DUKE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY Treasure %oom RODERICK, THE LAST OF THE GOTHS, A TRAGIC POEM. Edinburgh : Printed by James Ballantyne & Co. RODERICK, THE LAST OF THE GOTHS. BY ROBERT SOUTHEY, Esq. POET LAUREATE, AND MEMBER OF THE ROYAL SPANISH ACADEMY. IN TWO VOLUMES. VOL. II. THIRD EDITION. LONDON : PRINTED FOR LONGMAN, HURST, REES,ORME, AND BROWxVj PATERN03TER-ROW. 1815. Tanto acrid" apud majores, sicut virtutibus gloria, ita flagitils pcenitentia fuit. Sed haec aliaque ex veteri me- inoria petita, quotiens res locusque exempla recti| aut so- latia mali poscet, haud absurde memorabimus. Taciti Hist. lib. 3. c. 51. CONTENTS OF VOLUME SECOND. PAGE. 14. The Rescue ; 1 15. Roderick at Cangas 9 16. Covadonga 22 17. Roderick and Siverian 38 18. The Acclamation , 51 19. Roderick and Rusilla :.,... 68 20. The Moorish Camp . v 75 21. The Fountain in the Forest 89 22. The Moorish Council Ill 23. The Vale of Covadonga . . ; 122 24. Roderick and Count Julian 135 25. Roderick in Battle 148 Notes 175 6 5 r V As the ample Moon, In the deep stillness of a summer even Rising behind a thick and lofty Grove, Burns like an unconsuming fire of light In the green trees ; and kindling on all sides Their leafy umbrage, turns the dusky veil Into a substance glorious as her own, Yea, with her own incorporated, by power Capacious and serene : Like power abides In Man's celestial Spirit ; Virtue thus Sets forth and magnifies herself j thus feeds A calm, a beautiful and silent fire, From the incumbrances of mortal life, From error, disappointment, . . nay from guilt, And sometimes , so relenting Justice wills, From palpable oppressions of Despair. Wordsworth. RODERICK, THE LAST OF THE GOTHS. XIV. Count, said Pelayo, Nature hath assigned 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. VOL. II. A 2 THE RESCUE. XIV. Captivity, or death, or what worse pangs She in her children may be doomed 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 fall'n, 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 ! Thus while he spake, lights were descried far off Moving among the trees, and coming sounds Were heard as of a distant multitude. Anon a company of horse and foot, Advancing in disorderly array, Came up the vale : before them and beside Their torches flashed on Sella's ripling stream ; XIV. THE RESCUE. 3 Now gleamed through chesnut groves, emerging now, O'er their huge boughs and radiated leaves Cast broad and bright a transitory glare. That sight inspired with strength the mountaineers ; All sense of weariness ; all wish for rest At once were gone : impatient in desire Of second victory alert they stood ; And when the hostile symbols, which from far Imagination to their wish had shaped, Vanished in nearer vision, high-wrought hope Departing, left the spirit palled and blank. No turban'd race, no sons of Africa Were they who now came winding up the vale, As waving wide before their horses' feet The torch-light floated, with its hovering glare Blackening the incumbent and surrounding night. Helmet and breast-plate glittered as they came, And spears erect ; and nearer as they drew Were the loose folds of female garments seen On those who led the company. Who then Had stood beside Pelayo, might have heard The beating of his heart. But vainly there Sought he with wistful eye the well-known forms 4f THE RESCUE. XIV. Beloved ; and plainly might it now be seen That from some bloody conflict they returned Victorious, . . for at every saddle-bow A gory head was hung. Anon they stopt, Levelling in quick alarm their ready spears. Hold ! who goes there? cried one. A hundred tongues Sent forth with one accord the glad reply, Friends and Asturians. Onward moved the lights, . . The people knew their Lord. Then what a shout Rung through the valley ! From their clay-built nests, Beneath the overbrowing battlements, Now first disturbed, the affrighted martins flew, And uttering notes of terror short and shrill, Amid the yellow glare and lurid smoke Wheeled giddily. Then plainly was it shown How well the vassals loved their generous Lord, How like a father the Asturian Prince Was dear. They crowded round ; they claspt his knees ; They snatched his hand ; they fell upon his neck, . . They wept ; . . they blest Almighty Providence, Which had restored him thus from bondage free : God was with them and their good cause, they said ; His hand was here, . . His shield was over them, . . XIV. THE RESCUE. 5 His spirit was abroad, . . His power displayed : And pointing to their bloody trophies then, They told Pelayo there he might behold The first fruits of the harvest they should soon Reap in the field of war ! Benignantly, With voice and look and gesture, did the Prince To these warm greetings of tumultuous joy Respond ; and sure if at that moment aught Could for a while have overpowered those fears Which from the inmost heart o'er all his frame Diffused their chilling influence, worthy pride, And sympathy of love and joy and hope, , Had then possessed him wholly. Even now His spirit rose ; the sense of power, the sight Of his brave people, ready where he led To fight their country's battles, and the thought Of instant action, and deliverance, . . If Heaven, which thus far had protected him, Should favour still, . . revived his heart, and gave Fresh impulse to its spring. In vain he sought Amid that turbulent greeting to enquire Where Gaudiosa was, his children where, Who called them to the field, who captained them ;. 6 THE RESCUE. XIV. And how these women, thus with arms and death Environed, came amid their company ; For yet, amid the fluctuating light And tumult of the crowd, he knew them not. Guisla was one. The Moors had found in her A willing and concerted prisoner. Gladly to Gegio, to the renegade On whom her loose and shameless love was bent, Had she set forth ; and in her heart she cursed The busy spirit, who, with powerful call Rousing Pelayo's people, led them on In quick pursual, and victoriously Achieved the rescue, to her mind perverse Unwelcome as unlooked for. With dismay She recognized her brother, dreaded now More than he once was dear ; her countenance Was turned toward him, . . not with eager joy To court his sight, and meeting its first glance, Exchange delightful welcome, soul with soul ; Hers was the conscious eye, that cannot chuse But look to what it fears. She could not shun His presence, and the rigid smile constrained, XIV. THE RESCUE. 7 With which she coldly drest her features, ill Concealed her inward thoughts, and the despite Of obstinate guilt and unrepentant shame. Sullenly thus upon her mule she sate, Waiting the greeting which she did not dare Bring on. But who is she that at her side, Upon a stately war-horse eminent, Holds the loose rein with careless hand ? A helm Presses the clusters of her flaxen hair ; The shield is on her arm ; her breast is mailed ; A sword-belt is her girdle, and right well It may be seen that sword hath done its work To-day, for upward from the wrist her sleeve Is stiff with blood. An unregardant eye, As one whose thoughts were not of earth, she cast Upon the turmoil round. One countenance So strongly marked, so passion-worn was there, That it recalled her mind. Ha ! Maccabee ! Lifting her arm, exultingly she cried, Did I not tell thee we should meet in joy ? Well, Brother, hast thou done thy part, . . I too Have not been wanting ! Now be His the praise, From whom the impulse came ! S THE RESCUE. XIV. That startling call, That voice so well remembered, touched the Goth With timely impulse now ; for he had seen His mother's face, . . and at her sight, the past And present mingled like a frightful dream, Which from some dread reality derives Its deepest horror. Adosinda's voice Dispersed the waking vision. Little deemed Rusilla at that moment that the child, For whom her supplications day and night Were offered, breathed the living air. Her heart Was calm ; her placid countenance, though grief Deeper than time had left its traces there, Retained its dignity serene ; yet when Siverian, pressing through the people, kissed Her reverend hand, some quiet tears ran down. As she approached the Prince, the crowd made way Respectful. The maternal smile which bore Her greeting, from Pelayo's heart almost Dispelled its boding. What he would have asked She knew, and bending from her palfrey down, Told him that they for whom he looked were safe, And that in secret he should hear the rest. XV. How calmly gliding through the dark-blue sky The midnight Moon ascends ! Her placid beams Through thinly scattered leaves andboughs grotesque, Mottle with mazy shades the orchard slope ; Here, o'er the chesnut's fretted foliage grey And massy, motionless they spread ; here shine Upon the crags, deepening with blacker night Their chasms ; and there the glittering argentry Ripples and glances on the confluent streams. A lovelier, purer light than that of day Rests on the hills ; and oh how awfully Into that deep and tranquil firmament The summits of Auseva rise serene ! The watchman on the battlements partakes The stillness of the solemn hour ; he feels The silence of the earth, the endless sound A2 10 RODERICK AT CANGAS. XV. Of flowing water soothes him, and the stars, Which in that brightest moon-light well-nigh quenched, Scarce visible, as in the utmost depth Of yonder sapphire infinite, are seen, Draw on with elevating influence Toward eternity the attempered mind. Musing on worlds beyond the grave he stands, And to the Virgin Mother silently Breathes forth her hymn of praise. The mountaineers Before the castle, round their mouldering fires, Lie on the hearth outstretched. Pelayo's hall Is full, and he upon his careful couch Hears all around the deep and long-drawn breath Of sleep ; for gentle night hath brought to these Perfect and undisturbed repose, alike Of corporal powers and inward faculty. Wakeful the while he lay, yet more by hope Than grief or anxious thoughts possessed, ..though grief For Guisla's guilt, which freshened in his heart The memory of their wretched mother's crime, Still made its presence felt, like the dull sense Of some perpetual inward malady ; XV. RODERICK AT CANGAS. 1 1 And the whole peril of the future lay Before him clearly seen. He had heard all : How that unworthy sister, obstinate In wrong and shameless, rather seemed to woo The upstart renegado than to wait His wooing ; how, as guilt to guilt led on, Spurning at gentle admonition first, When Gaudiosa hopelessly forebore From farther counsel, then in sullen mood Resentful, Guisla soon began to hate The virtuous presence before which she felt Her nature how inferior, and her fault How foul. Despiteful thus she grew, because Humbled yet unrepentant. Who could say To what excess bad passions might impel A woman thus possessed ? She could not fail To mark Siverian's absence, for what end Her conscience but too surely had divined ; And Gaudiosa, well aware that all To the vile paramour was thus made known, Had to safe hiding-place with timely fear Removed her children. Well the event had proved How needful was that caution ; for at night 12 RODERICK AT CANGAS. XV. She sought the mountain solitudes, and morn Beheld Numacian's soldiers at the gate. Yet did not sorrow in Pelayo's heart For this domestic shame prevail that hour, Nor gathering danger weigh his spirit down. The anticipated meeting put to flight These painful thoughts : to-morrow will restore All whom his heart holds dear ; his wife beloved, No longer now remembered for regret, Is present to his soul with hope and joy ; His inward eye beholds Favila's form In opening youth robust, and Hermesind, His daughter, lovely as a budding rose : Their images beguile the hours of night, Till with the earliest morning he may seek Their secret hold. The nightingale not yet Had ceased her song, nor had the early lark Her dewy nest forsaken, when the Prince Upward beside Pionia took his way Toward Auseva. Heavily to him, Impatient for the morrow's happiness, Long night had lingered, but it seemed more long 10 XV. RODERICK AT CANGAS. J 3 To Roderick's aching heart. He too had watched For dawn, and seen the earliest break of day, And heard its earliest sounds ; and when the Prince Went forth, the melancholy man was seen With pensive pace upon Pionia's side Wandering alone and slow. For he had left The wearying place of his unrest, that morn With its cold dews might bathe his throbbing brow, And with its breath allay the feverish heat That burnt within. Alas ! the gales of morn Reach not the fever of a wounded heart ! How shall he meet his Mother's eye, how make His secret known, and from that voice revered Obtain forgiveness, . . all that he has now To ask, ere on the lap of earth in peace He lay his head resigned ! In silent prayer He supplicated Heaven to strengthen him Against that trying hour, there seeking aid Where all who seek shall' find ; and thus his soul Received support, and gathered fortitude, Never than now more needful, for the hour Was nigh. He saw Siverian drawing near, And with a dim but quick foreboding met 14 RODERICK AT CANGAS. XV. The good old man : yet when he heard him say, My Lady sends to seek thee, like a knell To one expecting and prepared for death, But fearing the dread point that hastens on, It smote his heart. He followed silently, And knit his suffering spirit to the proof. He went resolved to tell his Mother all, Fall at her feet, and drinking the last dregs Of bitterness, receive the only good Earth had in store for him. Resolved for this He went ; yet was it a relief to find That painful resolution must await A fitter season, when no eye but Heaven's Might witness to their mutual agony. Count Julian's daughter with Rusilla sate ; Both had been weeping, both were pale, but calm. With head as for humility abased Roderick approached, and bending, on his breast He crossed his humble arms. Rusilla rose In reverence to the priestly character, And with a mournful eye regarding him, Thus she began. Good Father, I have heard XV. RODERICK AT CAN GAS. 15 From my old faithful servant and true friend, Thou didst reprove the inconsiderate tongue, That in the anguish of its spirit poured A curse upon my poor unhappy child.. Father Maccabee, this is a hard world, And hasty in its judgements ! Time has been, When not a tongue within the Pyrenees Dared whisper in dispraise of Roderick's name, Lest, if the conscious air had caught the sound, The vengeance of the honest multitude Should fall upon the traitrous head, or brand For life-long infamy the lying lips. Now if a voice be raised in his behalf, 'Tis noted for a wonder, and the man Who utters the strange speech shall be admired For such excess of Christian charity. Thy Christian charity hath not been lost ; . . Father, I feel its virtue : . . it hath been Balm to my heart : . . with words and grateful tears, . . All that is left me now for gratitude, . . 1 thank thee, and beseech thee in thy prayers That thou wilt still remember Roderick's name. 16 RODERICK AT CANGAS. XV. Roderick so long had to this hour looked on, That when the actual point of trial came, Torpid and numbed it found him : cold he grew, And as the vital spirits to the heart Retreated, o'er his withered countenance, Deathy and damp, a whiter paleness spread. Unmoved the while the inward feeling seemed, Even in such dull insensibility As gradual age brings on, or slow disease, Beneath whose progress lingering life survives The power of suffering. Wondering at himself, Yet gathering confidence, he raised his eyes, Then slowly shaking as he bent his head, O venerable Lady, he replied, If aught may comfort that unhappy soul It must be thy compassion, and thy prayers. She whom he most hath wronged, she who alone On earth can grant forgiveness for his crime, She hath forgiven him ; and thy blessing now Were all that he could ask, . . all that could bring Profit or consolation to his soul, If he hath been, as sure we may believe, A penitent sincere. XV. RODERICK AT CANGAS. 17 Oh had he lived, Replied Rusilla, never penitence Had equalled his ! full well I know his heart, Vehement in all things. He would on himself Have wreaked such penance as had reached the height Of fleshly suffering, . . yea, which being told With its portentous rigour should have made The memory of his fault, o'erpowered and lost In shuddering pity and astonishment, Fade like a feebler horror. Otherwise Seemed good to Heaven. I murmur not, nor doubt The boundless mercy of redeeming love. For sure I trust that not in his offence Hardened and reprobate was my lost son, A child of wrath, cut off! . .that dreadful thought, Not even amid the first fresh wretchedness, When the ruin burst around me like a flood, Assailed my soul. I ever deemed his fall An act of sudden madness ; and this day Hath in unlooked-for confirmation given A livelier hope, a more assured faith. Smiling benignant then amid her tears, She took Florinda by the hand, and said, 18 RODERICK AT CANGAS. XV. I little thought that I should live to bless Count Julian's daughter ! She hath brought to me The last, the best, the only comfort earth Could minister to this afflicted heart, And my grey hairs may now unto the grave Go down in peace. Happy, Florinda cried. Are they for whom the grave hath peace in store ! The wrongs they have sustained, the woes they bear, Pass not that holy threshold, where Death heals The broken heart. O Lady, thou mayst trust In humble hope, through Him who on the cross Gave his atoning blood for lost mankind, To meet beyond the grave thy child forgiven. I too with Roderick there may interchange Forgiveness. But the grief which wastes away This mortal frame, hastening the happy hour Of my enlargement, is but a light part Of what my soul endures ; . . that grief hath lost Its sting : . . I have a keener sorrow here, . . One which, . . but God forefend that dire event, . . May pass with me the portals of the grave, And with a thought, like sin which cannot die, XV. RODERICK AT CANGAS. 19 Embitter Heaven. My father has renounced His hope in Christ ! It was his love for me Which drove him to perdition. . . I was born To ruin all who loved me, . . all I loved ! Perhaps I sinned in leaving him ; . . that fear Rises within me to disturb the peace Which I should else have found. To Roderick then The pious mourner turned her suppliant eyes : Father, there is virtue in thy prayers ! . . 1 do beseech thee offer them to Heaven In his behalf ! For Roderick's sake, for mine., Wrestle with Him whose Name is Merciful, That Julian may with penitence be touched, And clinging to the Cross, implore that grace Which ne'er was sought in vain. For Roderick's sake And mine, pray for him ! We have been the cause Of his offence ! What other miseries May from that same unhappy source have risen, Are earthly, temporal, reparable all ; . . But if a soul be lost through our misdeeds, That were eternal evil ! Pray for him, 20 RODERICK AT CANGAS. XV. Good Father Maccabee, and be thy prayers More fervent, as the deeper is the crime* While thus Florinda spake, the dog who lay Before Rusilla's feet, eyeing him long And wistfully, had recognised at length, Changed as he was and in those sordid weeds, His royal master. And he rose and licked His withered hand, and earnestly looked up With eyes whose human meaning did not need The aid of speech ; and moaned, as if at once To court and chide the long-withheld caress. A feeling uncommixed with sense of guilt Or shame, yet painfullest, thrilled through the King: But he, to self-controul now long inured, Represt his rising heart, nor other tears, Full as his struggling bosom was, let fall Than seemed to follow on Florinda's words. Looking toward her then, yet so that still He shunned the meeting of her eye, he said, Virtuous and pious as thou art, and ripe For Heaven, Q Lady, I will think the man XV. RODERICK AT CANGAS. 21 Hath not by his Good Angel been cast off For whom thy supplications rise. The Power Whose justice doth in its unerring course Visit the children for the sire's offence, Shall He not in his boundless mercy hear The daughter's prayer, and for her sake restore The guilty parent ? My soul shall with thine In earnest and continual duty join. . . How deeply, how devoutly, He will know To whom the cry is raised ! Thus having said ? Deliberately, in self-possession still, Himself from that most painful interview Dispeeding, he withdrew. The watchful dog Followed his footsteps close. But he retired Into the thickest grove ; there yielding way To his o'erburthened nature, from all eyes Apart, he cast himself upon the ground, And threw his arms around the dog, and cried, While tears streamed down, Thou, Theron, then hast known Thy poor lost master, , . Theron, none but thou I XVI. Meantime Pelayo up the vale pursued Eastward his way, before the sun had climbed Auseva's brow, or shed his silvering beams Upon Europa's summit, where the snows Through all-revolving seasons hold their seat. A happy man he went, his heart at rest, Of hope and virtue and affection full, To all exhilarating influences Of earth and heaven alive. With kindred joy He heard the lark, who from her airy height, On twinkling pinions poised, poured forth profuse, In thrilling sequence of exuberant song, As one whose joyous nature overflowed With life and power, her rich and rapturous strain. The early bee, buzzing along the way, From flower to flower, bore gladness on her wing XVI. COVADONGA. 23 To his rejoicing sense ; and he pursued With quickened eye alert, the frolic hare, Where from the green herb in her wanton path She brushed away the dews. For he long time, Far from his home and from his native hills, Had dwelt in bondage ; and the mountain breeze, Which he had with the breath of infancy Inhaled, such impulse to his heart restored, As if the seasons had rolled back, and life Enjoyed a second spring. Through fertile fields He went, by cots with pear-trees overbowered, Or spreading to the sun their trelliced vines ; Through orchards now, and now by thymy banks, Where wooden hives in some warm nook were hid From wind and shower ; and now thro' shadowy paths. Where hazels fringed Pionia's vocal stream ; Till where the loftier hills to narrower bound Confine the vale, he reached those huts remote. Which should hereafter to the noble line Of Soto origin and name impart : A gallant lineage, long in fields of war And faithful chronicler's enduring page 24? OVADONGA. XVI. Blazoned ; but most by him illustrated, Avid of gold, yet greedier of renown, Whom not the spoils of Atabalipa Could satisfy insatiate, nor the fame Of that wide empire overthrown appease ; But he to Florida's disastrous shores In evil hour his gallant comrades led, Through savage woods and swamps, and hostile tribes, The Apalachian arrows, and the snares Of wilier foes, hunger, and thirst, and toil ; Till from ambition's feverish dream the touch Of Death awoke him ; and when he had seen The fruit of all his treasures, all his toil, Foresight, and long endurance, fade away, Earth to the restless one refusing rest, In the great river's midland bed he left His honoured bones. A mountain rivulet, Now calm and lovely in its summer course, Held by those huts its everlasting way Toward Pionia. They whose flocks and herds Drink of its water call it Deva. Here Pelayo southward up the ruder vale XVI. COVADONGA. 25 Traced it, his guide unerring. Amid heaps Of mountain wreck, on either side thrown high, The wide-spread traces of its wintry might, The tortuous channel wound ; o'er beds of sand Here silently it flows ; here, from the rock Rebutted, curls and eddies ; plunges here Precipitate ; here, roaring among crags, It leaps and foams and whirls and hurries on. Grey alders here and bushy hazels hid The mossy side ; their wreathed and knotted feet Bared by the current, now against its force Repaying the support they found, upheld The bank secure. Here, bending to the stream, The birch fantastic stretched its rugged trunk, Tall and erect, from whence as from their base, Each like a tree, its silver branches grew. The cherry here hung for the birds of heaven Its rosy fruit on high. The elder there Its purple berries o'er the water bent, [Heavily hanging. Here, amid the brook, Grey as the stone to which it clung, half root | Half trunk, the young ash rises from the rock ; And there its parent lifts a lofty head, VOL. II. B 26 eOVADONGA. XVI. And spreads its graceful boughs ; the passing wind With twinkling motion lifts the silent leaves, And shakes its rattling tufts. 1 Soon had the Prince Behind him left the farthest dwelling place Of man ; no fields of waving corn were here, Nor wicker storehouse for the autumnal grain, Vineyard, nor bowery fig, nor fruitful grove ; Only the rocky vale, the mountain stream, Incumbent crags, and hills that over hills Arose on either hand, here hung with woods, Here rich with heath, that o'er some smooth ascent Its purple glory spread, or golden gorse ; Bare here, and striated with many a hue, Scored by the wintry rain ; by torrents here Riven, and with overhanging rocks abrupt. Pelayo, upward as he cast his eyes Where crags loose-hanging o'er the narrow pass Impended, there beheld his country's strength Insuperable, and in his heart rejoiced. Oh that the Mussleman were here, he cried, With all his myriads ! While thy day endures, Moor ! thou may'st lord it in the plains ; but here XVI. COVADONGA. 27 Hath Nature for the free and brave prepared A sanctuary, where no oppressor's power, No might of human tyranny can pierce. The tears which started then sprang not alone From lofty thoughts of elevating joy ; For love and admiration had their part, And virtuous pride. Here then thou hast retired, My Gaudiosa ! in his heart he said ; Excellent woman ! ne'er was richer boon By fate benign to favoured man indulged, Than when thou wert before the face of Heaven Given me to be my children's mother, brave And virtuous as thou art ! here thou hast fled, Thou who wert nurst in palaces, to dwell In rocks and mountain caves ! » .The thought was proud, Yet not without a sense of inmost pain ; For never had Pelayo till that hour So deeply felt the force of solitude* High over head the eagle soared serene, And the grey lizard on the rocks below Basked in the sun : no living creature else In this remotest wilderness was seen ; 28 COVADONGA. XVI. Nor living voice was there, . . only the flow Of Deva, and the rushing of its springs Long in the distance heard, which nearer now, With endless repercussion deep and loud, Throbbed on the dizzy sense. The ascending vale, Long straitened by the narrowing mountains, here Was closed. In front a rock, abrupt and bare, Stood eminent, in height exceeding far All edifice of human power, by king Or caliph, or barbaric sultan reared, Or mightier tyrants of the world of old, Assyrian or Egyptian, in their pride : Yet far above, beyond the reach of sight, Swell after swell, the heathery mountain rose. Here, in two sources, from the living rock The everlasting springs of Deva gushed. Upon a smooth and grassy plat below, By Nature there as for an altar drest, They joined their sister stream, which from the earth Welled silently. In such a scene rude man With pardonable error might have knelt. Feeling a present Deity, and made XVI. COVADONGA. 29 His offering to the fountain Nymph devout. The arching rock disclosed above the springs A cave, where hugest son of giant birth, That e'er of old in forest of romance 'Gainst knights and ladies waged discourteous war, Erect within the portal might have stood. The broken stone allowed for hand and foot No difficult ascent, above the base In height a tall man's stature, measured thrice. No holier spot than Covadonga Spain Boasts in her wide extent, though all her realms Be with the noblest blood of martyrdom In elder or in later days enriched, And glorified with tales of heavenly aid By many a miracle made manifest ; Nor in the heroic annals of her fame Doth she show forth a scene of more renown. Then, save the hunter, drawn in keen pursuit Beyond his wonted haunts, or shepherd's boy, Following the pleasure of his' straggling flock. None knew the place. Pelayo, when he saw Those glittering sources and their sacred cave, 30 COVADONGA. XVI. Took from his side the bugle silver-tipt, And with a breath long drawn and slow expired Sent forth that strain, which, echoing from the walls Of Cangas, wont to tell his glad return When from the chace he came. At the first sound Favila started in the cave, and cried, My father's horn ! . . A sudden flame suffused Hermesind's cheek, and she with quickened eye Looked eager to her mother silently ; But Gaudiosa trembled and grew pale, Doubting her sense deceived. A second time The bugle breathed its well-known notes abroad ; And Hermesind around her mother's neck Threw her white arms, and earnestly exclaimed, 'Tis he ! . . But when a third and broader blast Rung in the echoing archway, ne'er did wand, With magic power endued, call up a sight So strange, as sure in that wild solitude It seemed, when from the bowels of the rock The mother and her children hastened forth. She in the sober charms and dignity Of womanhood mature, nor verging yet Upon decay ; in gesture like a queen, XVI. COVADONGA. 31 Such inborn and habitual majesty Ennobled all her steps, . . or priestess, chosen Because within such faultless work of Heaven Inspiring Deity might seem to make Its habitation known • . . Favila such In form and stature, as the Sea Nymph's son, When that wise Centaur from his cave well-pleased Beheld the boy divine his growing strength Against some shaggy lionet essay, And fixing in the half-grown mane his hands, Roll with him in fierce dalliance intertwined. But like a creature of some higher sphere His sister came ; she scarcely touched the rock, So light was Hermesind's aerial speed. Beauty and grace and innocence in her In heavenly union shone. One who had held The faith of elder Greece, would sure have thought She was some glorious nymph of seed divine, Oread or Dryad, of Diana's train The youngest and the loveliest : yea she seemed Angel, or soul beatified, from realms Of bliss, on errand of parental love 32 COVADONGA. XVI. To earth re-sent, . . if tears and trembling limbs With such celestial natures might consist. Embraced by all, in turn embracing each, The husband and the father for awhile Forgot his country and all things beside : Life hath few moments of such pure delight, Such foretaste of the perfect joy of Heaven. And when the thought recurred of sufferings past, Perils which threatened still, and arduous toil Yet to be undergone, remembered griefs Heightened the present happiness ; and hope Upon the shadows of futurity Shone like the sun upon the morning mists, When driven before his rising rays they roll, And melt and leave the prospect bright and clear. When now Pelayo's eyes had drank their fill Of love from those dear faces, he went up To view the hiding place. Spacious it was As that Sicilian cavern in the hill Wherein earth-shaking Neptune's giant son XVI. COVADONGA. 33 Duly at eve was wont to fold his flock, Ere the wise Ithacan, o'er that brute force By wiles prevailing, for a life-long night Seeled his broad eye. The healthful air had here Free entrance, and the cheerful light of heaven ; But at the end, an opening in the floor Of rock disclosed a wider vault below, Which never sun-beam visited, nor breath Of vivifying morning came to cheer. No light was there but that which from above In dim reflection fell, or found its way, Broken and quivering, through the glassy stream, Where through the rock it gushed. That shadowy light Sufficed to show, where from their secret bed The waters issued ; with whose rapid course, And with whose everlasting cataracts Such motion to the chill damp atmosphere Was given, as if the solid walls of rock Were shaken with the sound. Glad to respire The upper air, Pelayo hastened back From that drear den. Look ! Hermesind exclaimed, Taking her father's hand, thou hast not seen b2 34} COVADONGA. XVI. My chamber : . . See ! . . did ever ring-dove chuse In so secure a nook her hiding-place, Or build a warmer nest ? Tis fragrant too, As warm, and not more sweet than soft ; for thyme And myrtle with the elastic heath are laid, And, over all, this dry and pillowy moss. . . Smiling she spake. Pelayo kissed the child, And, sighing, said within himself, I trust In Heaven, whene'er thy May of life is come, Sweet bird, that thou shalt have a blither bower ! Fitlier, he thought, such chamber might beseem Some hermit of Hilarion's school austere, Or old Antonius, he who from the hell Of his bewildered phantasy saw fiends In actual vision, a foul throng grotesque Of all horrific shapes and forms obscene, Crowd in broad day before his open eyes. That feeling cast a momentary shade Of sadness o'er his soul. But deeper thoughts, If he might have foreseen the things to come, Would there have filled him; for within that cave His own remains were one day doomed to find Their final place of rest ; and in that spot, XVI. COVADONGA. 35 Where that dear child with innocent delight Had spread her mossy couch, the sepulchre Shall in the consecrated rock be hewn, Where with Alphonso, her beloved lord, Laid side by side, must Hermesind partake The everlasting marriage-bed, when he, Leaving a name perdurable on earthy Hath changed his earthly for a heavenly crown. Dear child, upon that fated spot she stood, In all the beauty of her opening youth, In health's rich bloom, in virgin innocence, While her eyes sparkled and her heart o'erflowed With pure and perfect joy of filial love. Many a slow century since that day hath filled Its course, and countless multitudes have trod . With pilgrim feet that consecrated cave ; Yet not in all those ages, amid all The untold concourse, hath one breast been swoln With such emotions as Pelayo felt That hour. O Gaudiosa, he exclaimed, And thou could'st seek for shelter here, amid This awful solitude, in mountain caves ! 