Whose general charity for man and beast
Built it in better times, had with a cross
Of well-hewn stone crested the pious work,
Which now the misbelievers had cast down,
And broken in the dust it lay defiled.
Roderick beheld it lying at his feet,
And gathering reverently the fragments up
Placed them within the cistern, and restored
With careful collocation its dear form,-
So might the waters, like a crystal shrine,
Preserve it from pollution. Kneeling then,
O'er the memorial of redeeming love

He bent, and mingled with the fount his tears;
And poured his spirit to the Crucified.

A Moor came by, and seeing him, exclaimed,
Ah, Kaffer! worshipper of wood and stone,
God's curse confound thee! And as Roderick turned
His face, the miscreant spurned him with his foot
Between the eyes. The indignant King arose,
And felled him to the earth. But then the Moor
Drew forth his dagger, rising as he cried,
What! darest thou, thou infidel and slave,
Strike a believer? and he aimed a blow

At Roderick's breast. But Roderick caught his arm,
And closed, and wrenched the dagger from his hold,-
Such timely strength did those emaciate limbs
From indignation draw,—and in his neck
With mortal stroke he drove the avenging steel
Hilt deep. Then, as the thirsty sand drank in
The expiring miscreant's blood, he looked around
In sudden apprehension, lest the Moors
Had seen them; but Siverian was in sight,
The only traveller, and he smote his mule

And hastened up. Ah, brother! said the old man,
Thine is a spirit of the ancient mould!
And would to God a thousand men like thee
Had fought at Roderick's side on that last day
When treason overpowered him! Now, alas!
A manly Gothic heart doth ill accord

With these unhappy times. Come, let us hide
This carrion, while the favouring hour permits.

So saying he alighted. Soon they scooped
Amid loose-lying sand a hasty grave,
And levelled over it the easy soil.
Father, said Roderick, as they journeyed on,
Let this thing be a seal and sacrament

Of truth between us: Wherefore should there be
Concealment between two right Gothic hearts
In evil days like these? What thou hast seen
Is but the first fruit of the sacrifice,
Which on this injured and polluted soil,
As on a bloody altar, I have sworn
To offer to insulted Heaven for Spain,
Her vengeance and her expiation. This
Was but a hasty act, by sudden wrong
Provoked but I am bound for Cordoba,
On weighty mission from Visonia sent,
To breathe into Pelayo's ear a voice

Of spirit-stirring power, which, like the trump
Of the Archangel, shall awake dead Spain.
The northern mountaineers are unsubdued;
They call upon Pelayo for their chief;
Odoar and Urban tell him that the hour
Is come.

Thou too, I ween, old man, art charged

With no light errand, or thou wouldst not now Have left the ruins of thy master's house.

Who art thou? cried Siverian, as he searched The wan and withered features of the King. The face is of a stranger, but thy voice Disturbs me like a dream.

Roderick replied,
Thou seest me as I am,-a stranger; one
Whose fortunes in the general wreck were lost,
His name and lineage utterly extinct,
Himself in mercy spared, surviving all ;-
In mercy, that the bitter cup might heal
A soul diseased. Now, having cast the slough
Of old offences, thou beholdest me

A man new-born: in second baptism named,
Like those who in Judea bravely raised
Against the Heathen's impious tyranny
The banner of Jehovah, Maccabee:
So call me.
In that name hath Urban laid
His consecrating hands upon my head;
And in that name have 1 myself for Spain
Devoted. Tell me now why thou art sent
To Cordoba; for sure thou goëst not
An idle gazer to the Conqueror's court.

