XII. THE VOW.

Always I knew thee for a generous foe,

Pelayo! said the Count; and in our time

Of enmity, thou too, I know, didst feel

The feud between us was but of the house,

Not of the heart. Brethren in arms henceforth

We stand or fall together: nor will I

Look to the event with one misgiving thought, ...

That were to prove myself unworthy now

Of Heaven’s benignant providence, this hour,

Scarcely by less than miracle, vouchsafed.

I will believe that we have days in store

Of hope, now risen again as from the dead, ...

Of vengeance, ... of portentous victory, ...

Yea, maugre all unlikelihoods, ... of peace.

Let us then here indissolubly knit

Our ancient houses, that those happy days,

When they arrive, may find us more than friends,

And bound by closer than fraternal ties.

Thou hast a daughter, Prince, to whom my heart

Yearns now, as if in winning infancy

Her smiles had been its daily food of love.

I need not tell thee what Alphonso is, ...

Thou know’st the boy!

Already had that hope,

Replied Pelayo, risen within my soul.

O Thou, who in thy mercy from the house

Of Moorish bondage hast deliver’d us,

Fulfil the pious purposes for which

Here, in thy presence, thus we pledge our hands!

Strange hour to plight espousals! yielding half

To superstitious thoughts, Favinia cried,

And these strange witnesses!... The times are strange,

With thoughtful speech composed her Lord replies,

And what thou seest accords with them. This day

Is wonderful; nor could auspicious Heaven

With fairer or with fitter omen gild

Our enterprize, when strong in heart and hope

We take the field, preparing thus for works

Of piety and love. Unwillingly

I yielded to my people’s general voice,

Thinking that she who with her powerful words

To this excess had roused and kindled them,

Spake from the spirit of her griefs alone,

Not with prophetic impulse. Be that sin

Forgiven me! and the calm and quiet faith

Which, in the place of incredulity,

Hath fill’d me, now that seeing I believe,

Doth give of happy end to righteous cause

A presage, not presumptuous, but assured.

Then Pedro told Pelayo how from vale

To vale the exalted Adosinda went,

Exciting sire and son, in holy war

Conquering or dying, to secure their place

In Paradise: and how reluctantly,

And mourning for his child by his own act

Thus doom’d to death, he bade with heavy heart

His banner be brought forth. Devoid alike

Of purpose and of hope himself, he meant

To march toward the western Mountaineers,

Where Odoar by his counsel might direct

Their force conjoin’d. Now, said he, we must haste

To Cangas, there, Pelayo, to secure,

With timely speed, I trust in God, thy house.

Then looking to his men, he cried, Bring forth

The armour which in Wamba’s wars I wore...

Alphonso’s heart leapt at the auspicious words.

Count Pedro mark’d the rising glow of joy,..

Doubly to thee, Alphonso, he pursued,

This day above all other days is blest,

From whence as from a birth-day thou wilt date

Thy life in arms!

Rejoicing in their task,

The servants of the house with emulous love

Dispute the charge. One brings the cuirass, one

The buckler; this excitingly displays

The sword, his comrade lifts the helm on high:

The greaves, the gauntlets they divide; a spur

Seems now to dignify the officious hand

Which for such service bears it to his Lord.

Greek artists in the imperial city forged

That splendid armour, perfect in their craft;

With curious skill they wrought it, framed alike

To shine amid the pageantry of war,

And for the proof of battle. Many a time

Alphonso from his nurse’s lap had stretch’d

His infant hands toward it eagerly,

Where gleaming to the central fire it hung

High in the hall; and many a time had wish’d

With boyish ardour, that the day were come

When Pedro to his prayers would grant the boon,

His dearest heart’s desire. Count Pedro then

Would smile, and in his heart rejoice to see

The noble instinct manifest itself.

Then too Favinia with maternal pride

Would turn her eyes exulting to her Lord,

And in that silent language bid him mark

His spirit in his boy; all danger then

Was distant, and if secret forethought faint

Of manhood’s perils, and the chance of war,

Hateful to mothers, pass’d across her mind,

The ill remote gave to the present hour

A heighten’d feeling of secure delight.

No season this for old solemnities,

For wassailry and sport; ... the bath, the bed,

The vigil, ... all preparatory rites

Omitted now, ... here in the face of Heaven,

Before the vassals of his father’s house,

With them in instant peril to partake

The chance of life or death, the heroic boy

Dons his first arms; the coated scales of steel

Which o’er the tunic to his knees depend,

The hose, the sleeves of mail; bareheaded then

He stood. But when Count Pedro took the spurs

And bent his knee in service to his son,

Alphonso from that gesture half drew back,

Starting in reverence, and a deeper hue

Spread o’er the glow of joy which flush’d his cheeks.