36 COVABONGA. XVI, Thou noble spirit ! Oh when hearts like thine Grow on this sacred soil, would it not be In me, thy husband, double infamy, And tenfold guilt, if I despaired of Spain ! la. all her visitations, favouring Heaven Hath left her still the unconquerable mind ; And thus being worthy of redemption, sure Is she to be redeemed. Beholding her Through tears he spake, and prest upon her lips- A kiss of deepest love. Think ever thus, She answered, and that faith will give the power In which it trusts. When to this mountain hold These children, thy dear images, I brought, I said within myself, where should they fly But to the bosom of their native hills ? I brought them here as to a sanctuary, Where, for the temple's sake, the indwelling God Would guard his supplicants. O my dear Lord, Proud as I was to know that they were thine, Was it a sin if I almost believed, That Spain, her destiny being linked with theirs, Would save the precious charge ? XVI. COVADONGA. 37 So let us think, The Chief replied, so feel and teach and act. Spain is our common parent ; let the sons Be to the parent true, and in her strength And Heaven, their sure deliverance they will find. XVIL O holiest Mary, Maid and Mother ! thou In Covadonga, at thy rocky shrine, Hast witnessed whatsoe'er of human bliss Heart can conceive most perfect ! Faithful love, Long crost by envious stars, hath there attained Its crown, in endless matrimony given ; The youthful mother there hath to the font Her first-born borne, and there, with deeper sense Of gratitude for that dear babe redeemed From threatening death, returned to pay her vows. But ne'er on nuptial, nor baptismal day, Nor from their grateful pilgrimage discharged, Did happier group their way down Deva's vale Rejoicing hold, than this blest family, O'er whom the mighty Spirit of the Land Spread his protecting wings. The children, free XVIX. RODERICK AND SIVERIAN. 39 In youthhead's happy season from all cares That might disturb the hour, yet capable Of that intense and unalloyed delight Which childhood feels when it enjoys again The dear parental presence long deprived ; Nor were the parents now less blest than they, Even to the height of human happiness ; For Gaudiosa and her Lord that hour Let no misgiving thoughts intrude : she fixed Her hopes on him, and his were fixed on Heaven ; And hope in that courageous heart derived Such rooted strength and confidence assured In righteousness, that 'twas to him like faith . . An everlasting sunshine of the soul, Illumining and quickening all its powers. But on Pionia's side meantime a heart As generous, and as full of noble thoughts, Lay stricken with the deadliest bolts of grief. Upon a smooth grey stone sate Roderick there ; The wind above him stirred the hazel boughs, And murmuring at his feet the river ran. He sate with folded arms and head declined 40 RODERICK AND SIVERIAN. XTII. Upon his breast, feeding on bitter thoughts, Till Nature gave him in the exhausted sense Of woe a respite something like repose ; And then the quiet sound of gentle winds And waters with their lulling consonance Beguiled him of himself. Of all within Oblivious there he sate, sentient alone Of outward nature, . . of the whispering leaves That soothed his ear, . . the genial breath of heaven That fanned his cheek, . . the stream's perpetual flow, That, with its shadows and its glancing lights, Dimples and thread-like motions infinite, For ever varying and yet still the same, Like time toward eternity, ran by. Resting his head upon his Master's knees, Upon the bank beside him Theron lay. What matters change of state and circumstance, Or lapse of years, with all their dread events, To him ? What matters it that Roderick wears The crown no longer, nor the sceptre wields ? . . It is the dear-loved hand, whose friendly touch Had flattered him so oft ; it is the voice, At whose glad summons to the field so oft XVII. RODERICK AND SIVERIAN. 4] From slumber he had started, shaking off Dreams of the chace, to share the actual joy ; The eye, whose recognition he was wont To watch and welcome with exultant tongue. - A coming step, unheard by Roderick, roused His watchful ear, and turning he beheld Siverian. Father, said the good old man, As Theron rose and fawn'd about his knees, Hast thou some charm, which draws about thee thus The hearts of all our house, . . even to the beast That lacks discourse of reason, but too oft, With uncorrupted feeling and dumb faith, Puts lordly man to shame ? . . The king replied, 'Tis that mysterious sense by which mankind To fix their friendships and their loves are led, And which with fainter influence doth extend To such poor things as this. As we put off The cares and passions of this fretful world, It may be too that we thus far approach To elder nature, and regain in part The privilege through sin in Eden lost. The timid hare soon learns that she may trust 42 RODERICK AND SIVERIAN. XVII. The solitary penitent, and birds Will light upon the hermit's harmless hand. Thus Roderick answered in excursive speech, Thinking to draw the old man's mind from what Might touch him else too nearly, and himself Disposed to follow on the lure he threw, As one whom such imaginations led Out of the world of his own miseries. But to regardless ears his words were given, For on the dog Siverian gazed the while, Pursuing his own thoughts. Thou hast not felt, Exclaimed the oldman, the earthquake and the storm; The kingdom's overthrow, the wreck of Spain, The ruin of thy royal Master's house, Have reached not thee ! . .Then turning to the King, When the destroying enemy drew nigh Toledo, he continued, and we fled Before their fury, even while her grief Was fresh, my Mistress would not leave behind This faithful creature. Well we knew she thought Of Roderick then, although she named him not ; For never since the fatal certainty CHI. RODERICK AND SIVERIAN. 43 Fell on us all, hath that unhappy name, Save in her prayers, been known to pass her lips Before this day. She names him now, and weeps : But now her tears are tears of thankfulness, For blessed hath thy coming been to her And all who loved the King. His faultering voice Here failed him, and he paused : recovering soon, When that poor injured Lady, he pursued, Did in my presence to the Prince absolve The unhappy King Absolve him ! Roderick cried, And in that strong emotion turned his face Sternly toward Siverian, for the sense Of shame and self-reproach drove from his mind All other thoughts. The good old man replied., Of human judgements humanly I speak. Who knows not what Pelayo's life hath been ? Not happier in all dear domestic ties, Than worthy for his virtue of the bliss Which is that virtue's fruit ; and yet did he Absolve, upon Florinda's tale, the King. Siverian, thus he said, what most I hoped, 44? RODERICK AND SIVERIAN. XVII. And still within my secret heart believed, Is now made certain. Roderick hath been More sinned against than sinning. And with that He claspt his hands, and, lifting them to Heaven, Cried, Would to God that he were yet alive ! For not more gladly did I draw my sword Against Witiza in our common cause, Than I would fight beneath his banners now, And vindicate his name ! Did he say this ? The Prince ? Pelayo ? in astonishment Roderick exclaimed.. . . He said it, quoth the old man. None better knew his kinsman's noble heart, None loved him better, none bewailed him more : And as he felt, like me, for his reproach A deeper grief than for his death, even so He cherished in his heart the constant thought Something was yet untold, which, being known, Would palliate his offence, and make the fall Of one till then so excellently good, Less monstrous, less revolting to belief, More to be pitied, more to be forgiven, XVII. RODERICK AND SIVERIAN. 45 While thus he spake, the fallen King felt his face Burn, and his blood flow fast. Down, guilty thoughts ! Firmly he said within his soul ; lie still, Thouheart of flesh! I thought thou hadst been quelled, And quelled thou shalt be ! Help me, O my God, That I may crucify this inward foe ! Yea, thou hast helped me, Father ! I am strong, Saviour, in thy strength. As he breathed thus His inward supplications, the old man Eyed him with frequent and unsteady looks. He had a secret trembling on his lips, And hesitated, still irresolute In utterance to embody the dear hope : Fain would he have it strengthened and assured By this concording judgement, yet he feared To have it chilled in cold accoil. At length Venturing, he brake with interrupted speech The troubled silence. Father Maccabee, 1 cannot rest till I have laid my heart Open before thee. When Pelayo wished That his poor kinsman were alive to rear His banner once again, a sudden thought . * 46 RODERICK AND SIVERIAN. XV I A hope . . a fancy . . what shall it be called ? Possessed me, that perhaps the wish might see Its glad accomplishment, . . that Roderick lived, And might in glory take the field once more For Spain. ... I see thou startest at the thought ; Yet spurn it not with hasty unbelief, As though 'twere utterly beyond the scope Of possible contingency. I think That I have calmly satisfied myself How this is more than idle fancy, more Than mere imaginations of a mind Which from its wishes builds a baseless faith. His horse, his royal robe, his horned helm, His mail and sword were found upon the field ; But if King Roderick had in battle fall'n, That sword, I know, would only have been found Clenched in the hand which, living, knew so well To wield the dreadful steel ! Not in the throng Confounded, nor amid the torpid stream, Opening with ignominious arms a way For flight, would he have perished ! Where the strife Was hottest, ringed about with slaughtered foes, Should Roderick have been found : by this sure mark XVTI. RODERICK AND SIVERIAN. 47 Ye should have known him, if nought else remained, That his whole body had been gored with wounds, And quilled with spears, as if the Moors had felt That in his single life the victory lay, More than in all the host ! Siverian's eyes Shone with a youthful ardour while he spake, His gathering brow grew stern, and as he raised His arm, a warrior's impulse charactered The impassioned gesture. But the King was calm, And heard him with unchanging countenance ; For he had taken his resolve, and felt Once more the peace of God within his soul, As in that hour when by his father's grave He knelt before Pelayo. Soon the old man Pursued in calmer tones, . h Thus much I dare Believe, that Roderick fell not on that day When treason brought about his overthrow. If yet he live, for sure I think I know His noble mind, 'tis in some wilderness, Where, in some savage den inhumed, he drags The weary load of life, and on his flesh 10 48 RODERICK AND SIVERIAN. XVII. As on a mortal enemy, inflicts Fierce vengeance with immitigable hand. O that I knew but where to bend my way In his dear search ! my voice perhaps might reach His heart, might reconcile him to himself, Restore him to his mother ere she dies, His people and his country ; with the sword, Them and his own good name should he redeem. Oh might I but behold him once agiiin Leading to battle these intrepid bands, Such as he was, . . yea rising from his fall More glorious, more beloved ! Soon I believe Joy would accomplish then what grief hath failed To do with this old heart, and I should die Clasping his knees with such intense delight, That when I woke in Heaven, even Heaven itself Could have no higher happiness in store. Thus fervently he spake, and copious tears Ran down his cheeks. Full oft the Royal Goth, Since he came forth again among mankind, Had trembled lest some curious eye should read His lineaments too closely ; now he longed XVII. RODERICK AND SIVERIAN. 49 To fall upon the neck of that old man, And give his full heart utterance. But the sense Of duty, by the pride of self-controul Corroborate, made him steadily repress His yearning nature. Whether Roderick live, Paying in penitence the bitter price Of sin, he answered, or if earth hath given Rest to his earthly part, is only known To him and Heaven. Dead is he to the world ; And let not these imaginations rob His soul of thy continual prayers, whose aid Too surely, in whatever world, he needs. The faithful love that mitigates his fault, Heavenward addrest, may mitigate his doom. Living or dead, old man, besure his soul, . . It were unworthy else, . . doth hold with thine Entire communion ! Doubt not he relies Firmly on thee, as on a father's love, Counts on thy offices, and joins with thee In sympathy and fervent act of faith, Though regions, or though worlds, should intervene. Lost as he is, to Roderick this must be VOL. II. c 50 RODERICK AND SIVERIAN. XVI] Thy first, best, dearest duty ; next must be To hold right onward in that noble path, Which he would counsel, could his voice be hearc Now therefore aid me, while I call upon The Leaders and the People, that this day We may acclaim Pelayo for our King. XVIII. Now when from Covadonga down the vale Holding his way, the princely mountaineer Came with that happy family in sight Of Cangas and his native towers, far off He saw before the gate, in fair array, The assembled land. Broad banners were displayed, And spears were sparkling to the sun, shields shone, And helmets glittered, and the blairing horn, With frequent sally of impatient joy, Provoked the echoes round. Well he areeds, From yonder ensigns and augmented force, That Odoar and the Primate from the west Have brought their aid ; but wherefore all were thus Instructed, as for some great festival, He found not, till Favila's quicker eye Catching the ready buckler, the glad boy 52 THE ACCLAMATION. XVIII. Leapt up, and clapping his exultant hands, Shouted, King ! King ! my father shall be King This day ! Pelayo started at the word, And the first thought which smote him brought a sigl For Roderick's fall ; the second was of hope, Deliverance for his country, for himself Enduring fame, and glory for his line. That high prophetic forethought gathered strength. As looking to his honoured mate, he read Her soul's accordant augury ; her eyes Brightened ; the quickened action of the blood Tinged with a deeper hue her glowing cheek, And on her lips there sate a smile which spake The honourable pride of perfect love, Rejoicing, for her husband's sake, to share The lot he chose, the perils he defied, The lofty fortune which their faith foresaw. Roderick, in front of all the assembled troops, Held the broad buckler, following to the end That steady purpose to the which his zeal Had this day wrought the Chiefs. Tall as himseli Erect it stood beside him, and his hands XVIII. THE ACCLAMATION. 53 Hung resting on the rim. This was an hour That sweetened life, repaid and recompensed All losses ; and although it could not heal All griefs, yet laid them for awhile to rest. The active agitating joy that filled The vale, that with contagious influence spread Through all the exulting mountaineers, that gave New ardour to all spirits, to all breasts Inspired fresh impulse of excited hope, Moved every tongue, and strengthened every limb, . . That joy which every man reflected saw From every face of all the multitude, And heard in every voice, in every sound, Reached not the King. Aloof from sympathy, He from the solitude of his own soul Beheld the busy scene. None shared or knew His deep and incommunicable joy ; None but that Heavenly Father, who alone Beholds the struggles of the heart, alone Knows and rewards the secret sacrifice. Among the chiefs conspicuous Urban stood, He whom, with well-weighed choice, in arduous time, 54 THE ACCLAMATION. XVIII. To arduous office the consenting Church Had called when Sindered fear-smitten fled ; Unfaithful shepherd, who, for life alone Solicitous, forsook his flock, when most In peril and in suffering they required A pastor's care. Far oif at Rome he dwells,, In ignominious safety, while the Church Keeps in her annals the deserter's name ; But from the service which with daily zeal Devout her ancient prelacy recalls, Blots it, unworthy to partake her prayers. Urban, to that high station thus being called,. From whence disanimating fear had driven The former primate, for the general weal Consulting first, removed with timely care The relics and the written works of saints, Toledo's choicest treasure, prized beyond All wealth, their living and their dead remains ; These to the mountain fastnesses he bore Of unsubdued Cantabria, there deposed, One day to be the boast of yet unbuilt Oviedo, and the dear idolatry Of multitudes unborn. To things of state XVIII. THE ACCLAMATION. 55 Then giving thought mature, he held advice With Odoar, whom of counsel competent And firm of heart he knew. What then they planned, Time and the course of over-ruled events To earlier act had ripened, than their hope Had ever in its gladdest dream proposed ; And here by agents unforeseen, and means Beyond the scope of foresight brought about, This day they saw their dearest heart's desire Accorded them : All-able Providence Thus having ordered all, that Spain this hour With happiest omens, and on surest base, Should from its ruins rear again her throne. For acclamation and for sacring now One form must serve, more solemn for the breach Of old observances, whose absence here Deeplier impressed 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, 56 THE ACCLAMATION, i XVIII. 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-shadowed 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, trained 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, unpeeled, even as it grew On the near oak that morn. XVIII, THE ACCLAMATION. 57 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 blazoned arms, so fatally of old Renowned through all the affrighted Occident. That banner, before which imperial Rome First to a conqueror bowed 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 c2 58 THE ACCLAMATION. XVIII. 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 despoiled 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 seme noblest quarry he had rolled, Rejoicing in his satiate rage, and drunk With blood and fury ? Did the auguries Which opened on thy spirit bring with them A perilous consolation, deadening heart And soul, yet worse than death, . .that thou through all Thy checquered way of life, evil and good, XVIII. THE ACCLAMATION. 59 Thy errors and thy virtues, had'st but been The poor mere instrument of things ordained, . . Doing or suffering, impotent alike To will or act, . . perpetually bemocked 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 repelled, As little might it find reception now, When the regenerate spirit self-approved Beheld its sacrifice complete. With faith Elate, he saw the bannered Lion float Refulgent, and recalled 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 ordained, There in imagination's inner world Prefigured to his soul. Alone advanced Before the ranks, the Goth in silence stood, While from all voicoe round, loquacious joy Mingled its buzz continuous with the blast 60 THE ACCLAMATION. XVIII. 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 stilled 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 undisturbed The ringdove's wooing, and the quiet voice Of waters warbling near. Son of a race Of Heroes and of Kings ! the Primate thus Addressed him, Thou in whom the Gothic blood, Mingling with old Iberia's, has 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 hallowed symbol, wage XVIII. THE ACCLAMATION. 61 Holy and inextinguishable war Against the accursed 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 I Crown him with justice, and with fortitude i Defend him with thy 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 62 THE ACCLAMATION. XVIII. He may endure and triumph ! Bless the land O'er which he is appointed ; bless 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 honoured office : Round the shield Standing, they lower it for the Chieftain's fee.t, Then slowly raised upon their shoulders lift The steady weight. Erect Pelayo stands, And thrice he brandishes the shining sword, XVIII. THE ACCLAMATION. 63 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, Pealed o'er the hills, and up the mountain vales. The wild ass starting in the forest glade Ran to the covert ; the affrighted wolf Skulked through the thicket, to a closer brake \ The sluggish bear, awakened in his den, Roused up, and answered 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 Betrayed 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 64? THE ACCLAMATION. XVIII. 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 ages 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 mountakis, 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 called, XVIII. THE ACCLAMATION. 65 But in their castellated strength ere long To be designed 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 Csesarian and August denominate, Now Zaragoza, in this later time Above all cities of the earth renowned For duty perfectly performed ; . . East, West And South, where'er their gathering 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 filled 66 THE ACCLAMATION. XVIII. 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'erpowered 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 scattered and destroyed, Like locusts swept before the stormy North ! Thou too, Salado, on that later day XTIII. THE ACCLAMATION. 67 When Africa received her final foil, And thy swoln stream incarnadined, rolled 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. When all had been performed, the royal Goth Looked up toward 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 beckoned 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 turned 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 furrowed countenance, exclaimed, XIX. RODERICK AND RUSILLA. 69 Still, still, my Roderick ! the same noble mind ! The same heroic heart ! Still, still, my Son ! . . . Changed, . . yet not wholly fall'n, . . not wholly lost, He cried, . . not wholly in the sight of Heaven Unworthy, O my Mother, nor in thine ! She locked her arms again around his neck, Saying, Lord let me now depart in peace ! And bowed her head again, and silently Gave way to tears. When that first force was past ; And passion in exhaustment found relief, . . I knew thee, said Rusilla, when the dog Rose from my feet, arid licked his master's hand. All flashed 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 seemed, . . Siverian's tale, . . Florinda's, . . every action . . every word, . . Each strengthening each, and all confirming all, Revealed thee, O my Son I but I restrained My heart, and yielded to thy holier will The thoughts which rose to tempt a soul not yet Weaned wholly from the world. 70 RODERICK AND RUSILLA. XIX What thoughts ? replied Roderick. That I might see thee yet again Such as thou wert, she answered ; 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 Healed, . . 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 trained in palaces, XIX. RODERICK AND RUSILLA. 71 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 renewed, And love to think the little hand which there Played 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 unflawed ; 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 length, as for Manoah's captive son^ 72 RODERICK AND RUSILLA. XIX. 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 answered, and subdued the vain desire. It was the World's last effort. Thou hast chosen The better part. Yea, Roderick, even on earth There is a praise above the monarch's fame, 11 CIX. RODERICK AND RUSIIXA. 75 A. higher, holier, more enduring praise, A.nd this will yet be thine ! O tempt me not, VTother ! he cried ; nor let ambition take fhat specious form to cheat us ! What but this, ?allen as I am, have I to offer Heaven ? fhe ancestral sceptre, public fame, content pf private life, the general good report, ''ower, reputation, happiness, . . whate'er The heart of man desires to constitute His earthly weal . . unerring Justice claimed In forfeiture. I with submitted soul Sow to the righteous law and kiss the rod. >)nly while thus submitted, suffering thus, . . )nly while offering up that name on earth, perhaps in trial offered to my choice, i-ould I present myself before thy sight : "hus only could endure myself, or fix Ty thoughts upon that fearful pass, where Death tands in the Gate of Heaven ! . . Time passes on, he healing work of sorrow is complete ; 11 vain desires have long been weeded out, 11 vain regrets subdued ; the heart is dead, VOL. II. D 74 RODERICK AND RUSILLA. XIX. 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. 80 saying, on her knees he bowed 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 mow Theodofred, with pride behold thy son ! XX. 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 poured 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 proclaimed. Nor were the chiefs Of victory less assured, by long success Elate, and proud of that o'erwhelming strength, 76 THE MOORISH CAMP. XX. Which, surely they believed, as it had rolled 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 renowned. Here Magued comes, who on the conquered walls Of Cordoba by treacherous fear betrayed, Planted the moony standard : Ibrahim here, He, who by Genii and in Darro's vales, Had for the Moors the fairest portion won Of all their spoils, fairest and best maintained, 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 weened, XX. THE MOORISH CAMP. 77 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 Sisibcrt ; A spurious brood, but of their parents' crimes True heirs, in guilt begotten, and in ill Trained up. The same unnatural rage that turned 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 cherished views 78 THE MOORISH CAMP. XX. 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 designed Its victim. To this end with cautious hints, At favouring season ventured, he possessed 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 obeyed 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 planned the evasion which he feigned In sorrow to condemn ? What if she went XX. THE MOORISH CAMP. 79 A pledge assured, to tell the mountaineers That when they met the Musslemen 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, Hastened to plead his merits ; . . he alone Found faithful in obedience through reproach And danger, when the maddened 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. 80 THE MOORISH CAMP. Thus Eudon spake before the assembled chiefs, When instantly a stern and wrathful voice Replied, I know Pelayo never made That senseless promise ! He who raised the tale Lies foully ; but the bitterest enemy That ever hunted for Pelayo's life Hath never with the charge of falsehood touched His name. The Baron had not recognized Till then, beneath the turban's shadowing folds, Julian's swart visage, where the fiery suns Of Africa, through many a year's long course, Ha# set their hue inburnt. Something he sought In quick excuse to say of common fame, Lightly believed and busily diffused, And that no enmity had moved his speech Repeating rumour's tale. Julian replied, Count Eudon, neither for thyself nor me Excuse is needed here. The path I tread Is one wherein there can be no return, No pause, no looking back ! A choice like mine For time and for eternity is made, Once and for ever ! and as easily XX. THE MOORISH CAMP. 81 The breath of vain report might build again The throne which my just vengeance overthrew, As in the Caliph and his captains' mind Affect the opinion of my well-tried truth. The tidings which thou givest me of my child Touch me more vitally ; bad though they be, A secret apprehension of aught worse Makes me with joy receive them. Then the Count To Abulcacem turned his speech, and said, I pray thee, Chief, give me a messenger By whom I may to this unhappy child Dispatch a father's bidding, such as yet May win her back. What I would say requires No veil of privacy : before ye all The errand shall be given. Boldly he spake, Yet wary in that show of open truth, For well he knew what dangers girt him round Amid the faithless race. Blind with revenge, For them in madness had he sacrificed His name, his baptism, and his native land, To feel, still powerful as he was, that life p2 82 THE MOORISH CAMP. XX. Hung on their jealous favour. But his heart Approved him now, where love, too long restrained, Resumed its healing influence, leading him Right on with no misgiving. Chiefs, he said, Hear me, and let your wisdom judge between Me and Prince Orpas ! . . . Known it is to all, Too well, what mortal injury provoked My spirit to that vengeance which your aid So signally hath given. A covenant We made when first our purpose we combined, That he should have Florinda for his wife, My only child, so should she be, I thought, Revenged and honoured best. My word was given Truly, nor did I cease to use all means Of counsel or command, entreating her Sometimes with tears, and oft with menaces Of direst anger and a father's curse, To lead her to obey. The Christian law, She said, forbade, and she had vowed herself A servant to the Lord. In vain I strove To win her to the Prophet's saving faith, Using, perhaps, a rigour to that end Beyond permitted means, and to my heart, 10 XX. THE MOORISH CAMP. 83 Which loved her dearer than its own life-blood, Abhorrent. Silently she suffered all, Or when I urged her with most vehemence, Only replied, I knew her fixed resolve, And craved my patience but a little while Till death should set her free. Touched as I was, I yet persisted, till at length, to escape The ceaseless importunity, she fled ; And verily I feared until this hour, My rigour to some fearfuller resolve Than flight had driven my child. Chiefs, I appeal To each and all, and, Orpas, to thyself Especially, if, having thus essayed All means that law and nature have allowed To bend her will, I may not rightfully Hold myself free, that promise being void Which cannot be fulfilled. Thou sayest then, Orpas replied, that from her false belief Her stubborn opposition drew its force. I should have thought that from the ways corrupt Of these idolatrous Christians, little care Might have sufficed to wean a duteous child, 84 THE MOORISH CAMF. XX. The example of a parent so beloved Leading the way ; and yet I will not doubt Thou didst enforce with all sincerity And holy zeal upon thy daughter's mind The truths of Islam. Julian knit his brow, And scowling on the insidious renegade, He answered, By what reasoning my poor mind Was from the old idolatry reclaimed, None better knows than Seville's mitred chief, Who first renouncing errors which he taught, Led me his follower to the Prophet's pale. Thy lessons I repeated as I could, Of graven images, unnatural vows, False records, fabling creeds, and juggling priests, Who, making sanctity the cloak of sin, Laughed at the fools on whose credulity They fattened. To these arguments, whose worth Prince Orpas, least of all men, should impeach, I added, like a soldier bred in arms, And to the subtleties of schools unused, The flagrant fact, that Heaven with victory, Where'er they turned, attested and approved XX. THE MOORISH CAMP. 85 The chosen Prophet's arms. If thou wert still The mitred metropolitan, and I Some wretch of Arian or of Hebrew race, Thy proper business then might be to pry, And question me for lurking flaws of faith. We Musslemen, Prince Orpas, live beneath A wiser law, which with the iniquities Of thine old craft, hath abrogated this Its foulest practice ! As Count Julian ceased, From underneath his black and gathered brow There went a look, which with these wary words Bore to the heart of that false renegade Their whole envenomed meaning. Haughtily Withdrawing then his altered eyes, he said, Too much of this ! Return we to the sum Of my discourse. Let Abulcacem say, In whom the Caliph speaks, if with all faith Having essayed in vain all means to win My child's consent, I may not hold henceforth The covenant discharged. The Moor replied, Well hast thou said, and rightly may'st assure 86 THE MOORISH CAMP. XX. Thy daughter that the Prophet's holy law Forbids compulsion. Give thine errand now ; The messenger is here. Then Julian said, Go to Pelayo, and from him entreat Admittance to my child, where'er she be. Say to her, that her father solemnly Annuls the covenant with Orpas pledged, Nor with solicitations, nor with threats, Will urge her more, nor from that liberty Of faith restrain her, which the Prophet's law, Liberal as Heaven from whence it came, to all Indulges. Tell her that her father says His days are numbered, and beseeches her By that dear love, which from her infancy Still he hath borne her, growing as she grew, Nursed in our weal, and strengthened in our woe, She will not in the evening of his life, Leave him forsaken and alone. Enough Of sorrow, tell her, have her injuries Brought on her father's head ; let not her act Thus aggravate the burden. Tell her too, That when he prayed her to return, he wept XX. THE MOORISH CAMP. 87 Profusely as a child ; but bitterer tears Than ever fell from childhood's eyes, were those Which traced his hardy cheeks. With faultering voice He spake, and after he had ceased from speech His lip was quivering still. The Moorish chief Then to the messenger his bidding gave. Say, cried he, to these rebel infidels, Thus Albucacem in the Caliph's name Exhorteth them ; Repent and be forgiven ! Nor think to stop the dreadful storm of war, Which conquering and to conquer must fulfil Its destined circle, rolling eastward now Back from the subjugated west, to sweep Thrones and dominions down, till in the bond Of unity all nations join, and Earth Acknowledge, as she sees one sun in heaven, One God, one Chief, one Prophet, and one Law. Jerusalem, the holy City, bows To holier Mecca's creed ; the crescent shines Triumphant o'er the eternal pyramids ; On the cold altars of the worshippers Of fire moss grows ? and reptiles leave their slime ; 88 THE MOORISH CAMP. XX. The African idolatries are fallen, And Europe's senseless gods of stone and wood Have had their day. Tell these misguided men, A moment for repentance yet is left, And mercy the submitted neck will spare Before the sword is drawn ; but once unsheathed* Let Auria witness how that dreadful sword Accomplishes its work ! They little know The Moors who hope in battle to withstand Their valour, or in flight escape their rage ! Amid our deserts we hunt down the birds Of heaven, . .wings do not save them ! Nor shall rocks, And holds, and fastnesses, avail to save These mountaineers, Is not the Earth the Lord's ? And we, his chosen people, whom he sends To conquer and possess it in his name ? XXI. The second eve had closed upon their march Within the Asturian border, and the Moors Had pitched their tents amid an open wood Upon the mountain side. As day grew dim, Their scattered fires shone with distincter light I Among the trees, above whose top the smoke ! Diffused itself, and stained the evening sky. , Ere long the stir of occupation ceased, I And all the murmur of the busy host , Subsiding died away, as through the camp The crier from a knoll proclaimed the hour For prayer appointed, and with sonorous voice, Thrice in melodious modulation full Pronouced the highest name. There is no God But God, he cried ; there is no God but God I Mahommed is the Prophet of the Lord ! 