Thou judgest well, the old man replied. I too
Seek the Cantabrian Prince, the hope of Spain.
With other tidings charged, for other end
Designed, yet such as well may work with thine.
My noble Mistress sends me to avert

The shame that threats his house. The renegade
Numacian, he who for the infidels
Oppresses Gegio, insolently woos
His sister. Moulded in a wicked womb,
The unworthy Guisla hath inherited

Her mother's leprous taint; and willingly
She to the circumcised and upstart slave,
Disdaining all admonishment, gives ear.
The Lady Gaudiosa sees in this,

With the quick foresight of maternal care,
The impending danger to her husband's house,
Knowing his generous spirit ne'er will brook
The base alliance. Guisla lewdly sets

His will at nought; but that vile renegade,
From hatred, and from avarice, and from fear,
Will seek the extinction of Pelayo's line.
This too my venerable Mistress sees;

Wherefore these valiant and high-minded dames
Send me to Cordoba; that if the Prince

Cannot by timely interdiction stop

The irrevocable act of infamy,

For thought, with many a silent interval
Of mournful meditation, till they saw
The temples and the towers of Cordoba
Shining majestic in the light of eve.
Before them Betis rolled his glittering stream,
In many a silvery winding traced afar
Amid the ample plain. Behind the walls
And stately piles which crowned its margin, rich
With olives, and with sunny slope of vines,
And many a lovely hamlet interspersed,
Whose citron bowers were once the abode of
Height above height, receding hills were seen
Imbued with evening hues; and o'er all
The summits of the dark sierra rose,
Lifting their heads amid the silent sky.
The traveller who with a heart at case

Had seen the goodly vision, would have loved
To linger, seeking with insatiate sight
To treasure up its image, deep impressed,
A joy for years to come. O Cordoba,

peace,

Exclaimed the old man, how princely are thy towers,
How fair thy vales, thy hills how beautiful!
The sun who sheds on thee his parting smiles
Sees not in all his wide career a scene
Lovelier, nor more exuberantly blest

By bounteous earth and heaven. The very gales
Of Eden waft not from the immortal bowers
Odours to sense more exquisite, than these
Which, breathing from thy groves and gardens, now
Recall in me such thoughts of bitterness.
The time has been when happy was their lot
Who had their birthright here; but happy now
Are they who to thy bosom are gone home,
Because they feel not in their graves the feet
That trample upon Spain. T is well that age
Hath made me like a child, that I can weep:
My heart would else have broken, overcharged,
And I, false servant, should lie down to rest
Before my work is done.

Hard by their path,
A little way without the walls, there stood
An edifice, whereto, as by a spell,
Siverian's heart was drawn. Brother, quoth he,
'Tis like the urgency of our return

Will brook of no retardment; and this spot
It were a sin if I should pass, and leave
Unvisited. Beseech you turn with me,
Just while I offer up one duteous prayer.

Roderick made no reply. He had not dared
To turn his face toward those walls; but now
He followed where the old man led the way.
Lord! in his heart the silent sufferer said,
Forgive my feeble soul, which would have shrunk
From this, for what am I that I should put
The bitter cup aside! O let my shame
And anguish be accepted in thy sight!

VI.

RODERICK IN TIMES PAST.

THE mansion whitherward they went, was one Which in his youth Theodofred had built: Thither had he brought home in happy hour Ilis blooming bride; there fondled on his knee

The lovely boy she bore him. Close beside,
A temple to that Saint he reared, who first,
As old tradition tells, proclaimed to Spain
The gospel-tidings; and in health and youth,
There mindful of mortality, he saw
His sepulchre prepared. Witiza seized
For his adulterous leman and himself
The stately pile: but to that sepulchre,
When from captivity and darkness death
Enlarged him, was Theodofred cousigned;
For that unhappy woman, wasting then
Beneath a mortal malady, at heart
Was smitten, and the tyrant at her prayer
This poor and tardy restitution made.
Soon the repentant sinner followed him;
And calling on Pelayo ere she died,

For his own wrongs, and for his father's death,
Implored forgiveness of her absent child,-

If it were possible he could forgive

Crimes black as hers, she said. And by the pangs

Of her remorse,-by her last agonies,-
The unutterable horrors of her death,-

And by the blood of Jesus on the cross

For sinners given, did she beseech his prayers

In aid of her most miserable soul.

