that for incredible
He spake no farther. But enough had past,
For old Siverian started at the words
Like one who sees a spectre and exclaimed,
Blind that I was to know him not till now!
My Master, O my Master!

He meantime
With easy pace moved on to meet their march.
King, to Pelayo he began, this day

By means scarce less than miracle, thy throne
Is stablished, and the wrongs of Spain revenged.
Orpas the accursed, upon yonder field

Lies ready for the ravens. By the Moors
Treacherously slain, Count Julian will be found
Before Saint Peter's altar; unto him

Grace was vouchsafed; and by that holy power
Which at Visonia by the Primate's hand
Of his own proper act to me was given,
Unworthy as I am,—yet sure I think
Not without mystery, as the event hath shown,-
Did I accept Count Julian's penitence,
And reconcile the dying man to heaven.
Beside him hath his daughter gone to rest.
Deal honourably with his remains, and let
One grave with Christian rites receive them both.
Is it not written that as the Tree falls,
So it shall lie?

In this and all things else,
Pelayo answered, looking wistfully

Upon the Goth, thy pleasure shall be done.
Then Roderick saw that he was known, and turned
His head away in silence. But the old man
Laid hold upon his bridle, and looked up
In his master's face, weeping and silently.
Thereat the Goth with fervent pressure took
His hand, and bending down toward him, said,
My good Siverian, go not thou this day

To war! I charge thee keep thyself from harm!
Thou art past the age for combats, and with whom
Hereafter should thy mistress talk of me

If thou wert gone?-Thou seest I am unarmed :
Thus disarrayed as thou beholdest me,
Clean through yon miscreant army have I cut
My way unhurt; but being once by leaven
Preserved, I would not perish with the guilt
Of having wilfully provoked my death.
Give me thy helmet and thy cuirass!-nay-
Thou wert not wont to let me ask in vain,
Nor to oppose me when my will was known!
To thee methinks I should be still the King.
Thus saying they withdrew a little way
Within the trees. Roderick alighted there,
And in the old mau's armour dight himself.

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