90 THE FOUNTAIN IN THE FOREST. Come ye to prayer ! to prayer ! The Lord is great There is no God but God ! . . Thus he pronounced His ritual form, mingling with holiest truth The audacious name accurst. The multitude Made their ablutions in the mountain stream Obedient, then their faces to the earth Bent in formality of easy prayer. An arrow's flight above that mountain stream There was a little glade, where underneath A long smooth mossy stone a fountain rose. An oak grew near, and with its ample boughs O'ercanopied the spring ; its fretted roots Embossed the bank, and on their tufted bark Grew plants which love the moisture and the shade . Short ferns, and longer leaves of wrinkled green Which bent toward the spring, and when the wine Made itself felt, just touched with gentle dip The glassy surface, ruffled ne'er but then, Save when a bubble rising from the depth Burst, and with faintest circles marked its place, Or if an insect skimmed it with its wing, Or when in heavier drops the gathered rain LXI. THE FOUNTAIN IN THE FOREST. 91 ^ell from the oak's high bower. The mountain roe, kVhen, having drank there, he would bound across., Drew up upon the bank his meeting feet, V.nd put forth half his force. With silent lapse ?rom thence through mossy banks the water stole, Then murmuring hastened to the glen below. Diana might have loved in that sweet spot To take her noontide rest ; and when she stoopt iHot from the chase to drink, well pleased had seen Her own bright crescent, and the brighter face ft crowned, reflected there. Beside that spring Count Julian's tent was pitched upon the green ; There his ablutions Moor-like he had made, |A.nd Moor-like knelt in prayer, bowing his head jUpon the mossy bank. There was a sound pf voices at the tent when he arose ; A.nd lo ! with hurried step a woman came Toward him ; rightly then his iieart presaged, And ere he could behold her countenance, Florinda knelt, and with uplifted arms Embraced her sire. He raised her from the ground, Kissed her, and claspt her to his heart, and said. 92 THE FOUNTAIN IN THE FOREST. Thou hast not then forsaken me, my child ; Howe'er the inexorable will of Fate May in the world which is to come divide Our everlasting destinies, in this Thou wilt not, O my child, abandon me ! And then with deep and interrupted voice, Nor seeking to restrain his copious tears, My blessing be upon thy head, he cried, A father's blessing ! Though all faiths were false, It should not lose its worth ! . . . She locked her han( Around his neck, and gazing in his face Through streaming tears, exclaimed, Oh never mon Here or hereafter, never let us part ! And breathing then a prayer in silence forth, The name of Jesus trembled on her tongue. Whom hast thou there ? cried Julian, and drew bac Seeing that near them stood a meagre man In humble garb, who rested with raised hands On a long staff, bending his head, like one Who, when he hears the distant vesper-bell, Halts by the way, and, all unseen of men, Offers his homage in the eye of Heaven, XI. THE FOUNTAIN IN THE FOREST. 95 he answered, let not my dear father frown i anger on his child ! Thy messenger 'old me that I should be restrained no more rom liberty of faith, which the new law ndulged to all : how soon my hour might come knew not, and although that hour will bring ?ew terrors, yet methinks I would not be Without a Christian comforter in death. \ Priest ! exclaimed the Count, and drawing back, ptoopt for his turban, that he might not lack Some outward symbol of apostacy ; ?or still in war his wonted arms he wore, Sfor for the scymitar had changed the sword [Accustomed to his hand. He covered now jlis short grey hair, and under the white folds His swarthy brow, which gathered as he rose, Darkened. Oh frown not thus ! Florinda cried, A. kind and gentle counsellor is this, One who pours balm into a wounded soul, A.nd mitigates the griefs he cannot heal. L told him I had vowed to pass my days A servant of the Lord, yet that my heart, S4> THE FOUNTAIN IN THE FOREST. Hearing the message of thy love, was drawn With powerful yearnings back. Follow thy heart It answers to the call of duty here, He said, nor canst thou better serve the Lord Than at thy father's side. Count Julian's brow, While thus she spake, insensibly relaxed. A Priest, cried he, and thus with even hand Weigh vows and natural duty in the scale ! In what old heresy hath he been trained ? Or in what wilderness hath he escaped The domineering Prelate's fire and sword ? Come hither, man, and tell me who thou art ! A sinner, Roderick, drawing nigh, replied ; Brought to repentance by the grace of God, And trusting for forgiveness through the blood Of Christ in humble hope. A smile of scorn Julian assumed, but merely from the lips It came ; for he was troubled while he gazed On the strong countenance and thoughtful eye Before him. A new law hath been proclaimed, XXI. THE FOUNTAIN IN THE FOREST. 95 Said he, which overthrows in its career The Christian altars of idolatry. What think'st thou of the Prophet ? . . Roderick Made answer, I am in the Moorish camp, And he who asketh is a Mussleman. How then should I reply ? . . . Safely, rejoined The renegade, and freely may'st thou speak ;To all that Julian asks. Is not the yoke Of Mecca easy, and its burthen light ? . . . Spain hath not found it so, the Goth replied, And, groaning, turned away his countenance. Count Julian knit his brow, and stood awhile Regarding him with meditative eye In silence. Thou art honest too ! he cried ; Why 'twas in quest of such a man as this That the old Grecian searched by lanthorn light In open day the city's crowded streets, So rare he deemed the virtue. Honesty And sense of natural duty in a Priest ! Now for a miracle, ye Saints of Spain ! I shall not pry too closely for the wires, 96 THE FOUNTAIN IN THE FOREST. XXI 1 For, seeing what I see, ye have me now In the believing mood ! O blessed Saints, Florinda cried, 'tis from the bitterness, Not from the hardness of the heart, he speaks i Hear him ! and in your goodness give the scoff The virtue of a prayer ! So saying, she raised Her hands in fervent action claspt to Heaven ; Then as, still claspt, they fell, toward her sire She turned her eyes, beholding him through tears. The look, the gesture, and that silent woe, Softened her father's heart, which in this hour Was open to the influences of love. Priest, thy vocation were a blessed one, Said Julian, if its mighty power were used To lessen human misery, not to swell The mournful sum, already all-too-great. If, as thy former counsel should imply, Thou art not one who would for his craft's sake Fret with corrosives and inflame the wound, Which the poor sufferer brings to thee in trust, That thou with virtuous balm wilt bind it up, . . XXI. THE FOUNTAIN IN THE FOREST. 97 If, as I think, thou art not one of those . Whose villainy makes honest men turn Moors, Thou then wilt answer with unbiassed mind What I shall ask thee, and exorcise thus The sick and feverish conscience of my child, From inbred phantoms, fiendlike, which possess Her innocent spirit. Children we are all Of one great Father, in whatever clime Nature or chance hath cast the seeds of life, A.11 tongues, all colours : neither after death Shall we be sorted into languages |A.nd tints, . . white, black, and tawny, Greek and Goth, (Northmen and offspring of hot Africa ; Irhe All-Father, he in whom we live and move, pe the indifferent Judge of all, regards Nations, and hues, and dialects alike. [According to their works shall they be judged, tVhen even-handed Justice in the scale Their good and evil weighs. All Creeds, I ween, \gree in this, and hold it orthodox. Roderick, perceiving here that Julian paused, \s if he waited for acknowledgement ! VOL. II. e 98 THE FOUNTAIN IN THE FOREST. XXI. Of that plain truth, in motion of assent Inclined his brow complacently, and said, Even so. What follows? . . This, resumed the Count* That creeds like colours being but accident, Are therefore in the scale imponderable ; . . Thou seest my meaning ; . . that from every faith As every clime, there is a way to Heaven, And thou and I may meet in Paradise. Oh grant it, God ! cried Roderick fervently, And smote his breast. Oh grant it, gracious God ! Through the dear blood of Jesus, grant that he And I may meet before the Mercy-throne ! That were a triumph of Redeeming Love, For which admiring Angels would renew Their halleluiahs through the choir of Heaven ! ,j Man ! quoth Count Julian, wherefore art thou moved To this strange passion ? I require of thee Thy judgement, not thy prayers ! Be not displeased In gentle voice subdued the Goth replies ; A prayer, from whatsoever lips it flow, XXI. THE FOUNTAIN IN THE FOREST. £9 By thy own rule" should find the way to heaven, So that the heart in its sincerity Straight forward breathe it forth. I, like thyself, jAm all untrained to subtleties of speech, Nor competent of this great argument Thou openest ; and perhaps shall answer thee iWide of the words, but to the purport home. There are to whom the light of gospel truth Hath neyjer reached ; of such I needs must deem As of the sons of men who had their day IBefore the light was given. But, Count, for those iVVho, born amid the light, to darkness turn, Wilful in error, ... I dare only say, God doth not leave the unhappy soul without An inward monitor, and till the grave iDpen, the gate of mercy is not closed, 3 riest-like i the renegade replied, and shook rlis head in scorn. What is not in the craft s error, and for error there shall be tfo mercy found in him whom yet ye name The merciful ! 100 THE FOUNTAIN IN THE FOREST. XXI. Now God forbid, rejoined The fallen King, that one who stands in need Of mercy for his sins should argue thus Of error ! Thou hast said that thou and I, Thou dying in name a Mussleman, and I A servant of the Cross, may meet in Heaven. Time was when in our fathers' ways we walked Regardlessly alike ; faith being to each, . . For so far thou hast reasoned rightly, . . like Our country's fashion and our mother-tongue, Of mere inheritance, . . no thing of choice In judgement fixed, nor rooted in the heart. Me have the arrows of calamity Sore stricken ; sinking underneath the weight Of sorrow, yet more heavily opprest Beneath the burthen of my sins, I turned In that dread hour to Him who from the Cross Calls to the heavy-laden. There I found Relief and comfort ; there I have my hope, My strength and my salvation ; there, the grave Ready beneath my feet, and heaven in view, I to the King of Terrors say, Come, Death, . . Come quickly ! Thou too wert a stricken deer, Julian, . . God pardon the unhappy hand XXI. THE FOUNTAIN IN THE FOREST. 101 That wounded thee ! . . but whither didst thou go For healing ? Thou hast turned away from Him, Who saith, Forgive, as ye would be forgiven ; And that the Moorish sword might do thy work, Received the creed of Mecca : with what fruit For Spain, let tell her cities sacked, her sons Slaughtered, her daughters than thine own dear child More foully wronged, more wretched ! For thyself, Thou hast had thy fill of vengeance, and perhaps The cup was sweet : but it hath left behind A bitter relish ! Gladly would thy soul Forget the past ; as little canst thou bear To send into futurity thy thoughts ; And for this Now, what is it, Count, but fear . . However bravely thou may'st bear thy front, . • Danger, remorse, and stinging obloquy ? One only hope, one only remedy, One only refuge yet remains. . . . My life Is at thy mercy, Count ! Call, if thou wilt, Thy men, and to the Moors deliver me ! Or strike thyself ! Death were from any hand A welcome gift ; from thine, and in this causey . A boon indeed ! My latest words on earth 102 THE FOUNTAIN IN THE FOREST. . XXI. Should tell thee that all sins may be effaced, Bid thee repent, have faith, and be forgiven ! Strike, Julian, if thou wilt, and send my soul To intercede for thine, that we may meet, Thou and thy child and I, beyond the grave ! Thus Roderick spake, and spread his arms as if He offered to the sword his willing breast, With looks of passionate persuasion fixed Upon the Count : who in his first aecess Of anger seemed as though he would have called His guards to seize the Priest. The attitude Disarmed him, and that fervent zeal sincere, And, more than both, the look and voice, which lik< A mystery troubled him. Florinda too Hung on his arm with both her hands, and cried, O father, wrong him not ! he speaks from God ! Life and Salvation are upon his tongue ! Judge thou the value of that faith whereby, Reflecting on the past, I murmur not, And to the end of all look on with joy Of hope assured ! XXI. THE EOUNTAIN IN THE FQTtEST. 103 Peace, innocent ! replied The Count, and from her hold withdrew his arm. Then, with a gathered brow of mournfulness Rather than wrath, regarding Roderick, said, Thou preachest that all sins may be effaced : Is there forgiveness, Christian, in thy creed For Roderick's crime ? ... For Roderick and for thee, Count Julian, said the Gothland as he spake Trembled through every fibre of his frame, The gate of Heaven is open. Julian threw His wrathful hand aloft, and cried, Away ! Earth could not hold us both, nor can one Heaven Contain my deadliest enemy and me! My father, say not thus ! Florinda cried ; I have forgiven him ! I have prayed for him ! For him, for thee, and for myself I pour One constant prayer to Heaven ! In passion then She knelt, and bending back, with arms and face Raised toward the sky, the supplicant exclaimed, Redeemer, heal his heart ! It is the grief Which festers there that hath bewildered him ! Save him, Redeemer I by thy precious death 104- THE FOUNTAIN IN THE FOREST. XXI. Save, save him, O my God ! Then on her face She fell, and thus with bitterness pursued In silent throes her agonizing prayer. Afflict not thus thyself, my child, the Count Exclaimed ; O dearest, be thou comforted ; Set but thy heart at rest, I ask no more ! Peace, dearest, peace ! . . and weeping as he spake He knelt to raise her. Roderick also knelt ; Be comforted, he cried, and rest in faith That God will hear thy prayers ! they must be heard He who could doubt the worth of prayers like thine May doubt of all things ! Sainted as thou art In sufferings here, this miracle will be Thy work and thy reward ! Then raising her, They seated her upon the fountain's brink, And there beside her sate. The moon had risen, And that fair spring lay blackened half in shade, Half like a burnished mirror in her light. By that reflected light Count Julian saw That Roderick's face was bathed with tears, and pale As monumental marble. Friend, said he, XXX* THE FOUNTAIN IN THE FOREST. 105 Whether thy faith be fabulous, or sent Indeed from Heaven, its dearest gift to man, Thy heart is true : and had the mitred Priest Of Seville been like thee, or hadst thou held The place he filled ; . . . but this is idle talk, ... Things are as they will be ; and we, poor slaves, Fret in the harness as we may, must drag The car of Destiny where'er she drives, Inexorable and blind ! Oh wretched man ! Cried Roderick, if thou seekest to assuage Thy wounded spirit with that deadly drug, Hell's sublest venom ! Look to thine own heart, Where thou hast Will and Conscience to belie This juggling sophistry, and lead thee yet Through penitence to Heaven ! Whate'er it be That governs us, in mournful tone the Count Replied, Fate, Providence, or Allah's will, Or reckless fortune, still the effect the same> A World of evil and of misery ! Look where we will we meet it ; wheresoe'er We go we bear it with us. Here we sit e2 106 THE FOUNTAIN IN THE FOREST. XXI, Upon the margin of this peaceful spring, And oh what volumes of calamity Would be unfolded here, if either heart Laid open its sad records ! Tell me not Of goodness ! Either in some freak of power This frame of things was fashioned, then cast off To take it& own wild course, the sport^of chance ; Or the Bad Spirit o'er the Good prevails, And in the eternal conflict hath arisen Lord of the ascendant ! Rightly would'st thou sa} Were there no world but this ! the Goth replied. The happiest child of earth that e'er was marked To be the minion of prosperity, Richest in corporal gifts and wealth of mind, Honour and fame attending him abroad, Peace and all dear domestic joys at home, And sunshine till the evening of his days Closed in without a cloud, . . even such a man Would from the gloom and horror of his heart Confirm thy fatal thought, were this world all ! Oh who could bear the haunting mystery, If death and retribution did not solve XXI. THE FOUNTAIN IN THE FOREST. 107 The riddle, and to heavenliest harmony Reduce the seeming chaos ! . . . Here we see The water at its well-head ; clear it is, Not more transpicuous the invisible air ; Pure as an infant's thoughts ; and here to life And good directed all its uses serve. The herb grows greener on its brink ; sweet flowers Bend o'er the stream that feeds their freshened roots^; The red-breast loves it for its wintry haunts ; And when the buds begin to open forth, Builds near it with his mate their brooding nest ; The thirsty stag with widening nostrils there Invigorated draws his copious draught ; And there amid its flags the wild-boar stands, Nor suffering wrong nor meditating hurt. Through woodlands wild and solitary fields > Unsullied thus it holds its bounteous course ; But when it reaches the resorts of men, The service of the city there denies- The tainted stream ; corrupt and foul it flows v Through loathsome banks and o'er a bed impure^ Till in the sea, the appointed end to which' Through all its way it hastens, 'tis received, 108 THE FOUNTAIN IN THE FOREST. XXI. And, losing all pollution, mingles there In the wide world of waters. So is it With the great stream of things, if all were seen ; Good the beginning, good the end shall be, And transitory evil only make The good end happier. Ages pass away, Thrones fall, and nations disappear, and worlds Grow old and go to wreck ; the soul alone Endures, and what she chuseth for herself, The arbitrer of her own destiny, That only shall be permanent. But guilt, And all our suffering ? said the Count. The Goth Replied, Repentance taketh sin away, Death remedies the rest. . . . Soothed by the strain Of such discourse, Julian was silent then, And sate contemplating. Florinda too Was calmed : If sore experience may be thought To teach the uses of adversity, She said, alas ! who better learned than I In that sad school ! Methinks if ye would know How visitations of calamity Affect the pious soul, 'tis shown ye there ! l£XI. THE FOUNTAIN IN THE FOREST. 109 Look yonder at that cloud, which through the sky Sailing alone, doth cross in her career The rolling moon ! I watched it as it came, And deemed the deep opake would blot her beams ; But, melting like a wreath of snow, it hangs In folds of wavy silver round, and clothes The orb with richer beauties than her own, Then passing, leaves her in her light serene. Thus having said, the pious sufferer sate, I Beholding with fixed eyes that lovely orb, I Till quiet tears confused in dizzy light The broken moonbeams. They too by the toil I Of spirit, as by travail of the day i Subdued, were silent, yielding to the hour. ! The silver cloud diffusing slowly past, i And now into its airy elements Resolved is gone ; while through the azure depth Alone in heaven the glorious Moon pursues Her course appointed, with indifferent beams Shining upon the silent hills around, And the dark tents of that unholy host, Who, all unconscious of impending fate, 10 110 THE FOUNTAIN IN THE FOREST. XXI Take their last slumber there. The camp is still ; The fires have mouldered, and the breeze which sti The soft and snowy embers, just lays bare At times a red and evanescent light, Or for a moment wakes a feeble flame. They by the fountain hear the stream below, Whose murmurs, as the wind arose or fell, Fuller or fainter reach the ear attuned. And now the nightingale, not distant far, Began her solitary song ; and poured To the cold moon a richer, stronger strain Than that with which the lyric lark salutes The new-born day. Her deep and thrilling song Seemed with its piercing melody to reach The soul, and in mysterious unison Blend with all thoughts of gentleness and love. Their hearts were open to the healing power Of nature ; and the splendour of the night, The flow of waters, and that sweetest lay Came to them like a copious evening dew Falling on vernal herbs which thirst for rain. XXII. Thus they beside the fountain sate, of food And rest forgetful, when a messenger Summoned Count Julian to the Leader's tent. In council there at that late hour he found The assembled Chiefs, on sudden tidings called Of unexpected weight from Cordoba. Jealous that Abdalazis had assumed A regal state, affecting in his court The forms of Gothic sovereignty, the Moors, Whom artful spirits of ambitious mould Stirred up, had risen against him in revolt : And he who late had in the Caliph's name Ruled from the Ocean to the Pyrenees, A mutilate and headless carcase now, From pitying hands received beside the road A hasty grave, scarce hidden there from dogs 112 THE MOORISH COUNCIL. XXII, And ravens, nor from wintry rains secure. She, too, who in the wreck of Spain preserved Her queenly rank, the wife of Roderick first, Of Abdalazis after, and to both Alike unhappy, shared the ruin now Her counsels had brought on ; for she had led The infatuate Moor, in dangerous vauntery, To these aspiring forms, . . so should he gain Respect and honour from the Musslemen, She said, and that the obedience of the Goths Followed the sceptre. In an evil hour She gave the counsel, and in evil hour He lent a willing ear ; the popular rage Fell on them both ; and they to whom her name Had been a mark for mockery and reproach, Shuddered with human horror at her fate. Ayub was heading the wild anarchy ; But where the cement of authority Is wanting, all things there are dislocate : The mutinous soldiery, by every cry Of rumour set in wild career, were driven By every gust of passion, setting up One hour, what in the impulse of the next, XXII. THE MOORISH COUNCIL. 113 Equally unreasoning, they destroyed : thus all Was in misrule where uproar gave the law, And ere from far Damascus they could learn The Caliph's pleasure, many a moon must pass. What should be done? should Abulcacem march i To Cordoba, and in the Caliph's name Assume the power which to his rank in arms Rightly devolved, restoring thus the reign Of order ? or pursue with quickened speed The end of this great armament, and crush Rebellion first, then to domestic ills Apply his undivided mind and force Victorious ? What in this emergency Was Julian's counsel, Abulcacem asked. Should they accomplish soon their enterprize ? Or would the insurgent infidels prolong The contest, seeking by protracted war To weary them, and trusting in the strength Of these wild hills? Julian replied, The Chief Of this revolt is wary, resolute, Of approved worth in war : a desperate part He for himself deliberately hath chosen. i 114 THE MOORISH COUNCIL. XXII Confiding in the hereditary love Borne to him by these hardy mountaineers, A love which his own noble qualities Have strengthened so that every heart is his. When ye can bring them to the open proof Of battle, ye will find them in his cause Lavish of life ; but well they know the strength Of their own fastnesses, the mountain paths Impervious to pursuit, the vantages Qf rock, and pass, and woodland, and ravine ; And hardly will ye tempt them to forego These natural aids wherein they put their trust As in their stubborn spirit, each alike Deemed by themselves invincible, and so By Roman found and Goth, . . beneath whose sway- Slowly persuaded rather than subdued They came, and still through every change retained Their manners obstinate and barbarous speech. My counsel, therefore, is, that we secure With strong increase of force the adjacent posts, ! And chiefly Gegio, leaving them so manned As may abate the hope of enterprize Their strength being told. Time in a strife like this iJCXH. THE MOORISH COUNCIL. 11 Becomes the ally of those who trust in him : liMake then with Time your covenant. Old feuds May disunite the chiefs ; some may be gained By fair entreaty, others by the stroke Of nature, or of policy, cut off. This was the counsel which in Cordoba ;I offered Abdalazis : in ill hour Rejecting it, he sent upon this war [His father's faithful friend ! Dark are the ways Of Destiny I had I been at his side | Old Muza would not now have mourned his age Left childless, nor had Ayub dared defy The Caliph's represented power. The case Calls for thy instant presence, with the weight Of thy legitimate authority. Julian, said Orpas, turning from beneath His turban to the Count a crafty eye, Thy daughter is returned: doth she not bring Some tidings of the movements of the foe ? The Count replied, When child and parent meet First reconciled from discontents which wrung The hearts of both, ill should their converse be 116 THE MOORISH COUNCIL. XXI Of warlike matters ! There hath been no time For such enquiries, neither should I think To ask her touching that for which I know She hath neither eye nor thought. There was a time, Orpas with smile malignant thus replied, When in the progress of the Caliph's arms Count Julian's daughter had an interest Which touched her nearly ! But her turn is served.. And hatred of Prince Orpas may beget Indifference to the cause. Yet Destiny Still guideth to the service of the faith The wayward heart of woman ; for as one Delivered Roderick to the avenging sword, So hath another at this hour betrayed Pelayo to his fall. His sister came At nightfall to my tent, a fugitive. She tells me that on learning our approach, The rebel to a cavern in the hills Had sent his wife and children, and with them m Those of his followers, thinking there concealed They might be safe. She, moved by injuries Which stung her spirit, on the way escaped, iXII. THE MOORISH COUNCIL. 117 A.nd for revenge will guide us. In reward iShe asks her brother's forfeiture of lands jln marriage with Numacian : something too Touching his life, that for her services It might be spared, she said ; . . an after-thought To salve decorum, and if conscience wake Serve as a sop : but when the sword shall smite Pelayo and his dangerous race, I ween That a thin kerchief will dry all the tears The Lady Guisla sheds ! 'Tis the old taint ! Said Julian mournfully : from her mother's womb She brought the inbred wickedness which now In ripe infection blossoms. Woman, woman, Still to the Goths art thou the instrument Of overthrow ; thy virtue and thy vice Fatal alike to them ! Say rather, cried The insidious renegade, that Allah thus By woman punisheth the idolatry Of those who raise a woman to the rank Of godhead, calling on their Mary's name With senseless prayers, In vain shall they invoke 118 THE MOORISH COUNCIL. XXII, Her trusted succour now ! like silly birds By fear betrayed, they fly into the toils 1 And this Pelayo, who in lengthened war, Baffling our force, has thought perhaps to reign Prince of the Mountains, when we hold his wife And offspring at our mercy, must himself Come to the lure. Enough : ihe Leader cried.. This unexpected work of favouring Fate Opens an easy way to our desires, And renders farther council needless now. Great is the Prophet whose protecting power Goes with the faithful forth ! the rebel's days Are numbered ; Allah hath delivered them Into our hands ! So saying he arose ; The Chiefs withdrew ; Orpas alone remained Obedient to his indicated will. The event, said Abulcacem, hath approved Thy judgement in all points ; his daughter comes At the first summons even as thou said'st ; Pier errand with the insurgents done, she brings Their well-concerted project back, a safe OUI. THE MOORISH COUNCIL. 119 <\nd unsuspected messenger ; . . . the Moor, . . The shallow Moor, . „ must see and not perceive ; Must hear and understand not ; yea must bear, Poor easy fool, to serve their after mirth, A. part in his own undoing ! But just Heaven With this unlooked-for incident hath marred Their complots, and the sword shall cut their web Of treason. Well, the renegade replied Thou knowest Count Julian's spirit, quick in wiles, iln act audacious. Baffled now, he thinks lEither by instant warning to apprize The rebels of their danger, or preserve The hostages when fallen into our power, Till secret craft contrive, or open force Win their enlargement. Haply too he dreams Of Cordot>a, the avenger and the friend Of Abdalazis, in that cause to arm Moor against Moor, preparing for himself The victory o'er the enfeebled conquerors. Success in treason hath emboldened him, And power but serves him for fresh treachery, false To Roderick first, and to the Caliph now. 120 THE MOORISH COUNCIL. XXI The guilt, said Abulcacem, is confirmed, The sentence past ; all that is now required Is to strike sure and safely. He hath with him A veteran force, devoted to his will, Whom to provoke were perilous ; nor less Of peril lies there in delay : what course Between these equal dangers should we steer ? They have been trained beneath him in the wars Of Africa, the renegade replied ; Men are they who, from their youth up, have found Their occupation and their joy in arms ; Indifferent to the cause for which they fight, But faithful to their leader, who hath won By licence largely given, yet tempered still With exercise of firm authority, Their whole devotion. Vainly should we seek By proof of Julian's guilt to pacify Such martial spirits, unto whom all creeds And countries are alike ; but take away Their head, and forthwith their fidelity Goes at the market price. The act must be Sudden and secret ; poison is too slow, XXII. THE MOORISH COUNCIL. ■ 121 Thus it may best be done : the Mountaineers, Doubtless, ere long will rouse us with some spur Of sudden enterprise : at such a time A. trusty minister approaching him May smite him, so that all shall think the spear Comes from the hostile troops. Right counsellor ! ■Cried Abulcacem, thou shalt have his lands, ;;The proper meed of thy fidelity : His daughter thou mayest take or leave. Go now And find a faithful instrument to put Our purpose in effect ! . . . And when 'tis done, The Moor, as Orpas from the tent withdrew, Muttering pursued, . . look for a like reward Thyself ! that restless head of wickedness In the grave will brood no treasons. Other babes Scream when the Devil, as they spring to life, Infects them with his touch ; but thou didst stretch Thy arms to meet him, and like mother's milk Suck the congenial evil ! Thou hast tried Both laws, and, were there aught to gain, would prove A third as readily ; but when thy sins Are weighed, 'twill be against an empty scale, And neither Prophet will avail thee then ! VOL. II. f XXIII. The camp is stirring, and ere day hath dawned The tents are struck. Early they rise whom hope Awakens, and they travel fast with whom She goes companion of the way. By noon Hath Abulcacem in his speed attained The vale of Cangas. Well the trusty scouts Observe his march, and fleet as mountain roes, From post to post with instantaneous speed The warning bear : none else is nigh ; the vale Hath been deserted, and Pelayo's hall Is open to the foe, who on the tower Hoist their white signal-flag. In Sella's stream The misbelieving multitude perform, With hot and hasty hand, their noontide rite, Then hurryingly repeat the Impostor's prayer. Here they divide ; the Chieftain halts with half XXIII. THE VALE OF COVADONGA. 123 The host, retaining Julian and his men, Whom where the valley widened he disposed, Liable to first attack, that so the deed Of murder planned with Orpas might be done. The other force the Moor ALcahman led, Whom Guisla guided up Pionia's stream Eastward to Soto. Ibrahim went with him, Proud of Granada's snowy heights subdued, And boasting of his skill in mountain war ; Yet sure he deemed an easier victory Awaited him this day. Little, quoth he, Weens the vain Mountaineer who puts his trust In dens and rocky fastnesses, how close Destruction is at hand ! Belike he thinks The Humma's happy wings have shadowed him, And therefore Fate with royalty must crown His chosen head ! Pity the scymitar With its rude edge so soon should interrupt The pleasant dream ! Tliere can be no escape For those who in the cave seek shelter, cried Alcahman ; yield they must, or from their holes Like bees we smoke them out. The Chief perhaps 124? THE VALE OF COVADONGA. XXI] May reign awhile King of the wolves and bears, Till his own subjects hunt him down, or kites And crows divide what hunger may have left Upon his ghastly limbs. Happier for him That destiny should this day to our hands Deliver him ; short would be his sufferings then ; And we right joyfully should in one hour . Behold our work accomplished, and his race Extinct. Thus these in mockery and in thoughts Of bloody triumph, to the future blind, Indulged the scornful vein ; nor deemed that they Whom to the sword's unsparing edge they doomed, Even then in joyful expectation prayed To Heaven for their approach, and, at their post Prepared, were trembling with excess of hope. Here in these mountain straits the Mountaineer Had felt his country's strength insuperable ; Here he had prayed to see the Mussleman With all his myriads ; therefore had he looked To Covadonga as a sanctuary Apt for concealment, easy of defence ; And Guisla's flight, though to his heart it sent KXIII. THE VALE OF COVADONGA. 