Thus mingling sudden shrieks with hopeless vows,
And uttering franticly Pelayo's name,
And crying out for mercy in despair,
Here had she made her dreadful end, and here
Her wretched body was deposited.

That presence seemed to desecrate the place:
Thenceforth the usurper shunned it with the heart
Of conscious guilt; nor could Rusilla bear
These groves and bowers, which, like funereal shades,
Opprest her with their monumental forms:
One day of bitter and severe delight, 25

When Roderick came for vengeance, she endured,
And then for ever left her bridal halls.

Oh when I last behield yon princely pile,
Exclaimed Siverian, with what other thoughts
Full, and elate of spirit, did I pass
Its joyous gates! The weedery which through
The interstices of those neglected courts
Unchecked had flourished long, and seeded there,
Was trampled now and bruised beneath the feet
Of thronging crowds. Here drawn in fair array,
The faithful vassals of my master's house,
Their javelins sparkling to the morning sun,
Spread their triumphant banners; high-plumed helms
Rose o'er the martial ranks, and prancing steeds
Made answer to the trumpet's stirring voice;
While yonder towers shook the dull silence off
Which long to their deserted walls had clung,
And with redoubling echoes swelled the shout
That hailed victorious Roderick. Louder rose
The acclamation, when the dust was seen
Rising beneath his chariot-wheels far off;
But nearer as the youthful hero came,

All sounds of all the multitude were hushed,

And from the thousands and ten thousands here,

Whom Cordoba and Hispalis sent forth,

Yea whom all Bætica, all Spain poured out
To greet his triumph,-not a whisper rose

To Heaven, such awe and reverence mastered them :
Such expectation held them motionless.

Conqueror and King he came; but with no joy

Of conquest, and no pride of sovereignty That day displayed; for at his father's grave Did Roderick come to offer up his vow

Upon the pavement, the whole people heard, In their deep silence, open-eared, the sound. With slower movement from the ivory seat Rusilla rose, her arm, as down she stept,

Drew on his ivory chariot: by his side,

Still wrapt in mourning for the long-deceased,
Rusilla sate; a deeper paleness blanched
ller faded countenance, but in her eye
The light of her majestic nature shone.
Bound, and expecting at their hands the death
So well deserved, the Tyrant followed them;
Aghast and trembling, first he gazed around,
Wildly from side to side; then from the face
Of universal execration shrunk,
Hanging his wretched head abased; and poor
Of spirit, with unmanly tears deplored

His fortune, not his crimes. With bolder front,
Confiding in his priestly character,

Came Orpas next; and then the spurious race
Whom in unhappy hour Favila's wife
Brought forth for Spain. O mercy ill bestowed,
When Roderick, in compassion for their youth,
And for Pelayo's sake, forbore to crush
The brood of vipers!

Err perchance he might,
Replied the Goth, suppressing as he spake
All outward signs of pain, though every word
Went like a dagger to his bleeding heart;-
But sure, I ween, that error is not placed
Among his sins. Old man, thou mayest regret
The mercy ill deserved, and worse returned,
But not for this wouldst thou reproach the King!

Reproach him? cried Siverian;-I reproach
My child, my noble boy,-whom every tongue
Blest at that hour,-whose love filled every heart
With joy, and every eye with joyful tears!
My brave, my beautiful, my generous boy!
Grave, beautiful, and generous as he was,
Never so brave, so beautiful, so great
As then,-not even on that glorious day,
When on the field of victory, elevate
Amid the thousands who acclaimed him King,
Firm on the shield above their heads upraised,
Erect he stood, and waved his bloody sword-
Why dost thou shake thy head as if in doubt?
I do not dream, nor fable!
Ten short years
Hlave scarcely past away, since all within
The Pyrenean hills, and the three seas
Which girdle Spain, echoed in one response
The acclamation from that field of fight.-
Or doth aught ail thee, that thy body quakes
And shudders thus?

