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 calm'd: If sore experience may be thought To teach the uses of adversity,
She said, alas! who better learn'd than I
In that sad school! Methinks if ye would know How visitations of calamity
Affect the pious soul, 't is shown ye
Look yonder at that cloud, which through the sky Sailing alone, doth cross in her career
The rolling Moon! I watch'd it as it came,
And deem'd the deep opake would blot her beams; But, melting like a wreath of snow, it hangs In folds of wavey 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, 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 mouldered, 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.
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 carcase now, From pitying hands received beside the road A hasty grave, scarce hidden there from dogs 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 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 ask'd, 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
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 mann'd As may abate the hope of enterprize
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 gain'd
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