125 |A pang more poignant for their mother's sake, I'Yet did it further in its consequence f His hope and project, surer than decoy Well-laid, or best concerted stratagem. ij That sullen and revengeful mind, he knew, i Would follow to the extremity of guilt Its long fore-purposed shame: the toils were laid, And she who by the Musslemen full sure Thought on her kindred her revenge to wreak, Led the Moors in. Count Pedro and his son Were hovering with the main Asturian force In the wider vale to watch occasion there, And with hot onset when the alarm began Pursue the vantage. In the fated straits Of Deva had the King disposed the rest : Amid the hanging woods, and on the cliffs, A long mile's length on either side its bed, They lay. The lever and the axe and saw Had skilfully been plied ; and trees and stones, A dread artillery, ranged on crag and shelf And steep descent, were ready at the word Precipitate to roll resistless down. 126 THE VALE OF COVADONGA. XXIII. The faithful maiden not more wistfully Looks for the day that brings her lover home ; . . Scarce more impatiently the horse endures The rein, when loud and shrill the hunter's horn Rings in his joyous ears, than at their post The Mountaineers await their certain prey. Yet mindful of their Prince's order, oft And solemnly enforced, with eagerness Subdued by minds well-mastered, thej T expect The appointed signal. Hand must not be raised Foot stirred, nor voice be uttered, said the Chief, Till the word pass : impatience would mar all. God hath delivered over to your hands His enemies and ours, so we but use The occasion wisely. Not till the word pass From man to man transmitted, " In the name " Of God, for Spain and vengeance," let a hand Be lifted ; on obedience all depends* Their march below with noise of horse and foot, And haply with the clang of instruments, Might drown all other signal ; this is sure. But wait it calmly ; it will not be given XXIII. THE VALE OF COVADONGA. 127 Till the whole line hath entered in the toils. Comrades, be patient, so shall none escape Who once set foot within these straits of death. Thus had Pelayo on the Mountaineers With frequent and impressive charge enforced The needful exhortation. This alone He doubted, that the Musslemen might see The perils of the vale, and warily Forbear to enter. But they thought to find, As Guisla told, the main Asturian force Seeking concealment there, no other aid Soliciting from these their native hills ; And that the babes and women having fallen In thraldom, they would lay their weapons down, And supplicate forgiveness for their sake. Nor did the Moors perceive in what a strait They entered ; for the morn had risen o'ercast, And when the Sun had reached the height of heaven ? Dimly his pale and beamless orb was seen Moving through mist. A soft and gentle rain, Scarce heavier than the summer's evening dew, Descended, . . through so still an atmosphere, That every leaf upon the moveless trees 1 128 THE VALE OF COVA DONGA. XXII I. 1 Was studded o'er with rain-drops, bright and full, None falling till from its own weight o'erswoln The motion came. Low on the mountain side The fleecy vapour hung, and in its veil With all their dreadful preparations wrapt The Mountaineers : ... in breathless hope they lay, Some blessing God in silence for the power This day vouchsafed ; others with fervency Of prayer and vow invoked the Mother-Maid, Beseeching her that in this favouring hour She would be strongly with them. From below Meantime distinct they heard the passing tramp Of horse and foot, continuous as the sound Of Deva's stream, and barbarous tongues commixt With laughter, and with frequent shouts, . . for all Exultant came, expecting sure success ; Blind wretches, over whom the ruin hung ! They say, quoth one, that though the Prophet's soul Doth with the black-eyed Houris bathe in bliss, Life hath not left his body, which bears up By its miraculous power the holy tomb, Kill. THE VALE OF COVADONGA. 129 '^nd holds it at Medina in the air luoyant between the temple's floor and roof: [Vnd there the Angels fly to him with news Tom East, West, North, and South, of what befalls lis faithful people. If when he shall hear ?he tale of this day's work, he should for joy forget that he is dead, and walk abroad, . . t were as good a miracle as when ile sliced the Moon ! Sir Angel hear me now, 'Vhoe'er thou bee'st who art about to speed t'rom Spain to Araby ! when thou hast got ?he Prophet's ear, be sure thou tellest him low bravely Ghauleb did his part to-day, Ind with what special reverence he alone Desired thee to commend him to his grace ! . . pe on thee, scoffer that thou art ! replied 'lis comrade ; thou wilt never leave these gibes all some commissioned arrow through the teeth |>hall nail the offending tongue. Hast thou not heard low when our clay is leavened first with life, rhe ministering Angel brings it from that spot iVhereon 'tis written in the eternal book -Chat soul and body must their parting take, f2 130 THE VALE OF COVADONGA. XXIIJ And earth to earth return ? How knowest thou But that the spirit who compounded thee, To distant Syria from this very vale Bore thy component dust, and Azrael here Awaits thee at this hour ? . . Little thought he: Who spake, that in that valley at that hour One death awaited both ! Thus they pursued Toward the cave their inauspicious way. Weak childhood there and ineffective age In the chambers of the rock were placed secure ; But of the women, all whom with the babes Maternal care detained not, were aloft To aid in the destruction : by the side Of fathers, brethren, husbands, stationed there They watch and pray. Pelayo in the cave With the venerable primate took his post. Ranged on the rising cliffs on either hand, Vigilant sentinels with eye intent Observe his movements, when to take the word And pass it forward. He in arms complete Stands in the portal : a stern majesty Reigned in his countenance severe that hour, ; XXIII. THE VALE OF COVABONGA. 131 And in his eye a deep and dreadful joy Shone, as advancing up the vale he saw The Moorish banners. God hath blinded them ■ He cried ; the measure of their crimes is full ! O Vale of Deva, famous shalt thou be From this day forth for ever ; and to these Thy springs shall unborn generations come In pilgrimage, and hallow with their prayers The cradle of their native monarchy ! There was a stirring in the air, the sun Prevailed, and gradually the brightening mist Began to rise and melt. A jutting crag Upon the right projected o'er the stream, Not farther from the cave than a strong hand Expert, with deadly aim might cast the speaFj . Or a strong voice, pitched to full compass, make Its clear articulation heard distinct. A venturous dalesman, once ascending there To rob the eagle's nest, had fallen, and hung Among the heather, wonderously preserved : Therefore had he with pious gratitude Placed on that overhanging brow a Cross,* Tall as the mast of some light fisher's skiff, 132 THE VALE OF COVADONGA. XXIII And from the vale conspicuous. As the Moors Advanced, the Chieftain in the van was seen Known by his arms, and from the crag a voice Pronounced his name, . . . Alcahman, hoa ! look up Alcahman ! As the floating mist drew up, It had divided there, and opened round The Cross ; part clinging to the rock beneath, Hovering and waving part in fleecy folds, A canopy of silver light condensed To shape and substance. In the midst there stood A female form, one hand upon the Cross, The other raised in menacing act : below Loose flowed her raiment, but her breast was armed And helmeted her head. The Moor turned pale, For on the walls of Auria he had seen That well-known figure, and had well believed She rested with the dead. What, hoa ! she cried, Alcahman ! In the name of all who fell At Auria in the massacre, this hour I summon thee before the throne of God To answer for the innocent blood ! This hour, Moor, Miscreant, Murderer, Child of Hell, this hour I summon thee to judgement ! ... In the name Of God ! for Spain and Vengeance ! XXIII. THE VALE OF COVADONGA. 133 Thus she closed Her speech ; for taking from the Primate's hand That oaken cross which at the sacring rites Had served for crosier, at the cavern's mouth Pelayo lifted it and gave the word. From Voice to voice on either side it past With rapid repetition, . . In the name Of God ! for Spain and Vengeance ! and forthwith On either side along the whole defile The Asturians shouting in the name of God, Set the whole ruin loose ; huge trunks and stones, And loosened crags, down down they rolled with rush And bound, and thundering force. Such was the fall As when some city by the labouring earth Heaved from its strong foundations is cast down, And all its dwellings, towers, and palaces In one wide desolation prostrated. From end to end of that long straight, the crash Was heard continuous, and commixt with sounds More dreadful, shrieks of horror and despair, And death, . . the wild and agonizing cry Of that whole host in one destruction whelmed. Vain was all valour there, all martial skill ; 1345 THE VALE OF COVADONGA. XXIII. The valiant arm is helpless now ; the feet Swift in the race avail not now to save ; They perish, all their thousands perish there . . Horsemen and infantry they perish all, . . Ihe outward armour and the bones within Broken and bruised and crushed. Echo prolonged The long uproar ; a silence then ensued, Through which the sound of Deva's stream was heard, A lonely voice of waters, wild and sweet : The lingering groan, the faintly-uttered prayer, The louder curses of despairing death, Ascended not so high. Down from the cave Pelayo hastes, the Asturians hasten down, Fierce and immitigable down they speed On all sides, and along the vale of blood The avenging sword did mercy's work that hour. XXIV. Thou hast been busy, Death, this day, and yet But half thy work is done ! The Gates of Hell Are thronged, 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 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, 136 RODERICK AND COUNT JULIAN. XXIV. 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 bowered 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 concealed its sacred form With bushy tufts luxuriant. Here in the font, . . Borne thither with rejoicings and with prayers Of all the happy land who saw in him The lineage of their ancient Chiefs renewed, . . 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 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 10 CXIV. RODERICK AND COUNT JULIAN. 137 Jpon the ground Count Julian's board was spread, 7or to his daughter he had left his tent 5 itched for her use hard by. He at the board >ate with his trusted Captains, Gunderick, felix and Miro, Theudered and Paul, 3asil and Cottila, and Virimar, lien through all fortunes faithful to their Lord, ind to that old and tried fidelity, Jy personal love and honour held in ties trong as religious bonds. As there they sate, n the distant vale a rising dust was seen, Lnd frequent flash of steel, . . the flying fight )f men who, by a fiery foe pursued, >ut forth their coursers at full speed, to reach Tie aid in which they trust. Up sprung the Chiefs, aid hastily taking helm and shield, and spear, ped to their post. Amid the chesnut groves Ifi Sella's side, Alphonso had in charge 'o watch the foe ; a prowling band came nigh, Thorn with the ardour of impetuous youth ite charged, and followed them in close pursuit : ..nick succours joined them ; and the strife grew hot, 138 RODERICK AND COUNT JULIAN. XXV 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 interchange 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 Musslemen 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 wh( He called had seen the blow from whence it a And seized the murderer. Miscreant ! he exclainu Who set thee on ? The Mussleman who saw iXIV. RODERICK AND COUNT JULIAN. 139 tlis secret purpose baffled, undismayed, Replies, What I have done is authorized ; To punish treachery and prevent worse ill >pas and Abulcacem sent me here ; The service of the Caliph and the Faith Required the blow. The Prophet and the Fiend leward thee then ! cried Cottila ; meantime Take thou from me thy proper earthly meed ; Villain ! . . and lifting, as he spake, the sword* le smote him on the neck : the trenchant blade [[hrough vein and artery past and yielding bone ; l^nd on the shoulder, as the assassin dropt, jlis head half-severed fell. The curse of God ''all on the Caliph and the Faith and thee ! stamping for anguish, Cottila pursued ; nfrican dogs ! thus is it ye requite •)ur services ? . . But dearly shall ye pay or this day's work ! . . O Fellow-soldiers, here, tretching his hands toward the host, he cried, ilehold your noble Leader basely slain ! Ie who for twenty years hath led us forth, lo war, and brought us home with victory t ■ 140 RODERICK AND COUNT JULIAN. XXI 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 ; XXIV. RODERICK AND COUNT JULIAN. 141 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. 142 RODERICK AND COUNT JULIAN. XXIV.L 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 iXIV. RODERICK AND COUNT JULIAN. 14! 5t Peter, he enquired, he who denied lis Lord and was forgiven ? . . Roderick rejoined, t is the Apostle ; and may that same Lord, 3 Julian, to thy soul's salvation bless rhe seasonable thought ! The dying Count rhen fixed upon the Goth his earnest eyes. So time, said he, is this for bravery, is little for dissemblance. I would fain Die in the faith wherein my fathers died, iVhereto they pledged me in mine infancy. ... A. soldier's habits, he pursued, have steeled My spirit, and perhaps I do not fear rhis passage as I ought. But if to feel rhat I have sinned, and from my soul renounce rhe Impostor's faith, which never in that soul Dbtained a place, . . if at the Saviour's feet, Laden with guilt, to cast myself and cry, Lord, I believe ! help thou my unbelief ! . . [f 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. 144 RODERICK AND COUNT JULIAN. XXI 1 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 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 ! In 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, IV. RODERICK AND COUNT JULIAN. 145 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 ! jBehold the man who most hath injured thee ! [Roderick, the wretched Goth, the guilty cause I Of all tlry guilt, . . the unworthy instrument iOf thy redemption, . . kneels before thee here, sAnd 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 tamest the strong limb, and conquerest VOL. II. G 146 RODERICK AND COUNT JULIAN. XXIV. 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 ey 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, XXIV. RODERICK AND COUNT JULIAN. 147 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 1 (Groaning, he claspt her close, and in that act And agony her happy spirit fled. XXV. 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 Mussleman 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 XXV. RODERICK IN BATTLE. 149 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 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 Chiefs 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 150 RODERICK IN BATTLE. 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. While thus they communed, Roderickfromthe church 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 ; christianlike He died, and with a manly penitence : XXV. RODERICK IN BATTLE. 151 They who condemn him most should call to mind How grievous was the wrong which maddened him j Be that remembered in his history, And let no shame be offered his remains. 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 villainy Had stirred, came hastening on a milk-white steed, And at safe distance having checked the rein, Beckoned for parley. 'Twas 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, 152 RODERICK IN BATTLE. XXV. 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 turn ? 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 XXV. RODERICK IN BATTLE. 153 Thrice led, with just and unrelenting hand, The trampling hoofs. Go join Witiza now, Where he lies howling, the avenger cried, 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, g2 154> RODERICK IN BATTLE. XXV. 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. Whoe'er thou art, The worth which thou hast shown avenging him Entitles thee to wear it. But thou goest For battle unequipped : . . haste there and strip Yon villain of his armour ! Late he spake, So fast the Moors came on. It matters not, Replied the Goth : there's many a mountaineer, Who in no better armour cased this day Than his wonted leathern gipion, will be found In the hottest battle, yet bring off untouched The unguarded life he ventures. . . Taking then XXV. RODERICK IN BATTLE, 155 jCount Julian's sword, he fitted round his wrist The chain, and eyeing the elaborate steel i With stern regard of joy, The African (Under unhappy stars was born, he cried, jWho tastes thy edge ! . . Make ready for the charge 1 They come . . they come ! . . On, brethren, to the field . . The word is Vengeance ! Vengeance was the word ; prom 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 Advanced; the bow-strings twang' d, and arrows hissed. 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 156 RODERICK IN BATTLE. XX\ 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 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 XXV. RODERICK IN BATTLE. 157 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 mold 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 ? 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, 158 RODERICK IN BATTLE. XXV. Her hills and vallies 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 ? Hath 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, And called for Christian weapon ? Oh be sure 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 Inflamed with wild belief the keen desire Of vengeance on their enemies abhorred. The Moorish chief, meantime, o'erlooked the fight £XV. RODERICK IN BATTLE. 159 From an eminence, and cursed the renegade Whose counsels sorting to such ill effect iHad brought this danger on. Lo, from the East Comes fresh alarm ! a few poor fugitives Well-nigh with fear exanimate came up, From Covadonga flying, and the rear Of that destruction, scarce with breath to tell Their dreadful tale. When Abulcacem heard, Stricken with horror, like a man bereft Of sense, he stood. O Prophet, he exclaimed^ A hard and cruel fortune hast thou brought This day upon thy servant ! Must I then Here with disgrace and ruin close a life 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 waf 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 ! 160 RODERICK IN BATTLE. That reward She hath had, a Moor replied. For when we reach 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 hos Destroyed ! said Abulcacem in his soul. . Howbeit, resolving to the last to do His office, he roused up his spirit. Go, Strike oif Count Eudon's head ! he cried ; the fear Which brought him to our camp will bring him els 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, XXV. RODERICK IN BATTLE. 161 I 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 I 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 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 past, . . 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. 162 RODERICK IN BATTLE. XXV. 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 should'st 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 XXV. RODERICK IN BATTLE. 163 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 shewn, . Did I accept Count Julian's penitence, And reconcile the dying man to heaven. Beside him hath his daughter gone to rest. 164? RODERICK IN BATTLE. XXV. 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 see'st I am unarmed : Thus disarrayed as thou beholdest me, Clean through yon miscreant army have I cut My way unhurt ; but being once by Heaven Preserved, I would not perish with the guilt Of having wilfully provoked my death. XXV. RODERICK IN BATTLE. 165 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 man's armour dight himself. Dost thou not marvel by what wonderous chance, Said he, Orelio to his master's hand Hath been restored ? I found the renegade Of Seville on his back, and hurled him down Headlong to the earth. The noble animal Rejoicingly obeyed my hand to shake His recreant burthen off, and trample out The life which once I spared in evil hour. Now let me meet Witiza's viperous sons In yonder field, and then I may go rest In peace, . . my work is done ! And nobly done ! Exclaimed the old man. Oh ! thou art greater now Than in that glorious hour of victory When grovelling in the dust Witiza lay, 166 RODERICK IN BATTLE. XXV. The prisoner of thy hand! ..Roderick replied, O good Siverian, happier victory Thy son hath now atchieved, . . the victory Over the world, his sins and his despair. If on the field my body should be found, See it, I charge thee, laid in Julian's grave, And let no idle ear be told for whom Thou mournest. Thou wilt use Orelio As doth beseem the steed which hath so oft Carried a King to battle : . . he hath done Good service for his rightful Lord to-day, And better yet must do. Siverian, now Farewell ! I think we shall not meet again Till it be in that world where never change Is known, and they who love shall part no more. Commend me to my mother's prayers, and say That never man enjoyed a heavenlier peace Than Roderick at this hour. O faithful friend, How dear thou art to me these tears may tell ! With that he fell upon the old man's neck ; Then vaulted in the saddle, gave the reins, And soon rejoined the host. On, comrades, on ! jjCXV. RODERICK IN BATTLE. 167 Victory and Vengeance ! he exclaimed, and took The lead on that good charger, he alone Horsed for the onset. They with one consent Gave all their voices to the inspiring cry, Victory and Vengeance ! and the hills and rocks Caught the prophetic shout and rolled it round. Count Pedro's people heard amid the heat 3f battle, and returned the glad acclaim, irhe astonished Musslemen, on all sides charged, •Hear that tremendous cry ; yet manfully They stood, and every where with gallant front Opposed in fair array the shock of war. Desperately they fought, like men expert in arms* And knowing that no safety could be found, Save from their own right hands. No former day ,3f all his long career .had seen their chief Approved so well ; nor had Witiza's sons Ever before this hour atchieved in fight Such feats of resolute valour. Sisibert Beheld Pelayo in the field afoot, And twice essayed beneath his horse's feet To thrust him down. Twice did the Prince evade The shock, and twice upon his shield received 8 168 RODERICK IN BATTLE, XXV, The fratricidal sword. Tempt me no more, Son of Witiza, cried the indignant chief, Lest I forget what mother gave thee birth ! Go meet thy death from any hand but mine ! He said, and turned aside. Fitliest from me ! Exclaimed a dreadful voice, as through the throng Orelio forced his way ; fitliest from me Receive the rightful death too long withheld ! 'Tis Roderick strikes the blow ! And as he spake^ Upon the traitor's shoulder fierce he drove The weapon, well bestowed. He in the seat Tottered, and fell. The Avenger hastened On In search of Ebba ; and in the heat of fight Rejoicing and forgetful of all else, Set up his cry as he was wont in youth, Roderick the Goth ! ... his war-cry known so well. Pelayo eagerly took up the word, And shouted out his kinsman's name beloved, Roderick the Goth ! Roderick and Victory ! Roderick and Vengeance ! Odoar gave it forth ; Urban repeated it, and through his ranks Count Pedro sent the cry. Not from the field Of his great victory, when Witiza fell, XXV. RODERICK IN BATTLE. 169 With louder acclamations had that name Been borne abroad upon the winds of heaven. The unreflecting throng, who yesterday, If it had past their lips, would with a curse Have clogg'd it, echoed it as if it came From some celestial voice in the air, reveal'd To be the certain pledge of all their hopes. Roderick the Goth ! Roderick and Victory ! Roderick and Vengeance ! O'er the field it spread. All hearts and tongues uniting in the cry ; Mountains and rocks and vales re-echoed round j And he rejoicing in his strength rode on, Laying on the Moors with that good sword, andsmote? And overthrew, and scatter'd, and destroy'd, And trampled down ; and still at every blow Exultingly he sent the war-cry forth, Roderick the Goth ! Roderick and Victory ! Roderick and Vengeance! Thus he made his way, Smiting and slaying through the astonish'd ranks, Till he beheld where on a fiery barb, Ebba, performing well a soldier's part, Dealt to the right and left his deadly blows. vol. II. h 170 RODERICK IN BATTLE. XXV. With mutual rage they met. The renegade Displays a scymitar, the splendid gift Of Walid from Damascus sent ; its hilt Embossed with gems, its blade of perfect steel, Which like a mirror sparkling to the sun With dazzling splendour flashed. The Goth obje His shield, and on its rim received the edge Driven from its aim aside, and of its force Diminished. Many a frustrate stroke was dealt On either part, and many a foin and thrust Aimed and rebated ; many a deadly blow Straight, or reverse, delivered and repelled. Roderick at length with better speed hath reached The apostate's turban, and through all its folds The true Cantabrian weapon making way Attained his forehead. Wretch ! the avenger cried, It comes from Roderick's hand ! Roderick the Goth, Who spared, who trusted thee, and was betrayed ! Go tell thy father now how thou hast sped With all thy treasons ! Saying thus, he seized The miserable, who, blinded now with blood, Reeled in the saddle ; and with sidelong step Backing Orelio, drew him to the ground. XV. RODERICK IN BATTLE. 171 [e shrieking, as beneath the horse's feet le fell, forgot his late-learnt creed, and called »n Mary's name. The dreadful Goth past on, till plunging through the thickest war, and still mattering, where'er he turn'd, the affrighted ranks. [# )h who could tell what deeds were wrought that day ; >r who endure to hear the tale of rage, llatred, and madness, and despair, and fear, forror, and wounds, and agony, and death, j'he cries, the blasphemies, the shrieks, and groans, md prayers, which mingled with the din of arms :i one wild uproar of terrific sounds ; ;Vhile over all predominant was heard Leiterate from the conquerors o'er the field, Roderick the Goth ! Roderick and Victory ! Loderick and Vengeance ! . . . Woe for Africa ! Voe for the circumcised ! Woe for the faith )f the lying Ishmaelite that hour ! The Chiefs lave fallen ; the Moors, confused and captainless, ind panic-stricken, vainly seek to escape 'he inevitable fate. Turn where they will, trong in his cause, rejoicing in success, 172 RODERICK IN BATTLE. Insatiate at the banquet of revenge, The enemy is there ; look where they will, Death hath environed their devoted ranks ; Fly where they will, the avenger and the sword Await them, . . wretches ! whom the righteous arn Hath overtaken ! , . . Joined in bonds of faith Accurst, the most flagitious of mankind From all parts met are here ; the apostate Greek, The vicious Syrian, and the sullen Copt, The Persian cruel and corrupt of soul, The Arabian robber, and the prowling sons Of Africa, who from their thirsty sands Pray that the locusts on the peopled plain May settle and prepare their way. Conjoined Beneath an impious faith, which sanctifies To them all deeds of wickedness and blood, . . Yea and halloos them on, . . here are they met To be conjoined in punishment this hour. For plunder, violation, massacre, All hideous, all unutterable things, The righteous, the immitigable sword Exacts due vengeance now ! the cry of blood Is heard : the measure of their crimes is full : XV. RODERICK IN BATTLE. 173 iuch mercy as the Moor at Auria gave, iuch mercy hath he found this dreadful hour i ?he evening darkened, but the avenging sword "urned not away its edge till night had closed Jpon the field of blood. The Chieftains then iJlew the recall, and from their perfect work jteturned rejoicing, all but he for whom Ml- looked with most expectance. He full sure lad thought upon that field to find his end |)esired, and with Florinda in the grave £est, in indissoluble union joined. :3ut still where through the press of war he went Half-armed, and like a lover seeking death, Che arrows past him by to right and left, "The spear-point pierced him not, the scymitar jlanced from his helmet : he, when he beheld The rout complete, saw that the shield of Heaven 3ad been extended over him once more, And bowed before its will. Upon the banks Of Sella was Orelio found, his legs \nd flanks incarnadined, his poitral smeared »Vith froth and foam and gore, his silver mane 174? RODERICK IN BATTLE. Sprinkled with blood, which hung on every hair, Aspersed like dew-drops ; trembling there he st From the toil of battle, and at times sent forth His tremulous voice far echoing loud and shrill, A frequent, anxious cry, with which he seemed To call the master whom he loved so well, And who had thus again forsaken him. Siverian's helm and cuirass on the grass Lay near ; and Julian's sword, its hilt and chain Clotted with blood ; but where was he whose hant Had wielded it so well that glorious day ? . . . Days, months, and years, and generations past, And centuries held their course, before, far off Within a hermitage near Viseu's walls A humble tomb was found, which bore inscribed In ancient characters King Roderick's name. THE END. NOTES. NOTES. At every saddle-bozo A gory head was hung. — XIV. p. 4. This picture frequently occurs in the Spanish Chroni- cles. Sigurd the elder, Earl of Orkney, owed his death to a like custom. " Suddenly clapping spurs to his horse, as he was returning home in triumph, bearing, like each of his followers, one of these bloody spoils, a large front tooth in the mouth of the head which hung dangling by his side, struck the calf of his leg, — the wound mortifi- ed, and he died. — The Earl must have been bare-legged." — Torfaus, quoted in Edmonston's View of the Zetland Islands, vol. I. p. 33. In reverence to the priestly character. — XV. p. 14. ,c At the synod of Mascou, laymen were enjoined to do honour to the honourable clergy by humbly bowing the head, and uncovering it, if they were both on horse- H2 178 NOTES. back, and by alighting also if the clergyman were a-foot." — Pierre de Marca. Hist, de Beam, 1. 1. ch. 18. § 2. Whom not the spoils of Atabalipa Could satisfy insatiate. — XVI. p. 24. Hernando de Soto, — the history of whose expedition to Florinda by the Inca Garcilaso, is one of the most de- lightful books in the Spanish language. Nor wicker storehouse for the autumnal grain. XVI. p. 26. " Morales, (8. 23. 3.) speaking of the Asturians, men- tions with wonder their chairs, furniture, and granaries of basket-work, . . las sillas y otras cosas de servicio re- cias y jirmas que hacen entretexidas de mimbres y varas de avellano. Y aun a mi no me espantaba en aquella tierra tanto esto t como ver los graneros, que ellos llaman los horreos, fabricados desta misma obra de varas entree texidas, y tan tupidas y de tanta jirmeza, que sufrcn gran carga como buenas paredes." Covadonga.—XVI. p. 38. The valley of Covadonga is thus described by the Conde de Salduena; — and the description is a fair spe- cimen of his poem : — NOTES. 179 Yace de Asturias, dondt el Sol infante Sus montes con primer as luces bana t De Covadonga el sitio, que triunfante Cunafue en que nacio la imigne Espana Vierte en el Sela liquidos crisiales Con Buena y Deba, que de la montana Deben la vida d. la fragosa copa, A quien la antiguedad llamo de Europa. Aqui lajuventud de un bello llano Compite ctjlores, luces de la esphera; Y burlando el lnvierno y el Verano Eterna vive en el la JPrimavera : Sobre sus glebas de derrama ufano El prodigioso cuerno de la Fiera De Amaltea> y aromas, y colores Confunden los matices con olores. Robustos troncos, con pobladas ramas Vuelven el sitio rustica Alameda, Y del Sol no permiten a las llamas Lo espeso penetrar de la Arboleda : Vierden sus rayos las ardientes Jamas, Pues la frondosidad opuesta vedci 180 NOTES. La luz al dia, y denso verde muro Crepusculo le viste al ayre puro. Siguiendo la ribera de Peonia Al Oriente Eslival,y agio inclinado A la parte que mira al medio dia, Otro valle se ve mas dilatado : A la derecha de est a selva umbria Reynazo corre, que precipitado Va oL bar a Buena en liquidos abrazo* Su pobre vena en cristalinos lazos. Sin passar de Reynazo el successivo Curso, dexando presto su torrente, Con el cristal se encuentrafugitivo De Deba 9 a quien la Cueba dio lafuente La admiracion aqui raro motivo VI, formando la senda su corriente t JPues lo estrecho del sitio penascoso Hace camino del licor undoso. Hecho serpiente Deva del camino En circulo se enrosca tortuoso, Vomitando veneno cristalino En el liquido aljofar proceloso ; NOTES. 181 En las orillas con vivaz destino, En tosigo se vuelve, que espumoso Inficiona lethal al pie ligero, Quando le pisa incanto el passagero* Ya de este valle cierran las campanas, Creciendo de sus riscos la estatura, Desmesuradas tanto las montanas Que opuscan ya del Sol la lumbre pur Son rusticos los lados, las entranas D:l valle visten siempre la hermosura Fronsidad el ayre 9 y de colores El suelo texe alfombra de primores* Aunque los monies con espesas hrenas El /ado al sitioforman horroroso, Y contra su verdor desnudas penas Compiten de lo llano lofrondoso ; Pintados pajarillos dulces senas Al son del agua en trino sonoroso De ignorados idiomas en su canto Dan con arpados picos dulce encanto. Lo ultimo de este Dalle la alta sierra De Covadonga ocupa, dondejuerte 182 NOTES. Se expone el Heroe aljuego de la guerra, Sin temor negro acaso de la suerte : Los que animosos este sitio encierra El ceno despreciando de la muerte, Su pecho encienden en la altiva llama Que no cabra en las trompas de la Fama. De Diba ed ella la preciosafuente Al llano brota arroyos de cristales, Donde en pequena balsa su corriente Se detiene en suspensos manantiales : Despues se precipita su torrente Quanto sus ondas enfreno neutrales 9 Con sonoroso ruido de la pena El curso de sus aguas se despena* Cierra todo este Dalle esta robusta Pena, donde la Cueva esta divina, Que amenaza tajada a ser injusta Del breve llano formidable ruina : Parece quiere ser con sana adusta Seco padron, yjiera se deslina A erigirse epitafio penascoso 9 Sepultando su horror el sitio kermoso. NOTES. 