'Tis but a chill, replied The King, in passing from the open air Under the shadow of this thick-set grove.

Of! if this scene awoke in thee such thoughts
As swell my bosom here, the old man pursued,
Sunshine, or shade, and all things from without,
Would be alike indifferent. Gracious God,
Only but ten short years,—and all so changed!
Ten little years siuce in yon court he checked
His fiery steeds. The steeds obeyed his hand,
The whirling wheels stood still, and when he leapt

Not for default of firm or agile strength,
But that the feeling of that solemn hour
Subdued her then, and tears bedimmed her sight.
Howbeit when to her husband's grave she came,
On the sepulchral stone she bowed her head
Awhile; then rose collectedly, and fixed
Upon the scene her calm and steady eye.'
Roderick,-oh when did valour wear a form
So beautiful, so noble, so august?

Or vengeance, when did it put on before
A character so awful, so divine?
Roderick stood up, and reaching to the tomb
His hands, my hero cried, Theodofred!
Father! I stand before thee once again,
According to thy prayer, when kneeling down
Between thy knees I took my last farewell;
And vowed by all thy sufferings, all thy wrongs,
And by my mother's days and nights of woe,
Her silent anguish, and the grief which then
Even from thee she did not seek to hide,
That if our cruel parting should avail
To save me from the Tyrant's jealous guilt,
Surely should ny avenging sword fulfil
Whate'er he omened. Oh that time, I cried,
Would give the strength of manhood to this arm,
Already would it find a manly heart
To guide it to its purpose! And I swore
Never again to see my father's face,

Nor ask my mother's blessing, till I brought,
Dead or in chains, the Tyrant to thy feet.
Boy as I was, before all saints in Heaven,
And highest God, whose justice slumbereth not,
I made the vow. According to thy prayer,

In all things, O my father, is that vow
Performed, alas too well! for thou didst pray,
While looking up I felt the burning tears

Which from thy sightless sockets streamed, drop down,-
That to thy grave, and not thy living feet,

The oppressor might be led. Behold him there,
Father! Theodofred! no longer now

In darkness, from thy heavenly seat look down,
And see before thy grave thine enemy
In bonds, awaiting judgment at my hand!

Thus while the hero spake, Witiza stood
Listening in agony, with open mouth,
And head, half-raised toward his sentence turned;
His eye-lids stiffened and pursed up,—his eyes
Rigid, and wild, and wide; and when the King
Had ceased, amid the silence which ensued,
The dastard's chains were heard, link against link
Clinking. At length upon his knees he fell,
And lifting up his trembling hands, outstretched
In supplication,-Mercy! he exclaimed,—
Chains, dungeons, darkness,—any thing but death!-
I did not touch his life.

Roderick replied,

Ilis hour, whenever it had come, had found

A soul prepared: he lived in peace with Heaven, And life prolonged for him, was bliss delayed. But life, in pain and darkness and despair,

For thee, all leprous as thou art with crimes, Is mercy. Take him hence, and let him see The light of day no more!

Such Roderick was

When last I saw these courts,-his theatre

Of glory;-such when last I visited

My master's grave! Ten years have hardly held

Stood up in sackcloth.

The old man, from fear Recovering, and from wonder, knew him first. It is the Prince! he cried, and bending down Embraced his knees. The action and the word Awakened Roderick; he shook off the load Of struggling thoughts, which, pressing on his heart,

As thus he spake

They reached the church. The door before his hand
Gave way;
both blinded with their tears, they went
Straight to the tomb; and there Siverian knelt,
And bowed his face upon the sepulchre,
Weeping aloud; while Roderick, overpowered,
And calling upon earth to cover him,

Threw himself prostrate on his father's grave.
Thus as they lay, an awful voice in tones
Severe addressed them. Who are ye, it said,
That with your passion thus, and on this night,
Disturb my prayers? Starting they rose: there stood
A man before them of majestic form
And stature, clad in sackcloth, bare of foot,
Pale, and in tears, with ashes on his head.