Do thou the rest, Pelayo! said the Count;

So shall the ceremony of this hour

Exceed in honour what in form it lacks.

The Prince from Hoya’s faithful hand receiv’d

The sword; he girt it round the youth, and drew

And placed it in his hand; unsheathing then

His own good falchion, with its burnish’d blade

He touch’d Alphonso’s neck, and with a kiss

Gave him his rank in arms.

Thus long the crowd

Had look’d intently on, in silence hush’d;

Loud and continuous now with one accord,

Shout following shout, their acclamations rose;

Blessings were breathed from every heart, and joy,

Powerful alike in all, which as with force

Of an inebriating cup inspired

The youthful, from the eye of age drew tears.

The uproar died away, when standing forth,

Roderick with lifted hand besought a pause

For speech, and moved towards the youth. I too,

Young Baron, he began, must do my part;

Not with prerogative of earthly power,

But as the servant of the living God,

The God of Hosts. This day thou promisest

To die when honour calls thee for thy faith,

For thy liege Lord, and for thy native land;

The duties which at birth we all contract,

Are by the high profession of this hour

Made thine especially. Thy noble blood,

The thoughts with which thy childhood hath been fed,

And thine own noble nature more than all,

Are sureties for thee. But these dreadful times

Demand a farther pledge; for it hath pleased

The Highest, as he tried his Saints of old,

So in the fiery furnace of his wrath

To prove and purify the sons of Spain;

And they must knit their spirits to the proof,

Or sink, for ever lost. Hold forth thy sword,

Young Baron, and before thy people take

The vow which, in Toledo’s sacred name,

Poor as these weeds bespeak me, I am here

To minister with delegated power.

With reverential awe was Roderick heard

By all, so well authority became

That mien and voice and countenance austere.

Pelayo with complacent eye beheld

The unlook’d-for interposal, and the Count

Bends toward Alphonso his approving head.

The youth obedient loosen’d from his belt

The sword, and looking, while his heart beat fast,

To Roderick, reverently expectant stood.

O noble youth, the Royal Goth pursued,

Thy country is in bonds; an impious foe

Oppresses her; he brings with him strange laws,

Strange language, evil customs, and false faith,

And forces them on Spain. Swear that thy soul

Will make no covenant with these accursed,

But that the sword shall be from this day forth

Thy children’s portion, to be handed down

From sire to son, a sacred heritage,

Through every generation, till the work

Be done, and this insulted land hath drunk

In sacrifice, the last invader’s blood!

Bear witness, ancient Mountains! cried the youth,

And ye, my native Streams, who hold your course

For ever; ... this dear Earth, and yonder Sky,

Be witness! for myself I make the vow,

And for my children’s children. Here I stand

Their sponsor, binding them in sight of Heaven,

As by a new baptismal sacrament,

To wage hereditary holy war,

Perpetual, patient, persevering war,

Till not one living enemy pollute

The sacred soil of Spain.

So as he ceased,

While yet toward the clear blue firmament

His eyes were raised, he lifted to his lips

The sword, with reverent gesture bending then

Devoutly kiss’d its cross.

And ye! exclaimed

Roderick, as turning to the assembled troop

He motion’d with authoritative hand, ...

Ye children of the hills and sons of Spain!

Through every heart the rapid feeling ran, ...

For us! they answer’d all with one accord,

And at the word they knelt: People and Prince,

The young and old, the father and the son,

At once they knelt; with one accord they cried,

For us, and for our seed! with one accord

They cross’d their fervent arms, and with bent head

Inclined toward that aweful voice from whence

The inspiring impulse came. The Royal Goth

Made answer, I receive your vow for Spain

And for the Lord of Hosts: your cause is good,

Go forward in his spirit and his strength.

Ne’er in his happiest hours had Roderick

With such commanding majesty dispensed

His princely gifts, as dignified him now,

When with slow movement, solemnly upraised,

Toward the kneeling troop he spread his arms,

As if the expanded soul diffused itself,

And carried to all spirits with the act

Its effluent inspiration. Silently

The people knelt, and when they rose, such awe

Held them in silence, that the eagle’s cry,

Who far above them, at her highest flight

A speck scarce visible, gyred round and round,

Was heard distinctly; and the mountain stream,

Which from the distant glen sent forth its sounds

Wafted upon the wind, grew audible

In that deep hush of feeling, like the voice

Of waters in the stillness of the night.