183 De piedra viva tan tremenda altura Que la vista al mirarla se estremece ; Vasta grena se viste, y la hermosura De lafertilidad seca aborrece : Es tan desmesurada su estatura Que estrecha el ayre, y barbara parece Que quiere que la sirvan de Cimera Las fulminant es luces de la Esphera. Como a dos picas en la pena dura Construye en circo una abertura rara 9 De una pica de alto, y dos de anchura, Rica de sombras su mansion avara : Ventana t b boca de la cueva obscura Donde el Sol no dispensa su luz clara, Tan corta, que su centro tenebroso Aun no admite crepusculo dudoso. En este sitio pues t donde compile La rustiquez con las pintadas flores t Pues la pelada sierra no permite A la vista, sino es yertos horror es : Tor el contrario el llano que en si admite De los beltos matices los primores f 184? NOTES. Efecto siendo de naturaleza La union en lofealdad, y la belleza. A tiorba de cristal las dukes aves Corresponden en trinos amorosos, Vertiendo en blando son tonos suaves, Ecos los ayres beben harmoniosos : Enmudecen su canto quando graves Bemoles gorgeando mas preciosos, Es maestro a la barbara Capilla El Ruysenor, plumada maravilla. Elige este distrilo la Divina Providencia cL lo grave de la hazana, Pues aqui sujusticia determina La monarquiafabricar de Espana : A las cortas reliquias, que a la ruina Reservb su piedad, enciende en sana Religiosay que cL Imperio sin regunda Abrafutura Have Nuevo Mundo. El Pelayo, Cant. ix» NOTES. 185^ CHristoval de Mesa also describes the scene. Acercandose mas, oye el sonido Del agua, con un manso y sordo ruydo. El qual era de quatro clarasfuentes Que estavan de la ermita en las esquinas, Cuyas puras de plata aguas corrientes Mostro la blanca Luna cristalinas ; Y corriendo por partes diferentes JEran de grande maravilla dignas, Y en qualquiera de todas por su parte Naturaleza se esmero con arte. La una mana de una viva pena f Y qual si tambien fuera el agua vita,, Parte la bana, y parte se despena Con rapida corrientefugitiva; Despues distinto un largo arroyo ensena Que por diver sas partes se derriba t Con diferente curso en vario modo Hasta que a donde nace buelve toda. Otra, que alta descubre ancho Orizonte, Como agraviada del lugar segundo^ 1 186 NOTES. Sustenta un monstruo que parece un monte, Quul At/ante que tiene en peso el mundo Y coiho suele el caudaloso Oronte Dar el ancho tributo al mar pro/undo Assi se arroja confuriosas ondas, Por las partes mas baxas y mas Hondas. Sale bramando la tercerafuente, Como un mar, y despues por el arena Va con tan mansa y placida corriente Tan grata y sossegada, y tan serena 9 Que a lasfieraSy ganados, peces, gente, Puede aptacar la sed, menguar lapena, Y da despues la buelta, y forma el cuerno De la Luna, imitando el curso eterno. Nace la quarta de una gran caverna, Y siguiendo su prospera derrota Parece que por arte se govierna, Segun va destilando gota a gota : No vido antigua edad, edad moderna En region muy propinqua, o muy remota t Fuente tan peregrina, obra tan nueva, En gruta artifiiiosa, o tobca cueva. Restauracion de Espana, Lib. 2. ff. 27. NOTES. 187 Morales has given a minute description both of the sce- nery and antiquities of this memorable place. The Conde de Salduena evidently had it before him. I also am great- ly indebted to this faithful and excellent author. The timid hare soon learns that she may trust The solitary penitent, and birds Will light upon the hermit's harmless hand. XVII. p. 41. Con mil mortificaciones Sus passiones crucifican, Porque ellas de todo mueran Porque el alma solo viva. Hazen por huyr al ocw Cestos, y espuertas texidas De las hojas de las paltnas Que alii crecen sin medida. Los arboles, y las plantas Porque a su gusto los sirvan Para esto vergas offrecen, De las mas tiernas que crian. Tambien de core ho hazen vasos CuentaSf Cruzes, y basillas t Cuyo modo artificioso. 188 NOTES. El oro t y la plat a embidian. Este los cilicios texe, Aquel haze discipllnas, El otro las calaveras En tosco palo esculpidas. Uno a sombra del aliso, Con la escritura divina Misticos sentidos saca JDe sus literales minas. Otro junto de lafuente Que murmura en duke risa, Mira en los libros las obras De los sanios Eremitas. Qual cerca del arroyuelo Que suit undo cor re aprissa, Discurre como a la muerte Corre sin parar la vida. Qual con un Christe abracado Besandole las heridas, Herido de sus dolores 9 A sus pies llora, y suspira. Qual en las fiores que al campo Entre esmeraldas matizan t Las grandezas soberanas Del immenso autor medita. NOTES. 189 Qual subida en las picarras Que plata, y perlas dtstilan, Con lagrimas acrecienta Su corriente cristalina. Qual a lasjieras convoca, Las aves llama, y combida A que al criador de iodo Alaben agradecidas. Qual immoble todo el cuerpo, Con las acetones perdidas, Tiene arrebatada el alma Alia donde amando anima, Y de aquel extasi quando Parece que resuscita, Dize con razon que muere Torque no perdio lo vida. Lafuerca de amor a vexes Sueno, y reposo los quita, Y sallendo de su estancia Buscan del Cielo la vista. Quando serena la noche Clara se descubre Cynthia t Borlando de azul, y piata El postrer mobil que pisa; Quando el oro de su hermano 190 NOTES. No puede tener embidia, Que llena del que le presto, Haze de la noche dia ; Del baculo acompanado El amante Anachorita Solo par las soledades Solitarios pasos guia. Y parando entre el silencio Las claras estrellas mira Que le deleitan por obra De la potencia divina. En alias bozes alaba Sin tener quien se lo impida Al amador soberano Cuya gracia solicita. Contempla sus perfeciones, Sus grandezas soleniza, Sus miser icordias cant a, Sus eccelencias publico. La noche atenta entre tanto Callando porque el prosiga. Cruxen los vezinos ramos, Y blando el viento respira. Gimcn las aves nocturnas Por hazerle cornpania t 8 NOTES. 191 Suenan lasfuentes, y arroyos, Retumban las penas frias. Todo ayuda al solitario, Mientras con el almafixa En sus queridos amoves Contemplandolos se alivia. Soledades de Busaco. Fuller the Worthy has a beautiful passage in his Church History concerning " Primitive Monks with their Piety and Painfulness." — " When the furnace of perse- cution in the infancy of Christianity was grown so hot, that most cities, towns, and populous places were visit- ed with that epidemical disease, many pious men fled in- to desarts, there to live with more safety, and serve God with less disturbance. No wild humour to make them- selves miserable, and to chuse and court their own cala- mity, put them on this project, much less any supersti- tious opinion of transcendent sanctity in a solitary life, made them willingly to leave their former habitations. For whereas all men by their birth are indebted to their country, there to stay and discharge all civil relations, it had been dishonesty in them like bankrupts to run away into the wilderness to defraud their country, their cre- ditor, except some violent occasion (such as persecution 192 NOTES. was) forced them thereunto ; and this was the first ori- ginal of monks in the world, so called from {A,6vog y because living alone by themselves. " Here they in the desarts hoped to find rocks and stocks, yea beasts themselves, more kind than men had been to them. What would hide and heat, cover and keep warm, served them for clothes, not placing (as their successors in after ages) any holiness in their habit, fold- ed up in the affected fashion thereof. As for their food, the grass was their cloth, the ground their table, herbs and roots their diet, wild fruits and berries their dainties, hunger their sauce, their nails their knives, their hands their cups, the next well their wine cellar; but what their bill of fare wanted in cheer it had in grace, their life being constantly spent in prayer, reading, musing, and such like pious employments. They turned solitari- ness itself into society ; and cleaving themselves asunder by the divine art of meditation, did make of one, two, or more, opposing, answering, moderating in their own bosoms, and busy in themselves with variety of heaven- ly recreations. It would do one good even but to think' of their goodness, and at the rebound and second hand to meditate upon their meditations. For if ever poverty was to be envied it was heie. And I appeal to the mo- derate men of these times, whether in the height of tht . NOTES. 193 woeful wars, they have not sometimes wisht (not out of passionate distemper, but serious recollection of them- selves) some such private place to retire unto, where, out of the noise of this clamorous world, they might have reposed themselves, and served God with more quiet." None but that heavenly Father, who alone Beholds the struggles of the heart, alone Knows and rewards the secret sacrifice. — XVIII. p. 53. Meu amorfaca em Deos sen fundamento Em Deos, que so conhece e so estima A nobrexa e o valor de hum pensamenlo. Fernam Alvares do Oriente. Sindered.— XVIII. p. 54. " Per idem tempus divines memories Sinderebus urbis Hegiee Metropolitanus Episcopus sanctimonies studio cla- ret ; atuue longezvos et merito honorabiles viros quos in suprqfata sibi commissa Ecclesia repetit, non secundum scientiam zelo sanctitatis stimulat, atque instinctu jam dicti Witizez Principis eos sub ejus tempore convexare non cessat ; qui et post modicum incursus Arabum expa- vescens, non ut pastor, sed ut mercenarius, Christi oves VOL. II. I 194 NOTES, contra decreta majorum deserens, Romance patriot sese ad- ventat." — Isid. Pacensis, Espana Sagrada, T. 8. p. 298. " E assi como el Argobispofue cierto de la mala andan- c.a partio de Cordova ; y nunca ccsso de andar dia ni noche fasta que llego a Toledo ; y no embargante que el era, hombre de buena vida, no se quisso mostrar por tal como deviera ser, y sufrir antes martyr io por amor de Jesu Christo y esforgar los suyos, porque se defendiessen, y que las gentes no desamparassen la tierra ; ca su intencion Jue de ser confessor antes que martyr." — Cor. del K. D. Rodrigo, p. 2. C. 48. While the Church Keeps in her annals the deserter's name ; But from the service which with daily zeal Devout her ancient prelacy recalls, Blots it, unworthy to partake her prayers, XVIII. p. 54. " Je ne serois pas en grande peine, says Pierre de Mar- ca, de rechercher les noms des Evesques des Beam, si la saincte et louable pratique des anciens Peres d y inserer dans les Diptyches, et cayers sacres de chascune Eglise, i les noms des Evesques orthodoxes, et qui estoient decedes I dans la communion de V Eglise Catholiquey eust este con,' j NOTES. 195 tinueejusqu' aux derniers siecles. Et je pourrois meser- vir en cette rencontre du moyen que V Empereur Justi- nian et le cinquiesme Concile General employerent, pour scavoir si Theodore Evesque de Mopsuestie estoit reconnu apres sa mortpour Evesque de V Eglise qu' il avoit possedee durant sa vie. Car Us ordonnerent a V Evesque et au Clerge de cette ville, de revoir les Diptyches de leur Eglise, et de rapporter fidellement ce qu'ilsy trouvero~ lent. Ce qu y ayant execute diligemment, Us Jirent rap~ port qu* apres avoir fueillete quatre divers cayers en par- ckemin, qui estoient leurs Diptyches, ilsy avoient trouve le nom de tous les Evesques de ce siege ; horsmis qu' en la place de Theodore, avoit este substitue le nom de Cy- rille, qui estoit le Patriarche d' Alexandrie ; lequel pre- iidant au Concile d 7 Ephese avoit condamne Vheresie de Nestorius et de Theodore de Mopsuestie. D'ou il apert que les noms de tous les Evesques depuis Vorigine et Ves- tablissement de chascune des Eglises estoient enregistres dans les cayers que Von appelloit Diptyches, et que Von les recitoit nom par nom en leur lieu, pendant la celebra- tion de la Liturgie, tant pour tesmoigner la continuation de la communion avec les Evesques decedes, que Von avoil eu'e avec cuxmesmes vivans, qu 7 qfin de procurer par les nrieres publiques, et par Vefficace du sacrifice non sang- 196 NOTES. lant, en la celebration du quel Us estoient recommendes a Dieu, suitant V ordonnance des apostres,un grand profit, soulagement, et refraickissement pour leurs ames, comme enseignent Cyrille de Hierusalem, Chrysostome, et Epi- phane" — Histoire de Beam, 1. 4. c. 9. § 1. " Some time before they made oblation for the dead, it was usual in some ages to recite the names of such eminent bishops, or saints, or martyrs, as were particu- larly to be mentioned in this part of the service. To this purpose they had certain books, which they called their Holy Books, and commonly their Diptychs, from their being folded together, wherein the names of such per- sons were written, that the deacon might rehearse them as occasion required, in the time of divine service. Car- dinal Bona and Schelstrade make three sorts of these Diptychs ; one wherein the names of bishops only were written, and more particularly such bishops as had been governors of that particular church : a second, wherein the names of the living were written, who were eminent and conspicuous either for any office and dignity, or some benefaction and good work, whereby they had deservec well of the church; in this rank were the patriarchs am bishops of great sees, and the bishop and clergy of tha particular church : together with the emperors and ■ NOTES. 197 gistrates, and others most conspicuous among the peo- ple : the third was the book containing the names of such as were deceased in catholic communion. — These there- fore were of use, partly to preserve the memory of such eminent men as were dead in the communion of the church, and partly to make honourable mention of such general councils as had established the chief articles of the faith: and to erase the names either of men or councils out of these Dlptychs, was the same thing as to declare that they were heterodox, and such as they thought unwor- thy to hold communion with, as criminals, or some ways deviating from the faith. Upon this account St Cyprian ordered the name of Geminius Victor to be left out among those that were commemorated at the holy table, because he had broken the rules of the church. And Eva- grius observes of Theodorus bishop of Mopsuestia, that his name was struck out of the Holy Books, that is, the Diptgchs, upon the account of his heretical opinions af- ter death. And St Austin, speaking of Caecilian, Bishop of Carthage, whom the Donatists falsely accused of be- ing ordained by Traditores, or men who had delivered up the Bible to be burned in the times of persecution, tells them that if they could make good any real charge against him, they would no longer name him among the rest of the bishops, whom they believed to be faithful 198 NOTES. and innocent at the altar." — Bingham, b. 15. ch. 3. sect. 17. Orary.— XV III. p. 56. " The Council of Laodicea has two canons concerning the little habit called the Orarium, which was a scarf or tippet to be worn upon the shoulders; and might be used by bishops, presbyters, and deacons, but not by sub- deacons, singers, or readers, who are expressly debarred the use of it in that council. — The first council of Braga speaks of the tunica and the orarium as both belonging to deacons. And the third council of Braga orders priests to wear the orarium on both shoulders when they minis- tered at the altar. By which we learn that the tunica or surplice was common to all the clergy, the orarium on the left shoulder proper to deacons, and on both shoul- ders the distinguishing badge of priests. — The fourth council of Toledo is most particular in these distinctions. For in one canon it says, that if a bishop, presbyter, or deacon, be unjustly degraded, and be found innocent by a synod, yet they shall not be what they were be- fore, unless they receive the degrees they had lost from the hands of the bishops before the altar. If he be a bishop, he must receive his orarium, his ring, and his staff: if a presbyter, his orarium and planeta ; if a dea- NOTES. 199 con, his orarium and alba. And in another canon, that the deacon shall wear but one orarium, and that upon his left shoulder, wherewith he is to give the signal of prayers to the people. Where we may observe also the reason of the name orarium in the ecclesiastical sense ab orando, from praying , though in common acceptation it signifies no more than an handkerchief to wipe the face, and so comes ab ore, in which signification it is sometimes used by St Ambrose and St Austin, as well as by the old Roman authors. But here we take it in the ecclesiastical sense for a sacred habit appropriated to bishops, priests, and deacons, in the solemnities of divine service, in which sense it appears to have been a habit distinct from that of civil and common use, by all the authorities that have been mentioned." — Bingham, Book 13. c. 8. sect. 2. JVbr wore he mitre here, Precious, or auriphrygiate. — XVIII. p. 56. Miira usus antiquissimus est, et ejus triplex est spe- cies: una qua. pretiosa dicitur 9 quia gemmis et lapidibus pretiosis, vel laminis aureis, vel argenteis contexta esse solet ; altera auriphrygiata sine gemmis, et sine laminis aureis vel argenteis ; sed vel aliquibus parvis margaritis composita, vel ex serico albo auro intermisto, vel ex tela aurea simplici sine laminis et margaritis ; tertia, qua sim- 200 NOTES. plex vocatur, sine auro, ex simplici sirico Damascens, tel alio, aut etiam linea, ex tela alba confecta, rubeis lacinii, seufrangiis et vittis pendentibus. Pretiosa utiior Epis- copus in solemnioribusfestis et generaliter quandocumque in officio dicitur hymnus Te Deum laudaraus, &c. et in missa Gloria in excelsis Deo. N.ihilominus in eisdem festis etiam auriphrygiata uti poterit, sed potius ad com' moditatem quam ex necessitate ; ne scilicet Episcopus ni- mis graveiur, si in toto officio pretiosa utatur : propte- rea usu receptum est, tarn in Vesperis, quam in Missis, ut pretiosa utatur Episcopus in principio et in fine Vespe- rarum et Missarumsolemnium, ac eundo ad Ecclesiam et redeundo ab ea ; et quando lavat manus et dat benedic- tionem solemnem. Intermedia autem spatio loco pretio- sa accipit auriphrygiatem. — Auriphrygiata mitra utitur Episcopus ab Adventu Domini usque ad festum Nativi- talis, excepta Dominica teriia Adventus, in qua dicitur Jntroitus Gaudete, &c. ideoque in signum latitia utitur tunc pretiosa. Item a Septuage.sima usque ad feriam quartam majoris hebdomada inclusive, excepta Dominica quart a Quadragesima, in qua dicitur Introitus Laetare, &c. Item in omnibus xigiliis, qua, jejunantur, et in om- nibus quatuor temporibus ; in JRogationibus, Litaniis et processionibus, qua ex causa penitentia fiunt ; infesto Innocentium, nisi veniat in Dominica ; et benedictioni- NOTES. 201 bus, et consecrationibus, qua private aguntur. Quibus quidem temporibus abstinet, Episcopus a mitra pretiosa. Poierit tamen Episcopus dum utitur auriphrygiata, uti etiam simplici eodem modo et forma, prout de pretiosa et auriphrygiata dictum est. Simplici vero mitra utitur Episcopu sferia sexta in Parasceve, et in officiis et Mis- sis defunctorum." — Cseremoniale Episcoporum, 1. i.e. If. The pall Ofzoool undyedy which on the j4postle's tomb Gregory had taid.—XVllI. p. 56. " By the way, the pall is a pontifical vestment, consider- able for the matter, making, and mysteries thereof. For the matter, it is made of lamb's wooll and superstition. I say of lamb's wooll, as it comes from the sheep's back, without any other artificiall colour, spun, say some, by a peculiar order of nunnes, first cast into the tombe of St Peter, taken from his body say others, surely, most sacred if from both : and superstitiously adorned with little black crosses. For the form thereof; the breadth ex- ceeded not three fingers, one of our bachelours iamb- skin hoods in Cambridge would make three of them, ha- ving two labells hanging down before and behind, which the arch-bishops onely, when going to the altar, put about I 2 202 NOTES. their necks, above their other pontificall ornaments. Three mysteries were couched therein. First, Humili- ty, which beautifies the clergy above all their costly copes. Secondly, Innocency, to imitate lamb-like simplicitie. And, Thirdly, Industry, to follow him who fetched his wandering sheep home on his shoulders. But to speak plainly, the mystery of mysteries in the pall was, that the archbishops receiving it shewed therein their depend- ence on Rome ; and a mote in this manner ceremoni- ously taken was a sufficient acknowledgement of their subjection. And as it owned Rome's power, so in after ages it increased their profit. For, though now such palls were freely given to archbishops, whose places in Britain for the present were rather cumbersome than commodi- ous, having little more than their paines for their labour; yet in after ages the archbishop of Canterburie's pall was sold for five thousand florenes, so that the pope might well have the golden fleece if he could sell all his lamb's-wooll at that rate. Onely let me add, that the author of Canterbury-book stiles this pall Tanquam grande Christi Sacramentum. It is well tanquam came in to help it, or else we should have had eight sacra- ments." — Fuller's Church History f page 71. NOTES. 203 The relics and the written works of Saints, Toledo' 's choicest treasure, prized beyond All wealth, their living and their dead remains ; These to the mountain fastnesses he bore Of unsubdued Cantabria, there deposed One day to be the boast of yet unbuilt Oviedo, and the dear idolatry Of multitudes unborn. — XVIII. p. 54. " Among those, says Morales, who then passed from Toledo to Asturias, was the archbishop of Toledo, na- med Urban. — He, with a holy foresight, collected the sacred relics which he could, and the most precious books of his own church and of others, determining to carry them all to the Asturias, in order that the holy relics might not be profaned or treated with little reverence by the infidels ; and that the books of the Holy Scriptures, and of the ecclesiastical offices, and the works of our holy doctors, might not be lost. — And although many relics are mentioned which the archbishop then carried from Toledo, especial mention is made of a holy ark full of many and most remarkable relics, which, through di- vers chances and dangers, had been brought from Jeru- salem to Toledo, and of which all that is fitting shall be related in its place, if it please God that this history should proceed. It is also expressly said, that the cope 204 NOTES. which Our Lady gave to St Ildefonso, was then carried to the Asturias with the other relics ; and being so capital a relic, it was a worthy thing to write of it thus particu- larly. Of the sacred books which were saved at that time, there are specified the Holy Scriptures, the Coun- cils, the works of St Isidore, of St Ildefonso, and of St Julian the archbishop of Toledo. And as there is at this day in the church of Oviedo that holy ark, together with many others of the relics which were then removed, so do I verily believe that there are in the library of that church three or four books of those which were then brought from Toledo. I am led to this belief by see- ing that they are written in a form of Gothic letters, which being compared with writings six hundred years old, are without doubt much older, and of characters so different, that they may well be attributed to the times of the Goths. One is the volume of the Councils, an- other is a Santoral, another contains the books of St Isidore de Naturls Rerum, with other works of other authors. And there are also some leaves of a Bible. — To put these sacred relics in greater security, and avoid the danger of the Moors, they hid them in a cave, and in a sort of deep pit therein, two leagues from the city of Oviedo, (which was not at that time built,) in a moun- tain, which was for this reason called Montesacro. It is NOTES. 205 now by a slight corruption called Monsagro; and the people of that country hold the cave in great veneration, and a great romery, or pilgrimage, is made on St Mag- dalen's day." — Morales, 1. 12, c. 71. The place where the relics were deposited is curious- ly described in the Romantic Chronicle. " He found that in this land of Asturias there was a sierra, full great, and high, the which had only two entrances, after this manner. On the one entrance there was a great river, which was to be passed seven times, and in none of those seven places was it fordable at any time, except in the month of July. And after the river had been crost seven times, there was an ascent of a long league up a high mountain, which is full of many great trees, and great thickets, wherein are many wild beasts, such as bears and boars and wolves, and there is a pass there between two rocks, which ten men might defend against the whole world, and this is the one entrance. The other is, that you must ascend this great mountain, by a path of two full leagues in length, on the one side having always the river, and the way so narrow, that one man must go be- fore another, and one man can defend the path in such manner, that no arbalist, nor engine of other kind, nor any other thing, can hurt him, not if the whole world were to come against him. And if any one were to stum* 206 NOTES. ble upon this path, he would fall more than two thou- sand bracas, down over rocks into the river, which lies at such a depth that the water appears blacker than pitch. And upon that mountain there is a good spring, and a plain where there are good meadows, and room enough to raise grain for eight or ten persons for a year ; and the snow is always there for company, enduring from one year to another. And upon that mountain the archbi- shop made two churches, one to the honour of St Mary Magdalene, and the other to the honour of St Michael, and there he placed all these reliques, where he had no fear that any should take them ; and for the honour of these relics, the archbishop consecrated the whole moun- tain, and appointed good guard over the sacred relics, and left there three men of good life, who were willing to remain there, serving God and doing penance for their sins."— P. 2. c. 48. Of the Camara Santa, Morales has given a curious ac- count in his Journal, the substance, with other remark- able circumstances, he afterwards thus inserted in his great history : — " The other church (or chapel) which King Alonso el Casto ordered to be built on the south side of the Igle- sia Mayor, (or cathedral) was with the advocation of the Glorious Archangel St Michael. And in order that he NOTES. 207 might elevate it, he placed under it another church of the Virgin and Martyr St Leocadia, somewhat low, and vaulted with a strong arch, to support the great weight which was to be laid upon it. The king's motive for thus elevating this church of St Michael, I believe certainly to have been because of the great humidity of that land. He had determined to place in this church the famous relics of which we shall presently speak, and the humi- dity of the region is so great, that even in summer the furniture of the houses on high ground is covered with mold. This religious prince therefore elevated the church with becoming foresight for reverence and better preservation of the precious treasure which was therein to be deposited. For this reason they call it Camara, (the chamber), and for the many and great relics which it contains, it has most deservedly the appellation of Holy. You ascend to it by a flight of twenty- two steps, which begin in the cross of the Iglesia Mayor (or cathe- dral) and lead to a vaulted apartment twenty feet square, where there is an altar upon which mass is said; for within there is no altar, neither is mass said there by reason of the reverence shewn to so great a sanctuary ; and it may be seen that K. D. Alonso intended in his plan that there should be no altar within. In this apart- ment or outer chapel is a great arched door, with a very 208 NOTES. strong fastening ; it leads to another smaller square chamber, vaulted also, with a square door, which also is fastened with another strong fastening, and these are the fastenings and keys which the Bishop Sampyro ad- mires for their strength and security. " The square door is the door of the Holy Chamber, which is in the form of a compleat church, and you de- scend to it by twelve steps. The body of this church is twenty-four feet in length, and sixteen in width. Its arched roof is of the same dimensions. The roof is most richly wrought, and supported upon six columns of divers kinds of marbles, all precious and right beauti- ful, upon which the twelve apostles are sculptured, two and two. The ground is laid with Mosaic work, with variety of columns, representing jasper ware. The Bi- shop Sampyro had good reason to complain of the dark- ness of this church, which has only one small window in the upper part of the chapel ; and, therefore, in this which we call the body of the church, there are com- monly three silver lam p s burning the one in the middle larger than the other t wo, and many other lights are kin- dled when the relics are shown. These are kept within a grating, which divides the chapel from the church. The chapel has two rich marbles at the entrance ; it is eighteen feet in length, and its width somewhat less j NOTES. 209 the floor and the roof are after the same fashion as those of the church, but it is one estado lower, which in those times seems to have been customary in Asturias and in Galiicia, the Capillas Mayores, or principal chapels, be- ing much lower than the body of the church. The roof of the chapel is plain, and has painted in the middle our Saviour in the midst of the four evangelists ; and this performance is so ancient, that it is manifestly of the age of the founder. At this iron grating strangers are usually detained ; there is a lower one within of wood, to which persons are admitted who deserve this privilege for their dignity ; and few there be who enter farther. This church the king built to remove to it, as accordingly he forthwith removed the holy ark, the holy bodies, and the other great relics which, at the destruction of Spain, were hidden in the cave and well of Monsagro, and for this cause he had it built with so much care, and so richly, and with such security. — " I have described the Camara Santa thus particular- ly, that what I may say of the most precious relics which it contains may be the better enjoyed. I will particular- ize the most principal of them, beginning with the Holy Ark, which with great reason has deserved this name. It is in the midst of the chapel, close to the wooden grate, so that you can only go round it on three sides, and it is 210 NOTES. placed upon a stone pedestal, wrought with mouldings of a palm in height. It is a varo and a half (about five feet) in length ; little less than a varo wide, and about as deep, that part which is of silver, not including the height which the pedestal gives it. The cover is flat, and it is covered in all parts with silver plates of some thickness, and gilt on some places. In the front, or that side which fronts the body of the church, it has the twelve apostles in more than half relief, and on the sides there are histo- ries of Our Lady in the same silver-work. On the flat part of the cover there is a large crucifix engraved with many other images round about it. The sides are elabo- rately wrought with foliage, and the whole displays great antiquity. The cover has round about it four lines in the silver, which, however, are imperfect, the silver being wanting in some places. What they contain is this, as I have copied it faithfully, with its bad Latin and other faults : — " Omnis conventus populi Deo dignus catholici cognos- cat, quorum inclytas veneratur reliquias, intra pretiosis- sima prasentis archalatera. Hoc est de ligno pfurimum, sive de cruce Domini. Da vestimentis illius, quod per sortem divisum est. De pane delectabili unde in cena nsus est. De sindone Dominico ejus adque sudario et cruore sanctissimo. De terra sancta quam piis calcavit NOTES. 211 tunc vestigiis. De vestimentis matris ejus Virginis Ma- rice. De lacte quoque ejus, quod mult urn est mirabile t Hispariter conjuncta sunt quadam sanctorum maxime prestantes reliquiae, quorum prout poluimus, hac nomina subscripsimus. Hoc est de Sancto Petro, de Sancto Tho- ma, Sancti Bartolmei. De ossibus Prophetarum, de om- nibus Apostolis, et de aliis quamplurimis Sanctis, quorum nomina sola Dei scientia colligit. His omnibus egregim Rex Adefonsus humili devotione perditus fecit hoc recep- taculum f sanctorum pignoribus insignitum argento deau- ratum, exterius adornatum non vilibus operibus : per quod post ejus vitam mereatur consortium illorum in ca- lestibus sanctorum jubari precibus. Hac quidem saluti et re Here a large piece of the silver is gone. — No- tit omnis provintia in terra sine dubio. Here there is another great chasm. — Manus et industria clericorum et prasulum, qui propter hoc convenimus cum dicto Adefon- so Principe, et cum germana lactissima TJrraca nomina dicta : quibus Redemptor omnium concedit indulgentiam et suorum peccatorum veniam, per hoc sanctorum pigno- ra Apostolorum et Sancti Justi et Pastoris, Cosmo, et Damiani, Eulalia Virginis, et Maximi, Germani, Bau- dili, Pantaleonis, Cypriani et Justince, Sebastiani, Facun- di et Primitivi, Christophori, Cucufati, Felicis, Sulpicii. w This inscription, with its bad Latin and other de- 212 NOTES. fects, and by reason of the parts that are lost, can ill be translated. Nevertheless I shall render it, in order that it may be enjoyed by all. It says thus : Know all the congregation of Catholic people, worthy of God, whose the famous relics are, which they venerate within the most precious sides of this ark. Know then that herein is great part of the wood or cross of our Lord. Of his garment for which they cast lots. Of the blessed bread whereof he ate at the Supper. Of his linen, of the holy handkerchief (the Sudario), and of his most holy blood. Of the holy ground which he then trod with his holy feet. Of the garments of his mother the Virgin Mary, and also of her milk, which is a great wonder. With these also there are many capital relics of saints, whose names we shall write here as we can. Saint Peter, St Thomas, St Bartholomew. Bones of the Prophets, and of all the Apostles, and of many other Saints whose names are known only to the wisdom of God. The noble King Don Alonso, being full of humble devotion for all these holy relics, made this repository, adorned and ennobled with pledges of the Saints, and on the outside covered with silver, and gilded with no little cunning. For the which may he deserve after this life the company of these Saints in Heaven, being aided by their intercession. — These holy relics were placed here by the care and by NOTES. 