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 defiles
The tainted stream; corrupt and foul it flows
Through loathsome banks and o'er a bed impure,
Till in the sea, the appointed end to which
Through all its way it hastens, 't is received,
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 arbiter of her own destiny,

That only shall be permanent.

But guilt,

Thus having said, the pious sufferer sate,
Beholding with fix'd eyes that lovely orb,
Till quiet tears confused in dizzy light

The broken moonbeams. They too by the toil
Of spirit, as by travail of the day
Subdued, were silent, yielding to the hour.
The silver cloud diffusing slowly past,
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,
Take their last slumber there. The camp is still;
The fires have moulder'd, and the breeze which stirs
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 pour'd
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
Seem'd 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.

THE MOORISH COUNCIL.

THUS they beside the fountain sate, of food
And rest forgetful, when a messenger
Summon'd Count Julian to the Leader's tent.
In council there at that late hour he found
The assembled Chiefs, on sudden tidings call'd
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
Stirr'd 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 carcass now,
From pitying hands received beside the road
A hasty grave scarce hidden there from dogs
And ravens, nor from wintry rains secure,57
She, too, who in the wreck of Spain preserved
fler 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 Musselmen,
She said, and that the obedience of the Goths
Follow'd 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,
Shudder'd 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,
Equally unreasoning, they destroy'd: 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
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 quicken'd 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 enterprise?
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,
Confiding in the hereditary love

Borne to him by these hardy mountaineers,
A love which his own noble qualities
Have strengthen'd, 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

Of 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
Deem'd 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 retain'd
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 enterprise,
Their strength being told. Time in a strife like this
Becomes the ally of those who trust in him :
Make 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! had I been at his side

Old Muza would not now have mourned his age
Left childless, por 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
Of warlike matters! There hath been no time
For such inquiries, 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
Those of his followers, thinking there concealed
They might be safe. She, moved by injuries
Which stung her spirit, on the way escaped,
And for revenge will guide us. In reward
She asks her brother's forfeiture of lands
In 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!

'T is 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
Her trusted succour now! like silly birds

By fear betrayed, they fly into the toils!
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, the Leader cried:
This unexpected work of favouring Fate
Opens an easy way to our desires,
And renders farther counsel needless now.

Great is the Prophet whose protecting power
Goes with the faithful forth! the rebels' 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 judgment in all points; his daughter comes
At the first summous even as thou saidst;
Her errand with the insurgents done, she brings
Their well-concerted project back, a safe
And 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,
In act audacious. Baffled now, he thinks
Either by instant warning to apprise
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 Cordoba, 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.
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.
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
Comes from the hostile troops.

spear
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 't is 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 sing

Are weighed, 't will be against an empty scale, And neither Prophet will avail thee then!

XXIII.

THE VALE OF COVADONGA.

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. 58 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
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, 59
And therefore Fate with royalty must crown
His chosen head! Pity the scymitar
With its rude edge so soon should interrupt
The pleasant dream!

There 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
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 Musselman

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
A pang more poignant for their mother's sake,
Yet did it further in its consequence
His hope and project, surer than decoy
Well-laid, or best-concerted stratagem.
That sullen and revengeful mind, he knew,
Would follow to the extremity of guilt

Its long fore-purposed shame : the toils were laid,
And she who by the Musselmen 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.

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, they 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
From man to man transmitted, « In the name
« Of God, for Spain and vengeance,» let a hand
Be lifted; on obedience all depends.

pass

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
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 Musselmen 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

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, 60 which bears up
By its miraculous power the holy tomb,
And holds it at Medina in the air
Buoyant between the temple's floor and roof:
And there the Angels fly to him with news
From East, West, North, and South, of what befalls
His faithful people. If when he shall hear
The tale of this day's work, he should for joy
Forget that he is dead, and walk abroad,—
It were as good a miracle as when

He sliced the moon! Sir Angel hear me now,
Whoe'er thou be'st who art about to speed
From Spain to Araby! when thou hast got
The Prophet's ear, be sure thou tellest him
How bravely Ghauleb did his part to-day,
And with what special reverence he alone
Desired thee to commend him to his grace!-
Fie on thee, scoffer that thou art! replied
His comrade; thou wilt never leave these gibes
Till some commissioned arrow through the teeth
Shall nail the offending tongue. Hast thou not heard
How when our clay is leavened first with life,
The ministering Angel brings it from that spot
Whereon 't is written in the eternal book
That soul and body must their parting take,
And earth to earth return? 61 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,
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 spear,
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,
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,
Bovering 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
this hour

At Auria in the massacre,

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 strait, the crash
Was heard continuous, and commixt with sounds
More dreadful, shrieks of horror and despair,
And death, the wild and agonizing cry

-62

Of that whole host in one destruction whelmed.
Vain was all valour there, all martial skill;
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,—
The 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.

RODERICK AND COUNT JULIAN. 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,
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 niche; 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