VII.

RODERICK AND PELAYO.

'T was not in vain that on her absent son,
Pelayo's mother, from the bed of death,
Call'd for forgiveness, and in agony
Besought his prayers; all guilty as she was,
Sure he had not been human, if that cry
Had failed to pierce him. When he heard the tale
He blest the messenger, even while his speech
Was faltering,-while from head to foot he shook
With icy feelings from his inmost heart
Effused. It changed the nature of his woe,
Making the burthen more endurable:
The life-long sorrow that remained, became
A healing and a chastening grief, and brought
Ilis soul, in close communion, nearer Heaven.
For he had been her first-born, and the love
Which at her breast he drew, and from her smiles,
And from her voice of tenderness imbibed,
Gave such unnatural horror to her crimes,
That when the thought came over him, it seemed
As if the milk which with his infant life
Had blended, thrilled like poison through his frame.
It was a woe beyond all reach of hope,
Till with the dreadful tale of her remorse
Faith touched his heart; and ever from that day
Did he for her who bore him. night and morn,
Pour out the anguish of his soul in prayer:
But chiefly as the night returned, which heard
Her last expiring groans of penitence,

Then through the long and painful hours, before
The altar, like a penitent himself,

He kept his vigils; and when Roderick's sword
Subdued Witiza, and the land was free,

Duly upon lier grave he offered up

His yearly sacrifice of agony

And prayer. This was the night, and he it was
Who now before Siverian and the King

To bend before the face of man, confused
Awhile he stood, forgetful of his part.

But when Siverian cried, My Lord, my Lord,
Now God be praised that I have found thee thus,
My Lord and Prince, Spain's only hope and mine!
Then Roderick, echoing him, exclaimed, My Lord
And Prince, Pelayo!-and approaching near,
lie beut his knee obeisant: but his head
Earthward inclined; while the old man, looking up,
From his low gesture to Pelayo's face,
Wept at beholding him for grief and joy.

Siverian! cried the Chief,-of whom hath Death
Bereaved me, that thou comest to Cordoba ?—
Children, or wife?--Or hath the merciless scythe
Of this abhorred and jealous tyranny

Made my house desolate at one wide sweep?

They are as thou couldst wish, the old man replied,
Wert thou but lord of thine own house again,
And Spain were Spain once more. A tale of ill

I bear, but one which touches not the heart
Like what thy fears forebode. The renegade
Numacian woos thy sister, and she lends
To the vile slave, unworthily, her ear:
The lady Gaudiosa hath in vain
Warned her of all the evils which await
A union thus accurst; she sets at nought
ller faith, her lineage, and thy certain wrath.

Pelayo hearing him, remained awhile
Silent;

then turning to his mother's grave,-
O thou poor dust, hath then the infectious taint
Survived thy dread remorse, that it should run
In Guisla's veins? he cried;-I should have heard
This shameful sorrow any where but here!-
Humble thyself, proud heart;-thou, gracious Heaven,
Be merciful!-it is the original flaw,-

And what are we?-a weak unhappy race,
Born to our sad inheritance of sin

And death!-He smote his forehead as he spake,
And from his head the ashes fell, like snow
Shaken from some dry beech-leaves, when a bird
Lights on the bending spray. A little while
In silence, rather than in thought, he stood
Passive beneath the sorrow: turning then,
And what doth Gaudiosa counsel me?
He asked the old man; for she hath ever been
My wise and faithful counsellor-He replied,
The Lady Gaudiosa bade me say

She sees the danger which on every part

Besets her husband's house-Here she had ceased:
But when my noble Mistress gave in charge,
How I should tell thee that in evil times
The bravest counsels ever are the best;
Then that high-minded Lady thus rejoined,
Whatever be my Lord's resolve, he knows
I bear a mind prepared.

Brave spirits! cried