213 the hands of many Clergy and Prelates, who were here assembled with the said King D. Alonso, and with his chosen sister called Donna Urraca. To whom may the Redeemer of all grant remission and pardon of their sins, for the reverence and rich reliquary which they made for the said relics of the Apostles, and for those of the Saints, St Justus and Pastor, St Cosme and St Damian, St Eulalia the Virgin, and of the Saints Maximus, Ger- manus, Baudilus, Pantaleon, Cyprianus and Justina, Se- bastian, Facundus and Primitivus, Christopher, Cucufa- tus, Felix and Sulpicius. " The sum of the manner in which this Holy Ark came into Spain is this, conformably to what is written by all our grave authors. When Cosroes the King of Persia, in the time of the Emperor Heraclius, came upon the Holy Land, and took the city of Jerusalem, the bi- shop of that city, who was called Philip, and his clergy, with pious forethought, secreted the Holy Ark, which from the time of the apostles had been kept there, and its stores augmented with new relics, which were depo- sited therein. After the victory of Cosroes, the Bishop Philip, with many of his clergy, passed into Africa, car- rying with them the Holy Ark : and there it remained some years, till the Saracens entered into that province 214j notes. also, and then Fulgentius the Bishop of Ruspina, with providence like that which had made Philip bring it to Africa, removed it into Spain. Thus it came to the Holy Church of Toledo, and was from thence removed to As- turias, and hidden in the cave of Monsagro ; finally, King D. Alonso el Casto removed it to the Camara Santa ; and afterwards K. D. Alonso the Great enriched it. Thus our histories write, and the same is read in the lessons on the festival which the Church of Oviedo celebrates of the co- ming there of this Holy Ark, with a sermon proper for the day, and much solemnity, the service being said on the 13th of March after vespers, above in the church of the Camara Santa. This is a most weighty testimony which the Holy Ark possesses of its own authenticity, and of the genuineness of the most great treasure which it con- tains. — There also are strong testimonies, that K. D. Alonso the Great should not only have made the Ark so rich, but that this king should also have fortified the ci- ty of Oviedo, surrounding it with walls, and making for it a castle, and building also the castle of Gauzon upon the shore, for the defence and security of this holy trea- sure, and for another end, as he left written upon the stone of which we have elsewhere spoken. Another tes- timony of great authority, is the great reverence which NOTES. 215 has been shewn to this Holy Ark, from the time which is spoken of by Alonso the Great in the inscription, to these our days. This is so great that no one has dared to open it, melancholy examples being related of some daring at- tempts which have been made. That which occurred in our days is not mournful, but rather of much devotion and holy joy. The most Illustrious Sir D. Christoval de Rojas y Sandoval, who is now the most worthy Arch- bishop of Seville, when he was Bishop of Oviedo, deter- mined to open the Holy Ark. For this, as the singular devotion and most holy zeal for the glory of God which he has in all things admonished him, he made such pious preparations as the fame of so celestial a treasure show- ed to be necessary. He proclaimed solemnly a fast of forty days in his church and through all his diocese, commanding that prayers should be made to our Lord, beseeching him that he would be pleased with what was intended, his Most-Illustriousness giving the example, which is very common and very edifying in his church, in himself, and in the ministers thereof. Three days be- fore the Sunday on which the Ark was to be opened, he ordered all persons to fast, and to make greater prayers with processions. When the day arrived, he said ponti- fical mass, and preached, infusing with his holy exhort- ations, much of his own devout desires, into the hearts 216 NOTES. of the hearers. The mass being finished, clad as he he ascended to the Camara Santa, with much outwai solemnity, and with much fervour of devotion internal in his heart : and having there again renewed his hui ble prayers to our Lord, and quickened the ardour that sacred desire which had influenced him ; on hi knees as he was before the Holy Ark, he took the key to open it. At the moment when he stretched out his hand to put the key in the lock, suddenly he felt such horror and dismay, and found himself so bereft of all power (tan impossibilitado) to move it in any way, that it was impossible for him to proceed, or do any thing but remain in that holy consternation, without having strength or ability for more. And as if he had come there to oppose and prevent that which purposely, and with so much desire and preparation, he had intended to do, he desisted from his intent, and gave it up, his whole holy desire being turned into a chill of humble shrinking and fear. Among other things which his most Illustri- ous Lordship relates of what he then felt, he says, that his hair stood up in such a manner and with such force, that it seemed to him, as if it lifted the mitre a consi- derable way from his head. Now, we all know that this famous prelate has vigour and persevering courage for all the great things which he undertakes in the service l NOTES. 217 of our Lord ; but in this manner the Holy Ark remained unopened then, and thus I believe it will always remain, fastened more surely with veneration and reverence, and with respect of these examples, than with the strong bolt of its lock. " In the inscription of this Holy Ark, mention is made ! of the relics of St Baudilus, and by reason that he is a i Saint very little known, it will be proper to say something of him. This Saint is much reverenced in Salamanca J and in Zamora, and in both cities he has a parochial i church, and in Zamora they have a good part of his re- j licsi They have so much corrupted the name, calling i him St Boal, that the Saint is now scarcely known by ; his bwn. " They of the church say, that the cope of St Udefon- ! so, which Our Lady gave him, is in the Ark. This may ; well be believed, since our good authors particularly relate ! that it was carried to Oviedo with the Holy Ark, and with the other relics, and it does not now appear among it, and there is much more reason to think that it has been very carefully put away, than that it has been lost. Also they ;say, that when the celestial cope was put into the Holy Ark, they took out of it the piece of the holy Sudario, in which the head of our Redeemer was wrapt up for his interment, as is said in the inscription of the Ark. This VOL. II. K 218 notes; is one of the most famous relics in all Christendom, and therefore it is most richly adorned, and reverently pre- served, being shown only three times in the year with the greatest solemnity. The box in which it is kept is wrought without of gold and azure, with beautiful mouldings and pictures, and other ornaments of much authority. Within this there is a square piece of wood, covered entirely with black velvet, with silver handles, and other decorations of silver round about ; in the hol- low of this square, the holy Sudario is stretched and fas- tened upon the velvet ; it is a thin linen cloth, three quarters long and half a varo wide, and in many places full of the divine blood from the head of our Redeemer, in diverse forms and stains of various sizes ; wherein some persons observe marks of the divine countenance and other particularities. I did not perceive this ; but the feeling which came upon me when I looked at it is suffi- cient to make me believe any thing of it ; and if a wretch like me was thus affected, what must it do to those who deserve of our Lord greater regalements on such an oc- casion ? It is exhibited to the people three times in thfef year ; on Good Friday, and on the two festivals of the Cross in May and in September, and there is then a great concourse from all the country, and from distant parts. This part of the cross of the church where the Camani NOTES. 219 Santa is, is richly hung, and in the first apartment of the Camara, a corredor is erected for this exhibition; the which is closed that day with curtains of black velvet, and a canopy that extends over the varandas. The Bishop in his pontificals, with his assistants and other grave persons, places himself behind the curtains with the Holy Sudario, holding it by the silver handles, cover- ed with a veil. The curtains are undrawn, and the qui- risters below immediately begin the miserere. The Bishop lifts the veil, and at the sight of the Holy Suda- rio, another music begins of the voices of the people, deeply affected with devotion, which verily penetrates all hearts. The Bishop stands some time, turning the Sa- cred Relic to all sides, and afterwards the veil being re- placed, and the curtains redrawn, he replaces the Holy Sudario in its box. With all these solemnities, the very Illustrious and most Reverend Senor, M. D. Gonzalo de Solorzano, Bishop of Oviedo, exhibited this Holy Relic on the day of Santiago, in the year of our Redeemer 1572, in order that I might bear a more complete rela- tion of the whole to the King our Lord ; I having at that time undertaken the sacred journey by his command. — " Another chest, with a covering of crimson and bro- cade, contains a good quantity of bones, and some pieces of a head ; which, although they are very damp, have a 220 NOTES. most sweet odour, and this all we who were present per- ceived, when they were shown me, and we spoke of it as of a notable and marvellous thing. The account which they of the church give of this holy body is, that it is that of St Serrano, without knowing any thing more of it. J, considering the great dampness of the sacred bones, be- lieve certainly that it was brought up to the Camara San- ta from the church of Leocadia, which, as it has been seen, is underneath it. And there in the altar, the great stone-chest is empty, in which King Alonso el Casto en- closed many relics, as the Bishop Sampyro writes. For myself I have always held for certain, that the body of St Leocadia is that which is in this rich chest. And in this opinion I am the more confirmed since the year 1580, when such exquisite diligence has been used by our Spa- niards in the monastery of St Gisleno, near Mons de Henao in Flanders, to verify whether the body of St Leocadia, which they have there, is that of our Saint. The result has been, that it was ascertained beyond all doubt to be the same ; since an authentic writing was found of the person who carried it thither by favour of one of our earliest kings, and he carried it from Oviedo without dispute ; because, according to my researches, it is certain that it was there. Now I affirm, that the king who gave part left part also ; and neither is that NOTES. 221 which is there so much, that what we saw at Oviedo might not well have been left, neither is this so much but that which is at Mons might well have been given. " In the church below, in a hollow made for this pur- pose, with grates, and a gate well ornamented, is one of the vessels which our Redeemer Jesus Christ filled with miraculous wine at the marriage in Galilee. It is of white marble, of an ancient fashion, more than three feet high, and two wide at the mouth, and contains more than six arrobas. And forasmuch as it is in the wall of the church of K. Alonso el Casto, and all the work about it is very ancient, it may be believed that the said king ordered it to be placed there." — Coronica General de Es- pana, L. 13. C. 40. Morales gives an outline of this vessel in his Journal, and observes, that if the Christians transported it by land, particular strength and the aid of God would have been necessary to carry it so many leagues, and move it over the rugged mountains of Europa j — but, he adds, it might have come by water from Andalusia or Portugal, and in that case this would have been a land journey of only four or five leagues. — In his Journal, Morales men- tions certain other relics of which the church of Oviedo boasted, but for which he required better evidence than could be adduced for them. Such were a portion of To** 222 NOTES. bit's fish, and of Sampson's honey-comb, with other such things, which, he says, would lessen the credit of the Ark, where, according to the Bishop of Oviedo, D. Pelayo, and Sebastian, Bishop of Salamanca, they were deposited. Of these precious relics he says nothing in his history, neither does he mention a piece of Moses's rod, a large piece of St Bartholomew's skin, and the sole of St Peter's shoe, all which he enumerates in his Jour- nal, implying rather than expressing his doubts of their authenticity. As a scrupulous and faithful antiquary, Morales was accustomed to require evidence, and to in- vestigate it ; and for these he could find no other testi- mony than tradition and antiquity, which, as presumptive proofs, were strong corroborants of faith, but did not suffice of themselves. The holy Ark has all the evidence which he required, and the reverence with which he re- garded it, is curiously expressed in his Journal. " I have now," he says, " described the material part of the Ca- mara Santa. The spiritual and devout character which it derives from the sacred treasures which it contains, and the feeling which is experienced upon entering it, cannot be described without giving infinite thanks to our Lord, that he has been pleased to suffer a wretch like me to enjoy it. - 1 write this in the church before the grating, and God knows I am as it were beside myself NOTES. 223 with fear and reverence, and I can only beseech God to give me strength to proceed with that for which I have no power myself." — T. 10. Viage, p. 91. Morales, like Origen, had given in his youth a decisive proof of the sincerity of his religious feelings, and it some- times seems as if he had emasculated his mind as well as his body. But with all this abject superstition, he was a thoroughly pious and good man. His life is deeply inte- resting, and his writings, besides their great historical and antiquarian value, derive additional interest from the pic- ture of the author's mind which they so frequently dis- play. The portrait prefixed to the last edition of his works is singularly characteristic. The proud array, —Which Leuvigildfor after kings Left, ostentatious of his power ? — XVIII. p. 57, * Postremum helium Suevis intulit, regnumque eorum in jura gentis sua mira celeritate transmhit. Hispania magna ex parte potitus, nam antea gens Gothorum an- gustis finibus arctabatur. — Fiscum quoque primus iste locupletavit, primusque ararium de rapinis civium, hos- tiumque manubiis auxit. Primusque etiam inter suos re- gali veste opertus in solio resedit. Nam ante eum et ha- 224 NOTES. bitus et consessus communis, ut populo, ita et regibus crat" — S.Isidor. Hist. Goth. — Espana Sagrada, 6. 498-9. - e. The Sueve.—XVllI. p. 58. As late as the age of the Philips, the Portugueze wei called Sevosos by the Castillians, as an opprobrious name Brito says, It was the old word Suevos continued and corrupted, and used contemptuously, because its origin was forgotten.— Monorchia Lusitana, 2. 6. 4. When the Suevi and Alani over-ran Spain they laid siege to Lisbon, and the Saints Maxima, Julia, and Ve- rissimus (a most undoubted personage) being Lisbonians, were applied to by their town's people to deliver them. Accordingly, a sickness broke out in the besiegers' camp, and they agreed to depart upon payment of a sum of mo- ney. Bernardo de Brito complains that Blondus and Sa- bellicus, in their account of this transaction, have been so careless as to mention the money, and omit the invo- cation of the Saints.— M. Lus. 2. 5. 23. Lord of Hosts, %c— XVIII. p. 61. The substance of these prayers will be found in the forms of coronation observed by the Anglo-Saxons, and in the early ages of the French monarchy. I am indebt- ed for them to Turner's most valuable History of the NOTES. 225 Anglo-Saxons, and to Mr Lingard's Antiquities of the Anglo-Saxon Church, a work not more full of erudition than it is of Catholic sophistry and misrepresentation. Roderick brought The buckler.— XVIII. p. 63. Toman, diziendo aquesio, un ancho escudo El Duque y Conde y hombres principals, De pies encima el Principe membrudo Lo levantan assi del suelo iguales : Y alcarlo en peso, quanto alcar se pudo De alcarlo por su Rey fueron senates, Real, Real, Real, diziendo todos, Segun costumbre antigua de los Godos. Ch, de Messa. Restauracion de Espana, L. 4. fF. 54. Rejoice, O Leon,for thy banner is displayed. — XVIII. p. 64. " La primera ciudad que gano dizenfue Leon, y desde ulli se llamo Rey de Leon, y tomo por armas un Leon roxo en campo bianco, dexando las antiguas armas de los Godos, que eran un Leon bermejo rapante, en campo azul, buelta la cara atras, sobre tres ondas blancasy azules."—* Fran, de Pisa. Desc. de Toledo, L. 3. C. 2. K2 NOTES. Fue la del quinto globo roxa estrella rayo de su valor, voz de sufama, y Leon de su escudo y luzimiento, heredado Mason, Signo sangriento: Coxo de las Musas, p. 102. tl Les anciennes armes estoient parlantes, comnte Von void en celles des Comtes de Castille, et des Rois de Leon, qui prindrent des Chateaux et des Lions, pour signifier les noms vulgaires des Provinces, par le blason de leurt armes; qui ne se reportent pas a I'ancienne denomina- tion de Castulo et de Legio, ches Pline." — Pierre de Mar- ca. Hist, de Beam, L. 1. C. 12. § 11. *' The Lion's grinders are, relevees de trois point es un peu creusees dans leur centre, dans lesquelles les specula-' tifs croyent voir la figure d'une fieur de lys. Je n'ay garde de dire le contraire," says P. Labat, " il est permis a bien des gens de voir dans les nues et dans les charbons ardens tout ce qxCil plait d, leur imagination de s'y re- presenter ; pourquoy ne sera-t-il pas libre de voir sur les dents du Lion la figure des Jleurs de lys ? Je doutt que les JSspagnols en conviennent, eux qui prennent le Lion pour les armes et le syrnbole de leur monarchie ; car on pourroit leur dire que e'est une marque que sans lest- cours de la France, leur Lion ne seroit pas fort a crain- dre" — Afrique Occidentale, T. 2. p. 14. NOTES. 227 And Tagus bends his sickle round the scene Of Roderick's fall.— -XVIII. p. 65. There is a place at Toledo called la Alcurnia. " E nombre de Alcurnia es Arabigo, que es dezir cosa de cu- erno, oe n forma de cuerno, lo que Christianos llama-van foz, o hoz de Tago. Llamase assi porque desde que este rio passu por debaxo de la puente de Alcantara, va haziendo una buelta y torcedura, que en una escritura antigua se llama hoz de Tajo. Lo mesmo acontecio a Arlanca cerca de Lara, de donde se llamo la hoz de Lara, como lo nota Ambrosio de Morales ; y en el Reyno de Toledo ay la hoz de Jucar." — Francisco de Pisa. Desc. de Toledo, L. 1. C. 14. Amid our deserts we hunt dozen the birds Of heaven, . . wings do not save them / — XX. p. 88. The Moors have i a peculiar manner of hunting the partridge. In the plains of Akkermute and Jibbel Hid- ded in Shedma, they take various kinds of dogs with them, from the greyhound to the shepherd's dog, and following the birds on horseback, and allowing them no time to rest, they soon fatigue them, when they are taken by the dogs. But as the Mooselmin eats nothing but what has had its throat cut, he takes out his knife, and 228 NOTES. exclaiming Bismillah, in the name of God, cuts the throat of the game.— Jackson's Marocco, p. 121. A hasty grave, scarce hidden therefrom dogs And ravens, nor from wintry rains secure. — XXII. p. 1 1 1. In composing these lines I remembered a far more beautiful passage in one of the Eclogues of the Jesuit Bussieres ; — Artesius ruit eccefurens,fnesquepropinquos Insultansy stragem agricolis fugientibus infert, Quidfacerem ? matrem, ut potui, tenerumque puellum Raptabam 9 et mediis abdebam corpora silvis. Aspera jam frigebat hyems,frondosaque quercus Pro tecto et latebris ramos pradebat opacos ; Algentem fovi matrem ; fovet ilia rigentem Infantem gremio. Sub prima crepuscula lucis Progredior, tectum miseris si forte pater et ; Silvamfusus eques telis infensus habebat ; Bonafugio, et capio compendia tuta viarum. Conditur atra dies ; calo nox horrida surgit. Quam longis mihi nox misero producitur horis ! Quos gemitus fletusque dedi : quam proxima votum Lux fuit ! lieu tristi lux infensissima elude ! Currebam ad notam quercum per devia tesqua, NOTES. 229 Dux amor est. Annum video, puerumque jacentem Affixum uberibus, dura succumbere morti. Ipsa parens, postquam ad vocem conversa vocantis In me amplexantem morientia luminafixit, Eluctantem animam glaciato e corpore mittit, Obrigui, Jrigusque novum penetravit in ossa : Felixy si simili potuissem occumbere letho ; Sors infesta vetat. Restabat cura sepulchri Quo foderem ferrum deerat ; miserabile corpus Frondibus obtexi, puerum nee ab ubere vulsi Sicut eratfoliis tegitur; funusque paratur, Heu nimis incertum, et primis violabile ventis. -> their white signal-Jiag, — XXIII. p. 122. A white flag, called El Alcm, the signal, is hoisted every day at twelve o'clock, to warn the people out of hearing, or at a great distance, to prepare, by the neces- sary preliminary ablutions, to prostrate themselves be- fore God at the service of prayer. — Jackson's Marocco, p. 149. The Hum?na , s happy wings have shadowed him. XIII. p. 123. The humma is a fabulous bird : The head over which 230 NOTES. its shadow once passes will assuredly be encircled with a crown. — Wilkes, S. of India, v. i. p. 423. Life hath not left his body.—XXUI. p. 128. Among the Prerogatives et Proprietes fiinguliires du Prophete, Gagnier states that, ** II eat vivant dans son Tombeau. II fait la priere dans ce Tombeau a chaque fois que le Crieur en fait la proclamation, et au mime terns qu'on la recite. II y a un Ange poste sur son Tom- beau qui a le soin de lui donner avis des Prieres que lei FidUesfont pour lui."— Vie de Mahomet, L. 7. C. 18. The common notion, that the Impostor's tomb is sus- pended by means of a loadstone, is well known. Labat, in his Afrique Occidental (T. 3. p. 143,) mentions the lie of a Marabout, who, on his return from a pilgrimage to Mecca and Medina, affirmed, " que le tombeau de Ma- homet etoit porte en Pair par le moyen de certains Anges qui se relayent d'heure en heures pour soulenir ce far- deau." These fables, however, are modest in comparison with those which the Franciscans have invented to mag- nify theirfounder. Hast thou not heard How when our clay is leaven* d first with life, The ministering Angel brings it from the spot NOTES. 231 Whereon 'tis written in the eternal book. That soul and body must their parting take, And earth to earth return t — XXIII. p. 129. The Persians in their creed have a pleasant imagina- tion concerning the death of men. They say, that every one must come and die in the place where the Angel took the earth of which he hath been made, thinking that one of these spirits has the care of forming the hu- man creature, which he doth by mingling a little earth with the seed. — ThevenoL They perish, all their thousands perish there. XXIII. p. 34. The battle of Covadonga is one of the great mira- cles of Spanish history. It was asserted for many cen- turies without contradiction, and is still believed by the people, that when the Moors attacked Pelayo in the cave, their weapons were turned back upon themselves ; that the Virgin Mary appeared in the clouds, and that part of a mountain fell upon the Infidels, and crushed those who were flying from the destruction. In what manner that destruction might have been effected, was exemplified upon a smaller scale in the Tyrol in the memorable war of 1809. Barrett sums up the story briefly, and in the true strain of Mine Ancient, 232 NOTES. The Sarr'cen hearing that th' Asturianites Had king created, and stood on their guard, Sends multitudes of Mahometized knights To rouse them out their rocks, and force their ward. Paligius, hearing of this enterprize, Prepares his petty power on Auseve mount ; Alchameh comes with Zarzen multiplies, Meaning Pelagius* forces to dismount. To blows they come : but lo ! a stroke divine. The Iber, few, beats numbrous Sarracene, Two myriads with Mahome went to dine In Parca's park. The Bread of Life.— XXIV. p. 144. It is now admitted by the best informed of the Romisk writers themselves, that, for a thousand years, no other but common or leavened bread was used in the Eucharist. The wafer was introduced about the eleventh century. And as far down as the twelfth century the people were admitted to communicate in both kinds. And let no shame be offer' d his remains — XXV. p. 151. According to the Comendador Fernan Nunez, in his Commentary upon the Trezientas, the tomb of Count Julian was shown in his days about four leagues from NOTES. 233 Huesca at a castle called Loarri, on the outside of a church which was in the castle. His wonted leathern gipion.~XX.V. p. 154. The Musical Pilgrim in Purchas thus describes the Leonese: — Wymmen in that land use no vullen, But alle in lether be the wounden : And her hevedez wonderly ben trust, Standing in her forheved as a crest, In rould clouthez lappet alle be forn Like to the prikke of a N'unicorn. And men have doubelettez full schert, Bare legget and light to stert.— P. 1231. Purchas supposes this very curious poem to have been written about 200 years before he published it, i. e. about 1425. It is probably much older. In entering Castille from Elvas, the author says. Now into Castell schall we faire Over the river, the land is bare. Full of heath and hunger also, And Sarasynez Governouriz thereto* 234? NOTES. Now Badajoz and that part of the country was finally recovered from the Moors in the early part of the thir- teenth century. Purchas perhaps judged from the age of the manuscript, which may have been written about the time on which he fixes, and the language modernised by the transcriber. The light which o'er the fields of Bethlehem shone, Irradiated whole Spuin. — XXV. p. 157. " Fallamos en las estorias que aquella ora que nuestro Senor Jesu Christo nascio, seyendo media noche, aparescio una nave sobre Espana que dio tan gran claridad, e tan gran resplandor, e tan gran color > como el sol en medio del dia quando va mas apoderado sobre la tierra. E de- parten los sabios e dizen que se enliende por aquella que despues de Jesu Christo vernie su mandadero a Espana a predicar a los gentiles la ceguedad en que eslavan, e que los alumbrarie con la fee de Jesu Chrysto, e aquesto fue San Pablo. Otros departen que en Espana avie de nas- cer un principe chrystiano que serie senor de todo el mundo, e valdrie mas por el todo el linaje de los omes, lien como esclarescxo toda la tierra por la claridad de aquella nuve en quanto ella duro." — Coronica General. £71. A more extraordinary example of the divine favour to- NOTES. 235 wards Spain is triumphantly brought forward by Francis- co de Pisa. " Our Lord God," says he, " has been plea- sed to preserve these kingdoms in the purity of the Faith, like a terrestrial Paradise, by means of the Cherubim of the Holy Office, which with its sword of fire has defend- ed the entrance, through the merits and patronage of the serenest Virgin Mary the Mother of God." " Ha sido servido nuestro Senor Dios conservar estos reynos de JBs- pana en la enter eza de la Fe, como a un Parayso terre- naif mediante el Cherubin del Santo Officio, que con su espada defuego les ha defendido la entrada por los meri- tos y patrocinio de la serenissima Virgen Maria Madre de Dios."— Desc. de Toledo, L. l. C. 25. This passage is truly and lamentably characteristic. The Oaken Cross.— XXV. p. 161. The oaken cross, which Pelayo bore in battle, is said to have been preserved at Oviedo in the Camara Santa, in company with that which the Angels made for Alfon- so the Great, concerning which Morales delivers a care- ful opinion, how much of it was made by the Angels, and how much has been human workmanship. The people of Cangas, not willing that Pelayo's cross should be in any thing inferior to his successor's, insist that it fell from 236 NOTES. Heaven. Morales, however, says, it is more certain that the king had it made to go out with it to battle at Cova : donga. It was covered with gold and enamel in the year 908 ; when Morales wrote, it was in fine preservation, and doubtless so continued till the present generation. Upon the top branch of the cross there was this inscrip- tion : " Susceptum placide maneat hoc in honore, Dei quod offerunt famuli Christi Adefonsus Princeps et See- mena Regina. On the right arm, Quisquis auferre hac donaria nostra presumpserit ,/ulmine divino intereat ipse. On the left, Hoc opus perfectum est, concessum est Sane- to Sahatori Ovetensis Sedis. Hoc signo tuetur pius, hoc signo vincitur inimicus. On the foot, Et operatum est in Castello Gauzon anno Regni nostri XVII discur rente Era DCCCCXLVI. " There is no other testimony," says Morales, " that this is the cross of King Don Pelayo, than tradition handed down from one age to another. I wish the king had stated that it was so in his inscription, and I even think he would not have been silent upon this point, un- less he had wished to imitate Alonso el Casto, who, in like manner, says nothing concerning the Angels upon his cross." This passage is very characteristic of good old Ambrosio. NOTES. 237 Like a mirror sparkling to the sun. — XXV. 136; The Damascus blades are so highly polished, that when any one wants to arrange his turban, he uses his scyme- tar for a looking-glass. — Le ]$rocquiere t p. 138. Who from their thirsty sands. Pray that the locusts on the peopled plain May settle and prepare their way. — XXV. p. 172. The Sahara wans, or Arabs of the Desert, rejoice to see the clouds of locusts proceeding towards the north, anti- cipating therefrom a general mortality, which they call elkhere 9 the good, or the benediction ; for, after depopu- lating the rich plains of Barbary, it affords to them an opportunity of emanating from their arid recesses in the desert, to pitch their tents in the desolated plains, or along the banks of some river. — Jackson's Morocco, p. 106. Oh who could tell what deeds were wrought that day, Or who endure to hear ! — XXV. p. 171. I have nowhere seen a more curious description of a battle between Christians and Saracens than in Barret's manuscript : — 238 NOTES. The forlorn Christian troops Moon'd troops encharge, The Mooned troops requite them with the like ; Whilst Grecian lance cracks (thundering) Parthian targe, Parth's flame-flash arrow Grecian through doth prick : And whilst that Median scymetar unlimbs The Christian knight, doth Christian curtle-axe Unhead the Median horsemen ; whilst here dims The Pagan's goggling-eyes by Greekish axe The Greek unhorsed lies by Persian push, And both all rageful grapple on the ground. - And whilst the Saracen with furious rush The Syrian shocks, the Syrian as round Down shouldreth Saracen : whilst Babel blade Sends soul Byzantine to the starred cell, Byzantine pike with like-employed trade, Packs Babel's spirit posting down to hell. But where was he whose hand Had wielded it so well that glorious day ? — XXV. p. 174. The account which the Fabulous Chronicle gives of Roderick after his disappearance, is in so singular a Strain of fiction that I have been tempted to translate it. It strikingly exemplifies the doctrine of penance, of which monastic history supplies many instances almost as ex- traordinary as this fable. NOTES. 239 Chap. 238. — How the King Don Rodrigo left the battle and arrived at a hermitage, and of that which befell him. '* Now when the King Don Rodrigo had escaped from the battle, he began to go as fast as he could upon his horse along the banks of the Guadalete, and night came on, and the horse began to fail by reason of the many wounds which he had received ; and as he went thus by the river side deploring the great ruin which had come upon him, he knew not where he was, and the horse got into a quagmire, and when he was in he could not get out. And when the king saw this he alighted, and stript off all his rich arms and the furniture thereof, and took off his crown from his head, and threw them all into the quagmire, saying, Of earth was I made, and even so are all my deeds like unto mud and mire. Therefore my pomp and vanity shall be buried in this mud till it has all returned again to earth, as I myself must do. And the vile end which I have deserved will beseem me well, seeing that I have been the principal cause of this great gruelty. And as he thus stript off all his rich apparel, he cast the shoes from his feet, and went his way, and wan- 240 NOTES. dered on towards Portugal ; and he travelled so far that night and the day following, that he came to a hermitage near the sea, where there was a good man who had dwelt there serving God for full forty years ; and now he was of great age, for he was well nigh a hundred years old. And he entered into the hermitage, and found a crucifix therein, being the image of our Lord Jesus Christ, even as he was crucified, and for the remembrance of Him, he bent both his knees to the ground, and claspt his hands, weeping and confessing his sins before God, for he ween- ed not that any man in the world saw or heard him. And he said thus, O true Lord, who by thy word hast made all the world from nothing which it was, and hast created all things, those which are visible to men, and those which are invisible, the heavenly as well as the earthly, and who didst incarnate thyself that thou mightest undergo thy passion and death, to save those who firmly put their trust in thee, giving up thy holy ghost from thy glorified body upon the tree of the true cross, — and who didst descend into Hell, and deliveredst thy fiends from thence, and didst regale them with the glory of Heaven : And afterward thy holy spirit came again into that most holy body, which thou wast pleased to take upon thee in this world ; and, manifesting thyself for the true God which thou wert, thou didst deign to abide in this dark NOTES. 24)1 world forty days with their nights, and then thou didst ascend into thy heavenly glory, and didst enlighten with the grace of the Holy Ghost thy beloved disciples. I be- seech thee, O Lord, that thou wouldst enlighten me a king in tribulation, wretched and full of many sins, and deserving all evils ; let not the soul which is thine, and which cost thee so dear, receive the evil and the desert of this abominable flesh ; and may it please thee, O Lord, after the downfall, destruction, perdition, and desolation, which I, a miserable king, have suffered in this world, that my disconsolate soul may not be forgotten by thee, and that all this misery may be in satisfaction for my er- rors. And I earnestly beseech thee, O Lord, that thy grace may breathe upon me, that in this world I may make satisfaction for my sins, so that at the Great Day of Judgment I may not be condemned to the torments of hell. " Having said these words, weeping as though he would burst, he remained there a long hour. And when the her- mit heard him say all this, he was greatly astonished, and he went unto him. And when the king saw him he was little pleased ; howbeit after he had talked with him, he would rather have found him there than have been re- stored again to the great honour which he had lost ; for VOL. II. L 242 NOTES. the Hermit comforted him in such wise in this his tribu- lation, that he was right well contented ; and he confess- ed unto him, and told him all that concerned him. And the Hermit said to him, King, thou shalt remain in thi hermitage, which is a remote place, and where thou may- est lead thy life as long as it shall please God. *And fo me, on the third day from hence, I shall pass away out of this world ; and thou shalt bury me, and thou shalt take my garments, and fulfil the time of a year in this hermitage. Take no thought as to provision for thy sup- port, for every Friday thou shalt have it after the same manner as I, and thou shalt so husband it, that it may suffice thee for the whole week : That flesh which hath been fostered in great delight shall suffer abstinence, lest it should grow proud ; and thou shalt endure hunger and cold and thirst in the love of our Lord, that he may have compassion upon thee. Thy station till the hour of sleep must always be upon that rock, where there is an oratory facing the east ; and thou shalt continue the service of God in such manner as God will direct thee to do. And take heed that thy soul fall not into temptation. And since thou hast spoken this day of penitence, to-morrow thou shalt communicate and receive the true body of our Lord Jesus Christ, who will be thy protection and sup- port against the enemy and the persecutor. And pi d ! NOTES. 2*3 thou thy firm trust in the sign of the Cross ; and thus shalt thou please thy Saviour. " Many other things the holy Hermit said, which made the King right joyful to hear them ; and there they conti- nued till it was the hour for sleep. And the holy Hermit shewed him his bed, and said, When I shall have left thy company, thou wilt follow the ways which I have followed, for which our Lord will have mercy upon thee, and will extend his hand over thee, that thou mayest persevere in good, and in his holy service. And then they laid down and slept till it was the hour of matins, when they should both arise. And the Hermit awoke him, for as the King had not slept for a long time, and was more- over full weary, he would not have awaked so soon, if the Hermit had not roused him ; and they said their hours. And when it was time the Hermit said mass, and the King heard it with great devotion, and communicated with great contrition, and remained in prayer for the space of two hours. And the hour for taking food came, and the Hermit took a loaf which was made of pan- nick and of rye, and gave half thereof to the King, and took for himself the other half: And they ate little of it, as men who could not eat more, the one by reason of age, and the other because he was not used to such fare. 244 NOTES. And thus they continued till the third day, when the holy Hermit departed this life." Ch. 239.-^- How the Hermit died, and the King found a writing in his hand. " On the third day, the pious Hermit expired at the same hour which he had said to the King, whereat the King was full sorrowful, as one who took great consola- tion in the lessons which he gave. And when he had thus deceased, the King by himself, with his hands, and with an oaken stick which was there, made his grave. And when he was about to bury him, he found a writing in his hand ; and he took it and opened it, and found that it contained these words. Ch. 240. — Of the rule of life which the Hermit left written for King Don Rodrigo. " O King, who through thy sins has lost the great ho- nour in which thou wert placed, take heed that thy soul also come not into the same judgment which hath fallen upon thy fleshr And receive into thy heart the instructions NOTES. 245 that I shall give thee now, and see that thou swerve not from them, nor abatest them a jot ; for if thou observest them not, or departest in ought from them, thou wilt bring damnation upon thy soul ; for all that thou shalt find in this writing is given thee for penance, and thou must learn with great contrition of repentance, and with humbleness of patience, to be content with that which God hath given thee to suffer in this world. And that thou mayest not be deceived in case any company should come unto thee, mark and observe this and pass it in thy life. Thou shalt arise two hours after midnight, and say thy matins within the hermitage. When the day breaks thou shalt go to the oratory, and kneeling upon the ground, say the whole hours by the breviary, and when thou hast finished them thou shalt say certain prayers of our Lord, which thou wilt find there. And when thou hast done this, contemplate then upon the great power of our Lord, and upon his mercy, and also upon the most holy passion which he suffered for mankind upon the cross, being himself very God, and maker of all things ; and how with great humility he chose to be incarnate in a poor virgin, and not to come as a king, but as a media- tor among the nations. And contemplate also upon the poor life which he always led in this world, to give us an example ; and that he will come at the day of judgment to 246 NOTES. judge the quick and the dead, and give to every one the meed which he hath deserved. Then shalt thou give sus- tenance to thy flesh of that bread of pannick and rye, which shall be brought to thee every Friday in the man- ner that I have said ; and of other food thou shalt not eat, although it should be given or sent thee; neither shalt thou change thy bread. And when thou hast eaten give thanks to God, because he has let thee come to re- pentance j and then thou shalt go to the oratory, and there give praise to the Virgin our Lady holy Mary, mo- ther of God, in such manner as shall come to thee in devotion. If when thou hast finished, heaviness should come upon thee, thou mayest sleep, and when thou shalt have rested as long as is reasonable, return thou to thy oratory, and there remain, making thy prayers always upon thy knees, and for nothing which may befall thee depart thou from thence, till thou hast made an end of thy prayers, whether it rain or snow, or if a tempest should blow. And forasmuch as the flesh could sustain so many mundane pleasures, so must it suffer also celes- tial abstinences ; two masses thou hast heard in this her- mitage, and in it it is God's will that thou shalt hear no more, for more would not be to his service. And if thou observest these things, God will have compassion upon thy deserts. And when the King had read this, he laid 1 NOTES, 247 it upon the altar, in a place where it would be well pre- served." Ch. 241.— How the Devil came in the form of a Hermit to deceive the King Don Rodrigo. " Now when the King had made a grave in which to bury the Hermit, the Devil was troubled at the good course which the King had taken, and he cast about for means how he might deceive him ; and he found none so certain as to come to him in the figure of a hermit, and keep company with him, to turn him aside from those doctrines which the Hermit had given him, that he might not fulfil his penitence. And the King being in great haste to bury the body, the Devil came to him with a long white beard, and a great hood over the eyes, and some paternosters hanging from his girdle, and support- ing himself upon a staff as though he were lame, and could not go. And when he came where the King was he humbled himself, and said unto him, Peace be with thee 1 And the King turned toward that side from which he came, and when he saw him of so great age, he thought that it was some holy man who knew of the death of the Hermit, and was. come to bury hira ; and he 248 NOTES. hnmbled himself, and went toward him to kiss his hand, and the Devil would not, saying, It is not fitting that a King should kiss the hand of a poor servant of God. And the King was astonished at hearing himself named, and believed that this must needs be a man of holy life, and that he spake by some revelation ; nevertheless he said, I am not a king, but a miserable sinner, for whom it had been better never to have been born, than that so much evil should have happened through me. And the false Hermit said to him, Think not that thou hast so much fault as thou imaginest in what has now been done, for even if thou hadst had no part in it, this de- struction would have fallen at this time. And since it was ordained that it should be so, the fault is not thine ; some fault thou hadst, but it was very little. And think not that I speak this of myself; for my words are those of a spirit made and created by the will of God, who speaks through me this and many other things, which hereafter thou shalt know, that thou mayest see how God has given me power that I should know all thy con- cerns, and counsel thee in what manner thou shouldst live. And albeit I have more need of rest than of la- bour, by reason of my age, which is far greater than my countenance shows, yet I have disposed myself to la- bour for the love of thee, to console thee in this thy per- NOTES. 249 secution, knowing that this good man was about to die. Of a truth you may believe that on this day month I was in Rome, being there in the church of St John de Lateran, out of which I had never gone for thirty years, till I came now to keep thee company according as I am commanded. Marvel not that a man of so great age and crippled as I am, should have been able to traverse so much land in so short time, for certes I tell thee that he who speaks in this form which thou seest, has given me strength to go through so great a journey ; and sans doubt I feel myself as strong now as on the day when I set forth. And the King said to him, Friend of God, I rejoice much in thy coming, for that in my misfortunes I shall be by thee consoled and instructed in that which must be done to fulfil my penitence; I rejoice also that this holy Hermit here shall receive burial from the hands of a man much more righteous than I. And the false Hermit said, think not, King, that it is for the service of God to give to any person a name not appertaining to him. And this I say because I well know the life of this per- son, what it was ; and as thou knowest nothing of celes- tials, thou thinkest that as the tongue speaketh, even such is the heart. But I tell thee the habit doth not make the monk, and it is from such persons as these that the saying arose which is common in the world, I L2 250 NOTES, would have justice, but not for my own house. This I say to thee, because he commanded thee to perform a penance such as never man did, the which is, that thou shouldst eat only once a day, and that of such bread that even the shepherds' dogs would not eat it ; and of this that thou shouldst not eat as much as thou couldst ; and appointed thee the term of a year that thou shouldst continue in this diet. Also he commanded thee that thou shouldst not hear mass during the time that thou abidest here, for that the two masses which thou hast heard should suffice ; look now if that doctrine be good, which bids a man forget the holy sacrament ! Certes I tell that only for that which he commanded thee to ob- serve, his soul is consigned to a place where I would not that thine should go for all the world, if it were in my power, with all its riches. Nevertheless, to be rid of the ill smell which he would give, it is fit that you should bury him, and while you do this I will go for food. And the King said, Friend of God, do not take this trouble, but remain still, and before noon there will come food, which will suffice for you and for me ; help me now to give burial to this good man, which will be much for the service of God, although he may have been a sinner. And the false Hermit answered, King, it would be less evil to roll him over these rocks into the sea ; but if not, let NOTES, 251 him lie thus upon the earth till the birds and the beasts devour his flesh. And the King marvelled at this : ne- vertheless though he believed that this false Hermit was a servant of God, he left not for that to bury the good Hermit who there lay without life, and he began by him- self to carry him to the grave which he had made. And as he was employed in burying him, he saw that the false Hermit went away over the mountains at a great rate not as one who was a cripple, but like a stout man and a young ; and he marvelled what this might mean. Ch. 242. — How King Don Rodrigo informed himself concerning the penance which he was to perform 9 from the writing which the Holy Hermit left him, " When the King had finished burying the good ser- vant of God, he went to the altar, and took the writing in his hand, and read it to inform himself well of it. And when he had read it, he saw that of a certainty all that was said therein was for the service of God, and was of good doctrine for his soul ; and he said, that, ac- cording to the greatness of his sins, it behoved that his penitence must be severe, if he wished to save his soul. And then he called to mind the life which St Mary Mag- 252 NOTES. dalene endured, for which God had mercy on her. And forthwith he went to his oratory, and began his prayers ; and he remained there till it was near noon; and he knew that he had nothing to eat, and awaited till it should be brought him. Ch. 243. — How the Devil brought meat to King Don Rodrigo that he should eat it ; and he would only eat of the Hermit's bread. " After it was mid-day the false Hermit came with a basket upon his shoulders, and went straight to where the King was, and he came sweating and weary. And the King had compassion on him, howbeit he said no- thing, neither did he leave his prayers. And the false Hermit said to him, King, make an end of thy prayers, for it is time to eat ; and here I bring food. And the King lifted up his eyes and looked toward him, and he saw that there came into the hermitage a shepherd with a wallet upon his back, and he thought this must be he who brought him that which he was to eat. And so in truth it was, that that shepherd brought every Friday four loaves of pannick and rye for the holy Hermit, upon which he lived during the week. And as this shepherd NOTES. 253 knew not that the good man was dead, he did no more than put his bread upon the altar, and go his way. And the King, when he had ceased praying, rose up from the oratory, and went to the false Hermit. And he found the four loaves, and he took one, and brake it in the mid- dle, and laid by the rest carefully, and he went out of the hermitage into the portal, where there was a table full small, and he laid a cloth upon it, and the bread which he was to eat, and the water ; and he began to bless the table, and then seated himself. And the false Hermit noted well how he blest the table, and arose from where he was, and went to the King, and said, King, take of this poor fare which I have brought, and which has been given me in alms. And he took out two loaves which were full white, and a roasted partridge, and a fowl, of which the legs were wanting ; and he placed it upon the table. And when the King saw it, his eyes were filled with tears, for he could not but call to mind his great honour in former times, and how it was now fallen, and that his table had never before been served like this. And he said, addressing himself to the Lord, Praised be thy name, thou who canst make the high low, and the low nothing. And he turned to his bread and did eat there- of. And though he had great hunger, yet could he scarce- ly eat thereof, for he had never used it till in that her- 254; NOTES. mitage, and now it seemed worse by reason of the white bread which that false Hermit had brought. And the false Hermit, who saw that he gave no regard nei- ther to the bread, nor the meat which he had brought, said to the King, Why eatest thou not of this which God has sent thee ? And the King said, I came not to this hermitage to serve God, but to do penance for my sins, that my soul may not be lost. And the penance which is given me in this life, I must observe for a year, and not depart from it, lest it should prove to my great hurt. And the false Hermit said, How, King, hath it been given thee for penance, that thou shouldst let thy- self die for despair ? The Gospel commands not so ; con- trariwise it forbids man to do any such penance through which the body might be brought to death ; for if in kill- ing another, he who causes the death is held for a murder- er, much more is he who killeth himself; and such thou wouldst be. And now through despair thou wouldst let thyself die of hunger, that thou mightest no longer live in this world, wherefore I say eat of this food that I have brought thee some little, that thou mayest not die. And with that he began to eat right heartily. And the King, when he beheld him, was seized with affection to do the like, howbeit he was withheld, and would eat nothing thereof. And as it was time when he would drink of the NOTES. 255 water, the false Hermit said to him, that he should drink of the wine ; and the King would only taste of that wa- ter ; and as he went to take of it, the false Hermit strug- gled with him, but he could not prevail, and the King did according to his rule, and departed not from it. And when he had eaten, he began to give thanks to God. And the false Hermit, who saw that he would have to cross himself at arising from the table, rose up before him, as one who was about to do something ; and the King heeded it not. And when he had thus eaten, he went to the oratory, and began to give praises to the Vir- gin Mary, according as the good man had commanded him ; when that traitor went to him and said, Certes this doctrine which thou holdest is no way to serve God, for sans doubt when the stomach is heated with food, the will shall have no power to pray as it ought : and although the tongue may say the prayers, the heart con- firms them not, being hindered by the force which na- ture derives from the food. Therefore I say to thee that thou oughtest to sleep first ; for whilst thou art sleeping the food will settle, and the will will then be more able for contemplation. Moreover, God is not pleased with prayers without contrition, as with one who speaketh of one thing, and hath his heart placed on another, so that he can give no faith to the words which he beginneth. 256 NOTES. If thou wouldest be saved, King, it behoves thee to listen to me ; and if thou wilt not believe me, I will de- part and leave thee, as one who will take no counsel, except from himself. And the King replied, If I should see that thou confirmedst the good manner of life where- of my soul hath need, according as it was appointed by the good man whom I have buried, then would I follow thy way. But I see that thy life is not that of a man of abstinence, nor of one who forsakes worldly enjoyments for the love of God ; rather it seemeth by what I see in thee that thy life is a strengthening of worldly glory ; for thou satisfiest thy flesh with good viands as I was wont to do, when I was puffed up with the vanities of the world. Wherefore I will in no wise follow thy way, for I see that thou art a worldly man, who deceivest God and the world ; and when it comes to the end thou thyself wilt be deceived. Ch. 244. — Of what the Devil said to King Don Rodri- go to dispart him from his penance. " The false Hermit said to him, For what reason art thou certain that the rule which this deceiver whom thou hast buried appointed for thee, will be salvation for thy NOTES. 257 soul, and that what I say to thee is not of a truth ? Thou understandest me not well : I never forbade thee that thou shouldst hear mass, as he has done; for this is one of the good things that man may every day see his Saviour and adore him. And seeing that he forbade thee to do this, thou may est be certain thnt as he deceived his own soul, he would deceive thine also. For at the hour when man passeth away out of the world, he would fain that that same hour should be the end of all the world ; and thus that enemy did, for where he went, thither he would draw thee also. Now since God hath given thee sense and reason, thou mayst clearly understand that his counsel and doctrine are deceitful, and what thou ought" est to do. Ch. 245. — Of the Reply which the King made tQ the Devil. " Sans doubt, said the King, he forbade me not that I should hear mass ; but because he commanded me that I should fulfil my penance here for the term of a year, as he knew the hour of his own death, so also he knew that no other person who could say mass would come to this hermitage within the year ; and therefore he said to 258 NOTES. me, that in this hermitage I should not hear mass, but he never forbade me from hearing it. Ch. 246.— Of the Reasoning which the false Hermit made to King Don Rodrigo. w The false Hermit said, Now thou thyself manifestest that he was not so worthy as a man ought to be who knows that which is to come. For according to thy words, he knew not that I should come here, who can say mass if I please ; and if there be good judgment in thee, thou wilt understand that I must needs be nearer to God, be- cause I know all which he had commanded thee to do, and also how he was to die. And I can know better in what place he is, than he who has commanded thee to observe this rule, knew concerning himself while he was here. But this I tell thee, that as I came to teach thee the way in which thou shouldst live, and thou wilt not follow my directions, I will return as I came. And now I marvel not at any thing which has befallen thee, for thou hast a right stubborn heart ; hard and painful wilt thou find the way of thy salvation, and in vain wilt thou do all this, for it is a thing which profiteth nothing. NOTES. 259 Ch. 247 '"—Of the Reply which King Don Rodrigo made to the false Hermit. " Good man, said the King, all that thou shalt com- mand me to do beyond the rule which the holy Hermit appointed me, that will I do ; that in which my penance may be more severe, willingly will I do it. But in other manner I will not take thy counsel ; and as thou hast talked enough of this, leave me therefore to my prayers. And then the King bent his knees, and began to go on with his rule. And the false Hermit when he saw this, departed, and returned not again for a month ; and all that time the King maintained his penance, in the man- ner which had been appointed him. And by reason that he ate only of that black bread, and drank only water, his flesh fell away, and he became such that there was not a man in the world who would have known him. Thus he remained in the hermitage, thinking of no other thing than to implore the mercy of God that he would pardon him. 260 NOTES. Ch. 248. — Of what the false Hermit said to King Don Rodrigo to dispart him from his Rule. " King Don Rodrigo living thus, one day, between midnight and dawn, the false Hermit came to the hermit- age ; and not in the same figure as before, but appear- ing more youthful, so that he would not be known. And he called at the doer, and the King looked who it might be, and saw that he was habited like a servant of God, and he opened the door forthwith. And they saluted each other. And when they saw each other, the false Hermit greeted the King, and demanded of him where the father was ; and the King answered, that for more than a month there had been no person dwelling there save himself. And the false Hermit, when he heard this, made semblance as if he were afflicted with exceeding grief, and said, How came this to be, for it is not yet six weeks since I came here and confessed my sins to the father who abode here, and then departed from this hermitage to my own, which is a league from hence? And King Don Rodrigo said, Friend, know that this her- mit is now in Paradise, as I believe, and I buried him with my own hands : and he shewed him the place where he lay. And when he went there he began to kiss the NOTES, 261 earth of the grave, and to make great dole and lamenta- tion over him. And when some half hour had past, he withdrew, making semblance as if he wished to say his hours. And before the King had finished to say his, he came to him, and said, Good man, will you say mass ? And the King answered, that he never said it. Then, said the false Hermit, Hear me then in peni- tence, for I would confess. And the King seeing that it was for the service of God to hear him in peni- tence, they seated themselves both at the foot of the al- tar. And when the false Hermit spake, it appeared that he had no sin to confess : for he began to relate many great services which he had done to God, as well in the life which he led as in other things. And before the King could absolve him he rose up, and asked if things were ready for the mass. And the King said that he knew not, and bade him look. It was now time that he should go to his oratory. And the false Hermit asked him that he should assist him in saying mass, and then he should hear it. And the King said, that for nothing in the world would he leave to fulfil his pe- nance, according as it had been appointed him : and he went to his oratory. And the false Hermit made as if he put on the vestments and all the ornaments, and began to say mass, to the end that he might de- 262 NOTES. ceive the King, and make him cease to observe his pe- nance, and come to adore the mass. And he made a watery cloud arise, so that it rained heavily where the King was. And when he saw that he could in no ways entice him, then he went to him, and said, Good man, for that you may be placed out of danger in cases which at all times will happen, seeing that you are alone, I have consecrated the body of Jesus Christ, that you may adore it every day, since you may not hear mass ; and thus may you fulfil your penance as a faithful Christian. And with that he dispeeded himself, saying, In the coffer upon the altar you will find the Corpus Christi : when you rise from hence go and adore it. When he had said this, he went his way. And the King believed that what he said was true, and held that he was a good man, and of holy life." Ch. 249.*— How the Holy Ghost visited King Don Rodrigo. " Now when the King had ended his prayers, which he used to say every day before he took his food, he saw a good man come towards him, clad in white garments, and with a fresh countenance and a cheerful, and a cross NOTES. 263 upon his breast. And as he arrived where the King was, he blest him ; and when the King saw him, he perceived that it was a revelation of God ; and he joined his hands, and placed himself on his knees upon the ground, weep- ing plentifully. And the holy man said, King, who art desirous of heavenly glory, continue the service which thou art performing for the love of my holy name ; and take heed lest the enemy overcome thee, as he who many times hath overcome thee, whereby thou hast come to what thou now art. And believe none of all those who may come to thee here, for they come for no other cause but only to deceive thee, and withdraw thee from the service which thou dost me. And always observe the rule given thee by the holy man whom thou buriedst ; for I am content with it, and thy soul shall receive re- freshment if thou observest it. Come here, and I will show thee how the Devil thought to deceive thee, that thou mightest adore him. Then the King arose and went, alway upon his knees, following the Holy Spirit of God : and when he was within the hermitage, our Lord spake and said, Depart from hence, thou cursed one, and go thy way, for thou hast no power to deceive him who continues in my service. Get thee to the infernal pains which are suffered by those who are in the ninth tor- ment ! And at that hour the King plainly saw how from 264 NOTES. the ark, which was upon the altar, there went out a foul ant! filthy devil, with more than fifty tails and as many eyes, who, uttering great yells?, departed from the place. And the King was greatly dismayed at the manner in which the false Hermit had deceived him. And the Holy Spirit of God said to him, King, let thy hope be in my name, and I will alway be with thee, so thou wilt not let thyself be vanquished by the enemy. Then the Holy Spirit of God departed, and the King remained full joy- ful and greatly comforted, as if he had been in celestial glory. And thus he continned his life for nearly two months. Ch. 250. — How the Devil would have deceived King Don Rodrigo in the figure of Count Don Julian, " The King was in his oratory one Sunday toward night-fall, just as the sun was setting, when he saw a man coming toward him, clad in such guise as is fitting for one who follows arms. And as he looked at him, he saw that it was the Count Don Julian who approached ; and he saw that behind him there came a great power of armed people. And the false Count, when he drew nigh, made obeisance to him ; and the King was amazed at seeing 8 NOTES. 265 him, for he knew him well : nevertheless he remained still. And the false Count came to him, and would have kissed his hand, but the King would not give it, neither would he rise up from the oratory : and the false Count knelt upon the ground before him, and said, Sir, foras- much as I am he who sinned against thee like a man who is a traitor to his Lord, and as I did it with great wrath and fury, which possessed my heart through the strength of the Devil, our Lord God hath had compassion upon me, and would not that I should be utterly lost, nor that Spain should be destroyed, nor that thou, sir, shouldst be put down from thy great honour and state,' and the great lordship which thou hadst in Spain. And he has shewn me, in a revelation, how thou wert here in this hermitage doing this great penance for thy sins. Wherefore I say to thee, that thou shouldst do justice upon me, and take vengeance according to thy will, as upon one who de- serves it, for I acknowledge that thou wert my lord, and also the great treason into which I have fallen. Where- fore, sir, I pray and beseech thee by the one only God, that thou wilt take the power of Spain, which is there awaiting thee, and that thou wilt go forth to defend the faith of our Lord Jesus Christ, and suffer not that poor Spain should be utterly destroyed, seeing that thou canst defend it and protect it. And then Count Julian drew VOL. II. M 266 NOTE SL bis sword, and gave ft to the King, saying, Sir, take this my sword, and with thine own hand do justice upon me, and take such vengeance as thou pleasest ; for I will suf- fer it with much patience, seeing I have sinned against thee. And the King was greatly troubled at his sight, and at his words also, and knew not what he should do, neither what he should say. Howbeit, presentlv he call- ed to mind what the Holy Spirit of God had said to him, how he should take heed lest the Devil should subdue him ; and so he said nothing, but continued in his pray- er. And the false Count Don Julian said to him, Sir, wilt thou not turn for the Holy Faith of Jesus Christ, whieh is utterly going to destruction ? rise up and defend it, for I bring thee a full great power ; and thus thou wilt serve God and recover the honour which thou hadst lost. Rise then and go forth, and have pity upon miserable Spain, which is about to be lost : and have compassion also up- on so many people as are perishing for want of a Lord who should defend them. Now all these words were only meant to deceive him, for it was the Devil who had taken the form of Count Don Julian, and not the Count himself. But the king could no longer restrain himself from replying, and he said, Go you, Count, and defend the land with this force which you have assembled, even as you went to destroy it by the great treason which you NOTES. 267 committed against me and against God. And even as you brought the men, who are enemies of God and of his Holy Faith, and led them into Spain, so now thrust them out and defend it ; for I will neither slay you, nor assist you in it. Leave me to myself; I am no longer for the world, for here I will do penance for my sins. Urge me, therefore, no more with these reasons. And the false Count Don Julian rose, and went to the great company wnich ne had brought there, and brought them all before the King. And the King, when he beheld that great company of knights, saw some among them whom he sure- ly thought had been slain in battle. And they all said to him with loud voices, Sir, whom wilt thou send us, that we may take him for our King and lord to protect and de- fend us, seeing that thou wilt not defend the land, neither go with us ? Wouldst thou give us thy nephew the Infant Don Sancho ? He is dead. What then wouldst thou command us that we should do ? Look to it well, sir j it is no service of God that thou shouldst let perish so great a Christianity as is every day perishing, because thou art here dwelling in this solitude. Look to it, for God will require an account at thy hands : thou hadst the charge of defending them, and thou lettest them die. And tell us what course shall we take. And when the King heard these words he was moved to compassion : and the tears came into his eyes, so that he could not 268 NOTES. restrain them : and he was in such state that his thoughts failed him, and he was silent, and made no re- ply to any thing that they could say. And all these com- panies who saw him complained so much the more, and sent forth great cries, and made a great tumult and up- roar, and said, O miserable King, why wilt thou not rouse thyself for thy own sake, and for that of all thy people whom thou seest without a Lord ; and thou wilt not even speak a word to comfort them, and tell them what they shall do. And all this while the King did no- thing but weep, and answered them never a word. And when this vile race saw that they could not take him from thence, and that he answered them nothing, and that they could not overcome him by whatever they might do, they went forthwith from the mountain down into a plain, which was then made to appear before the King, and there they drew up their battles in such guise as the King Don Rodrigo was used to darrain them. And eft-soon he saw great multitudes of strange people, who came from the other side, and they began a battle so fierce and so cruel, that the King thought he had never seen one like it. And the one party put the other to the worst, and followed after them in pursuit. And then there came messengers to the King, telling him that his people had conquered, and had slain many of the enemy ; NOTES. 269 but the King was confounded, and as it were beside him- self, and heeded not, neither did he know what they said, and he answered nothing. And then they all went away, and seemed to the King that the one were pursuing the others, and this continued till the first crowing of the cock. And the King recovered his senses : howbeit he knew not whether it was a vision, or if it had indeed happened j but he called to mind that he had not com- pleated the prayers which he made every day ; and he began them again and finished them. And when he had finished, great part of the night was past,' and he laid himself down to sleep. And then for three months he had no other temptation." Ch. 251. — How the Devil, in the Figure of La Cava, the Daughter of Count Don Julian, sought to deceive King Don Rodrigo. " The King was saying his prayers at the hour of ves- pers on a Tuesday, when he saw people on horseback coming toward him : and as they were about the reach of a cross-bow from him, he saw that they alighted, and that there came toward him a woman, who was full no- bly clad ; and when she came near, he knew her that she 270 HOTE5. was La Cava, the daughter of Count Don Julian, and she seemed to him more beautiful than he had ever be- fore seen her in his life. And when she drew nigh she humbled herself, and said, Sir, what fortune has brought you to this wretched life in which you have so long con- tinued ? And the King held his peace and said nothing. And that false Cava said, Sir, it is a month since a holy man, clad in white garments, and having a red cross up- on his breast, appeared to me when I was with my father Count Don Julian in Toledo ; where he now holds the seat of the lordship of Spain, as he who, by force of arms, has subdued the Moors, and killed or made cap- tives of them all. At the hour when this holy man ap- peared to me I was alone in my chamber, having great sorrow in my heart, because I had no certain news where you was, and whether your soul continued to live in this world, or in another. And, moreover, I was full sorrow- ful, because of the death of my Lady the Queen Eliaca, your wife, who is now deceased. And for these things my heart was full sorrowful, and in great trouble with griefs and thoughts, which came to me I know not from whence, and I was like one bereft of his judgment. And while I was contemplating in this state, the holy man appeared to me in such wise as I have said, and said to me, Of what art thou taking thought ? Cease to la- NOTES. 2*11 ment, for without me thou canst do nothing certain of that which thou desirest. But that the dominion of Spain may not pass away from the power of the Goths, and that he who shall have it may descend from thy seed, and be of the generation of King Don Rodrigo, it is my will that thou shouldst know where he is, and that thou shouldst goto him, and that he should go in unto thee, and that thou shouldst conceive of him a son, and shalt call his name Felbersan, the which shall be such a one that he shall reduce under his forces all the earth which is below the firmament. Depart, therefore, from hence, and go to the place where he is, and make no tarriance ; for thus it behoveth for the service of God, and for the weal and protection and defence of the land. And I said to him, Sir, how can this be which you tell me, seeing that King Don Rodrigo is dead ; for his enemies slew him when they won the battle in which the great chi- valry of Spain perished. And he said to me. Cava, think not he is dead, for he liveth, and passeth his life alone in a hermitage; of the which thy father Count Don Julian will certify thee, for he went to seek him there, and found him there when he overcame the Moors. He will tell thee that he is alive, and in what place is the hermitage wherein he abideth. And I said to him, But if King Don Rodrigo passeth his life after this man- 272 N O T E JS. ner in the service of God, he will not approach me that I may conceive of him this son who should prove so good. And since it thus pleases you, give me a sign by which I may shew him that this is pleasing to God, and that he may do this which you say, seeing so great good is to follow from it. And, moreover, he will be brought to such weakness that he will not be able to obey, by rea- son of the great abstinence to which his body has been subjected during his continuance there. And the holy man said to me, Care not for this, for God will give him strength ; and thou shalt say to him for a sign that he may believe thee, how I told him that he should take heed lest the enemy deceive him, and how I bade the Devil depart from the altar where he was in the ark in- stead of the Corpus Christi, for that he should adore him. When thou tellest him this he will believe thee, and will understand that it is by the command of God. And when he had said these words he disappeared, so that I saw him no more ; and I remained for a full hour, being greatly comforted, because I knew of your life, so that it seemed to me there were no other glory in this world. And when I came to myself, I went incontinently to my father Count Don Julian, and told him all that had be- fallen me with the holy man who came in that holy vi- sion ; and I asked him if he knew aught concerning you. NOTES. 273 And he told me how he had gone to you with all his chivalry to bid you come out from thence to defend your country, which the enemies had taken from you, and that you would not ; but rather commended it to him that he should undertake it, and defend the land and govern it ; and that it grieved him to think that you would not be alive, because of the great abstinence which you imposed every day upon your flesh : nevertheless, since it pleases our Lord that I should have a son by you, who should be so good a man that he should recover all Spain, he would have me go to this place, where I should find you if you were alive ; and right content would he be that there should remain of you so great good. And I, sir King, seeing how it pleased God that this should be accom- plished, according as I have said, am come here in secret, for neither man nor woman knoweth of this, save my fa- ther Count Don Julian ; for I have told my people who came with me to remain yonder, because I would go and confess to a holy man who had made his abode here more than fifty years. Now, since God is the author of this, recover yourself, and remember the time when you told me that there was nothing in the world which you loved so much as me, nor which you desired so greatly as to obtain a promise of me ; the which I could not give at that hour, by reason that the Queen was living, and I M 2 274* NOTES. knew it to be great sin. And if I come to you now, it is by command of God, for it pleases him to send me here ; and, also, because the Queen is no longer in this present life. And because you are so fallen away of your strength, let us go into the hermitage, or I will order a tent to be placed here, and let us sup together, that your heart may revive and you may fulfil the command of God." Ch. 252. — How the Devil would have deceived King Don Rodrigo, if the Holy Spirit had not visited and protect' ed him. * As the King heard all this his whole body began to tremble, and his soul within him also ; and all sense and power past away from him, so that he was in a trance, and then it was revealed to hi in that he should take heed against that temptation. And the false Cava, who saw him thus entranced, made many burning torches of wax come there, by reason that it was cold, and because that the King should derive heat ; also there was a pavilion pitched there, and a table set within it with many viands thereon, and all the people who came with her were seen to lodge themselves far away upon the mountain. And NOTES. 275 when he had recovered himself, he saw that the false Cava was drest in a close-fitting kirtle, which came half way below the knee, and she seemed to him the fairest woman that he had ever seen in his life, and it appeared to the King that she said to him, Here, sir, come and take your supper. And the King began again to tremble and lose his judgment, and fell into such a state that he knew not where he was, and it was revealed to him in that hour that he should guard against the temptation. And when he came to himself he saw that the pavilion was spread over his head ; and seeing himself in that place, he looked for the oratory, and perceived that it was where it used to be ; and within the pavilion he saw the false Cava, who was there with him, and that she was standing beside a bed, which was a full rich one, and that she began to take off her kirtle, and remained in her shift only, and with her long hair, which reached to her feet ; and she said to him, See, sir, here in your power, that which you most desired, and which is now awaiting you. Rejoice, then, and take heart, and do that which God has appointed, which will recover Spain, and recompense the losses, and sorrows, and wrongs which you have en- dured. And then she turned toward the King, for the Devil thought thus to tempt him, and make him break the penance which he had begun j and certes I ween 276 NOTES. there was no living man who would not right gladly have approached her. And then before him, in his sight, she began to comb and to plait her golden locks. And the King, seeing how beautiful she was, began to tremble all over, as if he had been struck with palsy j and he lost his judgment again, and became entranced, and remained thus a long while before he came again to himself. And it was revealed to him again that he should take heed how the Devil tempted him, and that he should have firm hope in God, and not break the penance which the holy Hermit had appointed him. But ever when he re- covered from these trances, he forgot all which had been revealed to him while he was entranced ; and now he found that there was a large estrado placed by him, and that La Cava was lying there beside him on some pillows, which were richly wrought in gold, undrest, as he had seen her, and that she said to him, Come, sir, for you tarry long, and it will soon be day-break. And the King seeing her so near him, then he was greatly troubled, yet could he not withdraw his eyes from her: but he called to mind how the Holy Spirit of God had bade him that he should always confide in his name, and place his true hope in the sign of the Cross. And he claspt his hands, and lifted them towards Heaven, and weeping bitterly, and in great contrition, he said, Lord and very Jesus NOTES. 277 Christ, deliver me from all temptation, and preserve my soul, that it fall not into perdition. And while he was praying thus, he saw how there came from the hermitage a great brightness, and he said, Deliver me, Lord, from the power of the Devil, that I may not be deceived, nor withdrawn from thy holy service. And at that hour he made the sign of the cross upon his forehead, and blest himself; and at that hour the false Cava fell down the rock into the sea, with such a sound as if the whole world were falling to pieces, and with the plunge which she made the sea dashed up so high, that where the ora- tory was the King was wetted with the spray. And he remained in such astonishment that he could not for an hour recover himself. And when he came to himself he began to pray with great repentance, as if he had been on the point of falling into temptation. And the Holy Spirit of God came to him in that same manner in which he had seen it the former time. And he fell on his face upon the ground, and began to lament full bitterly, and to say, Lord, have mercy upon my soul, and forsake me not among mine enemies, who would withdraw me from thee. And the Holy Spirit said to him, O King, of little faith, how hast thou been on the point of perishing! And the King made no reply, for he did nothing but weep. And the Holy Spirit of God said to him, Take 278 NOTES. heed, King, lest the Devil deceive thee, and have power over thee, that thou shouldst not fulfil the penunce which thou hast commenced, neither save thy soul. And the King lifted up his countenance, and had great shame to behold him. Howbeit he took courage, and said, Lord, have mercy upon me, and let me not be tempted by the enemy, for my heart is weak, and hath no power to de- fend itself against the false one: for my judgment is clean confounded, as one who hath no virtue if he be not aided by thy grace. Deliver me, Lord, for thy holy mer- cy and compassion : my salvation cannot come through the strength of my heart, for it is wholly full of fear, like a thing which is overcome. And the Holy Spirit of God said to him, Take courage and fear not, foi thou shalt de- part from this place sooner than thou think est. And when it is time I will guide thee to the place where thou shalt do thy penance, that thy soul may receive salvation. When thou shalt see a little white cloud appear above thee, and that there is no other in the sky, follow after it : and in the place where it shall stop shalt thou f ulfil thy penance, according as the chief priest in that place shall appoint it thee. And take heart, and alway call to mind my holy name, and have true faith and constant hope in thy Sa- viour. And when he had said this he departed. And the King was greatly comforted and full of grace, as one NOTES. 279 with whom God was present in his mercy. And he abode in the hermitage a whole year, according to b.1'3 reckoning, and twelve days more. And one day, when it was full clear, the King looked up and saw above him the cloud of which the Holy Spirit of God had told him ; and when he saw it he was full joyful, and gave many thanks to God. Nevertheless the King did not rise from his prayers, neither did the cloud move from above him; And when he had finished his prayers he looked at the cloud, and saw that it moved forward. Ch. 253. — Hoto King Don Rodrigo departed from the Hermitage, and arrived where he was to do Penance, " The King arose from the oratory and followed the cloud ; and so great was the pleasure which he had, that he cared rot for food, neither remembered it, but went after that his holy guide. And at night he saw how the cloud, when the sun was about to set, turned to the right of the road toward the mountains ; and it went on so far, that befoi e night had closed it came to a hermitage, in which there was a good man for a Hermit, who was more than ninety years of age, and there it stopt. And the King perceived that he was to rest there, and the good man welcomed the King, and they spake together of 280 NOTES. many things. And the King was well contented with his speech, and saw that certes he was a servant of God. And all that day the King had not eaten, and he was barefoot, and his raiment tattered : and as he had not been used to travel a-foot, and with his feet bare, his feet were swoln with blisters. And when it was an hour af- ter night, the Hermit gave him a loaf, full small, which was made of rye, and there were ashes kneaded with it, and the king ate it ; and when he had eaten they said prayers. And when they had said their hours, they lay down t to sleep. And when it was midnight they arose and said their hours ; and when they had said them, the king went out of the hermitage, and saw that the cloud did not move : and then the King understood that he had to tarry here, or that he was to hear mass before he departed, and he asked the Hermit to hear his confession, and the Hermit confessed him. And when he had con- fessed, he said that he would communicate, and the good Hermit saw that it was good, and he put on his vestments and said mass ; and the King heard the mass, and recei- ved the very body of our Lord Jesus Christ. And when the King had done this, he went out to look at the cloud. And as he went out of the hermitage he saw that the cloud began to move, and then he dispeeded himself from the Hermit, and they embraced each other weeping, and 6 NOTES. 281 each entreated the other, that he would bear him in mind, and remember him in his prayers. And when the King had dispeeded himself, he followed after his holy guide, and the holy Hermit returned to his hermitage. And the King Don Rodrigo, notwithstanding his feet were swoln and full of blisters, and that in many places they were broken and bleeding, such and so great was the joy which he felt at going on in the course which he now held, that he endured it all as though he felt nothing. And he went, according as it seemed to him, full six leagues, and arri- ved at a convent of Black Monks, and there the cloud stopt, and would proceed no farther. And at that con- vent there was an Abbot who led an extraordinarily good and holy life ; and they were not there like other monks ; and he was a great friend of God and of our Lady the Virgin St Mary : and this Abbot took the King to his cell, and asked if he would eat as he was wont to do, or like the other monks ; and the King said, that he would do as he should direct him. And the Abbot ordered that a loaf should be brought of pannick and maize mixed to- gether, and a jar of water, and on the other side he had food placed such as the monks used ; and the King would eat only of the pannick bread, as he had been wont to do, and he drank of the water. And when he had eaten, the Abbot asked of him if he would remain that night or not, 282 KOTE s. and the King said that he knew not, but that he would go out and see whether he were to go or to remain. And the Abbot said that it was the hour of vespers, and that he ought to remain ; and the King went out and' saw that the cloud moved, and that it behoved him to go t and he dispeeded himself from the Abbot, and they commended themselves each to the other in his prayers. And the Abbot saw plainly how that cloud guided him, and how there was no other in the sky, and he marvelled greatly, and said, Certes this is some holy man, and he gave thanks to God. And the King went on that evening till he came to a church which was solitary and remote from peopled places : and there the cloud stopt, and he abode there that night. And the King went into the church, and found in it a lamp burning, and it rejoiced him much, for by the light of it he said his hours as well before he should sleep as after. And on the morrow when he hid made his prayer, he went out of the church and behejd the cloud, and saw that it moved ; and he went after it, and after two days' journey he came to a place which where it is, or what it is called, is not said, save that it is the place of his burial, for such it is. And there the cloud stopt and proceeded no farther; and it rested without the town over an ancient hermitage. And the elder of that place incontinently knew by the Holy Spirit how NOTES. 283 King Don Rodrigo was come there; but he knew not his name, neither who he was ; and he asked him if he meant to lead his life there, and he answered, that it was to be as God should please. And the Elder said to him, Friend, I am the Elder of this place, for all the others when they knew that King Don Rodrigo and his chivalry were slain and vanquished, fled from hence for fear of the Moors, and of the traitor Count Don Julian, and they all went to the mountains to escape. And I remained, putting my trust in our Lord God, and in his holy hands : for that I would rather abide that which may befall and take my adventure here, than utterly forsake our mother holy church ; while I am able I will remain here and not for- sake it, but rather receive my death. And therefore I say, that if you are to abide here you must provide your- self of that whereof you have need. And the King said, Priend of God, concerning my tarriance I cannot certify you ; though surely I think that I shall abide ; and if for the service of God you will be pleased to send me every day that I remain a loaf of pannick and water, I shall be contented theiewith. And the Elder promised this, and departed forthwith and went to his home, and sent him a loaf of pannick and water. And the cloud remained there three days over that hermitage, and when the three days were at an end, it was seen no more. And the King, 284: N"OTES. when he could no longer see it, understood that there he must perform his penanCe, and gave many thanks to God, and was full joyful thereat. And on the morrow the Elder came to see him, and they communed with each other in such manner, that the King confessed to him all the sins which he had committed during his whole life till that time, all which he called to mind with great contri- tion, weeping full bitterly and groaning for his errors and sins. And the Elder was greatly astonished, and said, That on the third day from thence he would appoint him his penance. And he went to his church and confessed, and addrest himself to prayer in such guise that he nei- ther ate nor drank, nor raised himself from one place, weeping bitterly, and beseeching God that he would shew him what penance he should appoint the King ; for after no other manner did he think to appoint it, than such as his holy mercy and compassion should direct. And on the third day he heard a voice which said thus, Command King Don Rodrigo that he go to a fountain which is below his hermitage, and he shall find there a smooth stone ; and bid him lift it up, and under it he shall find three little serpents, the one having two heads. And bid him take that which hath two heads, and carry it away, and place it in a jar, and nurse it secretly, so that no person in the world shall know thereof, save only NOTES. 285 he and thou ; and let him keep it till it wax so great that it hath made three turns within the jar, and puts its head out ; and when it is of that greatness, then let him take it out, and lay it in a tomb which is there, and lie down himself with it, naked ; and close the tomb well that the serpent may not be able to go out ; and in this manner God is pleased that King Don Rodrigo should do penance. Ch. 254. — Of the Penance which was appointed King Don Rodrigo. "The Elder when he heard the voice was greatly amazed at so rigorous a penance as this, and gave many thanks to God, and he went to King Don Rodrigo, and told him .the manner how he had heard the voice ; and the King was full joyful and content and pleased there- with, and gave many thanks to our Lord, for that he should now complete his penance and save his soul. And therewith in great joy, and shedding many tears for pleasure, he went to the fountain as he had been direct* ed, and found the smooth stone. And when he had lift- ed it up, he found the three serpents according as the Elder had said, and he took that which had two heads 3 286 NOTES. and he took it and put it in a great jar, such as would be a large wine vessel, and nurst it there till it was of such bigness as the voice had said. And when King Don Rodrigo saw that it was of this bigness he confessed to the Elder, weeping full bitterly, demanding favour of God that he would give him grace and strength with pa- tience to fulfil that penance without any temptation or trouble of soul ; to the end that, the penance being completed, it might please our Lord God to receive his soul into his glory. And before the fifth day after the serpent was thus big, the King and the Elder went to the tomb, and they cleansed it well within ; and the King placed himself in it naked as he was born, and the serpent with him, and the Elder with a great lever laid the stone upon the top. And the K ing besought the Elder that he would pray to our Lord to give him grace that he might patiently endure that pt nance, and the El- der promised him, and thus the Ki' g remained in his tomb, and the serpent with him. And the Elder con- soled him, saying to him many things to the end that he might not be dismayed, neither fall i to despair, where- by he should lose the service of God And all this was so secret that no man knew it, save only the King and the Elder. And when it was day-br- ak the Elder went to the church and said mass, with many tears and with N^>TES. 287 great devotion beseeching God that he would have mer- cy and compassion upon King Don Rodrigo, that with true devotion and repentance he might complete his pe- nance in this manner, which was for his service. And when he had said mass, he went to the place where King Don' Rodrigo lay, and asked him how he fared, and the King answered, Well, thanks to God, and better than he deserved, but that as yet he was just as wnen ne went in. And the Elder strengthened him as much as he could, telling him that he should call to mind how he had been a sinner, and that he should give thanks to our Lord God, for that he had visited him in this world, and delivered him from many temptations, and had him- selfappointed for him this penance ; the which he should suffer and take with patience, for soon he would be in heavenly glory. And the King said to him, that he well knew how according to his great sins he merited a stronger penance : but that he gave many thanks to our Lord Jesus, for that he himself had given him this pe- nance, which he did receive and take with great pa- tience; and he besought the Elder that he would conti- nue to pray our Lord God that he would let him fulfil it. And the Elder said to him many good things con- cerning our Lord God. And the King lay there three days, during all which time the serpent would not seize 288 NOTES. on him. And when the third day, after that he had gone into the tomb, was completed, the serpent rose from his side, and crept upon his belly and his breast, and be- gan with the one head to eat at his nature, and with the other straight toward his heart. And at this time the Elder came to the tomb, and asked him how he fared, and he said, Well, thanks to God, for now the serpent had begun to eat; And the Elder asked him at what place, and he answered at two, one right against the heart with which he had conceived all the ills that he had done, and the other at his nature, the which had been the cause of the great destruction of Spain. And the Elder said that God was with him, and exhorted him that he should be of good courage, for now all his persecutions both of the body and of the soul would have an end. And the King ceased not always to demand help of our Lord, and to entreat that of his holy mercy he would be pleased to forgive him. And the Elder went to his home, and would not seat himself to eat, but retired into his chamber, and weeping, prayed full devoutly to our Lord that he would give strength to the King that he might complete his penance. And the ser- pent, as he was dying for hunger, and moreover was large, had in one minute eaten the nature, and began to eat at the bowels ; nevertheless he did not eat so fast, NOTES. 289 but that the King endured in that torment from an hour before night till it was past the middle of the day. And when the serpent broke through the web of the heart, he staid there and ate no further. And incontinently the King gave up his spirit to our Lord, who by his holy mercy took him into his glory. And at that hour when he expired all the bells of the place rang of themselves, as if men had rung them. Then the elder knew that the King was dead, and that his soul was saved." Thomas Newton, in his " Notable History of the Sa- racens," seems to imagine that this story is allegorical. " Nowe," he says, " wheras it is reported, and written, that he folowed a starre or a messenger of God, which conducted and guided him in his way ; it may be so, and the same hath also happened to others ; but it may as well also be understoode of a certaine secrete starre mo- ving and directing his will. " And whereas they say he was put by that holy man into a cave or hole, and a serpent with him that had two heads, which in two days space gnawed all the flesh of his body from the bones ; this, beyng simplie taken and understanded, hath no likelihood of any truth. For what sanctity, what religion, or what pietie, command- eth to kyll a penitent person, and one that seeketh com* VOL. II. N 290 NOTES. fort of hys afflicted mind by amendment of life, with such horrible torments and straunge punishment ? Wherefore I woulde rather think it to be spoken mysticallye, and that the serpent with two heads signifieth his sinful and gylty conscience." A humble tomb was found. — XXV. p. 174. How Carestes found the grave of King Don Rodrigo at Viseo in Portugal. " I, Carestes, vassal of King Don Alfonso of Leon, son-in-law of the Knight of God, King Don Pelayo, when the said King Don Alfonso won Viseo from the Moors who held it, found a grave in a field, upon the which were written in Gothic letters, the words which you shall here read. This grave was in front of a little church, without the town of Viseo, and the superscrip- tion of the writing was thus :— Of the writing which was upon the grave of King Don Rodrigo. " Here lies King Don Rodrigo, the last of the Goths. Cursed be the wrath of the traitor Julian, for it was of NOTES. 291 long endurance, and cursed be his anger, for it was ob- durate and evil, for he was mad with rage, and stomach- ful with pride, and puffed up with folly, and void of loy- alty, and unmindful of the laws, and a despiser thereof; cruel in himself, a slayer of his Lord, a destroyer of his country, a traitor to his countrymen ; bitter is his name 5 and it is as grief and sorrow in the mouth of him who pronounces it ; and it shall always be cursed by all that speak of him." That veracious chronicler Carestes then concludes his true history in these words : And by this which I found written upon this grave, I am of mind that King Don Rodrigo lies there, and because of the life which he led in his penitence, according as ye have heard, which also was in the same tomb written in a book of parchment, I believe without doubt that it is true , and because of the great penance which he did, that God was pleased to make it known in such manner as it past, for those who hereafter shall have to rule and govern, to the end that all men may see how soon pride is abased and humility exalted. This Chronicle is composed in memory of the noble King Don Rodrigo ; that God pardon his sins, and that son of the Virgin without stain, Jesus Christ, bring us to true repentance, who liveth and reigneth for ever and ever. Amen. Thanks be to God!" 292 NOTES. I believe the Archbishop Roderick of Toledo is the earliest writer who mentioned this discovery. He died in 1247. The fact may very possibly have been true, for there seems to have been no intention of setting up a shrine connected with it. The Archbishop's words are as follow : — " Quid de Rege Roderico acciderit ignoratur ; tamen corona, testes et insignia et calciamenta auro et lapidibus adornata, et equus qui Orelia dicebatur, in loco tremulo juxia fiuDium sine corpore sunt inventa. Quid autem de corpore fuerit factum penitus ignoratur, nisi quod mo- dernis temporibus apud Viseum civitatem Portugallia inscriptus tumulus invenitur, Hie jacet Rodericus ulti- mus Rex Gotthorum. Maledktus furor impius Juliani quia pertinux, et indignatio, quia dura ; animosus indig- natione, impetuosus furore, oblitus fidelitatis, immemor religionis, contemplor divinitatis, crudelis in se, homici- da in dominum, host is in domesticos, vastator in patriam 9 reus in omnes, memoria ejus in omni ore amarescet, et no- men ejus in aternumputrescet." — Rod.Tol. L. 3. C. 19. Lope de Vega has made this epitaph, with its accom- panying reflections, into two stanzas of Latin rhymes, which occur in the midst of one of his long poems. NOTES. 293 Hocjacet in sarcophaga Rex Me Penultimus Gothorum in Hispania, Infelix Rodericus ; viator site, Ne forte pereat tota Lusitania; Provocatus Cupidinis missile Telo, tarn magna affectusfuit insanid Quam tota Hiberia vinculis astricta Testatur masta, lachrimatur Dicta. Execrabilem Comitem Julianum- Abhorreant omnes 9 nomine et remoto Patriot appellent Erostratum Hispanum, Nee tantum rtmtri, sed in orbe toto : Dum current corti sidera, vesanum Vociferantf testante Mauro et Gotho, Cesset Florindce nomen insuave, Cava viator est, a Cava cave. Jerusalen Conquistada, L. 6. ff. 137". THE END. Edinburgh : Printed by James Ballantyne & Co. •