XVII. RODERICK AND SIVERIAN.

O holiest Mary, Maid and Mother! thou

In Covadonga, at thy rocky shrine,

Hast witness’d whatsoe’er of human bliss

Heart can conceive most perfect! Faithful love,

Long crost by envious stars, hath there attain’d

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 redeem’d

From threatening death, return’d 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

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 bless’d than they,

Even to the height of human happiness;

For Gaudiosa and her Lord that hour

Let no misgiving thoughts intrude: she fix’d

Her hopes on him, and his were fix’d 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 stirr’d the hazel boughs,

And murmuring at his feet the river ran.

He sate with folded arms and head declined

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 fann’d 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 flatter’d him so oft; it is the voice,

At whose glad summons to the field so oft

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

The solitary penitent, and birds

Will light upon the hermit’s harmless hand.

Thus Roderick answer’d 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,

Exclaim’d the old man, the earthquake and the storm;

The kingdom’s overthrow, the wreck of Spain,

The ruin of thy royal master’s house,

Have reach’d 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

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 faltering voice

Here fail’d 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 turn’d his face

Sternly toward Siverian, for the sense

Of shame and self-reproach drove from his min

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,

And still within my secret heart believed,

Is now made certain. Roderick hath been

More sinn’d 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 exclaim’d.... He said it, quoth the old man.

None better knew his kinsman’s noble heart,

None loved him better, none bewail’d him more:

And as he felt, like me, for his reproach

A deeper grief than for his death, even so

He cherish’d 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.

While thus he spake, the fall’n King felt his face

Burn, and his blood flow fast. Down, guilty thoughts!

Firmly he said within his soul; lie still,

Thou heart of flesh! I thought thou hadst been quell’d,

And quell’d thou shalt be! Help me, O my God,

That I may crucify this inward foe!

Yea, thou hast help’d me, Father! I am strong,

O Saviour, in thy strength.

As he breath’d 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 strengthen’d and assured

By this concording judgement, yet he fear’d

To have it chill’d in cold accoil. At length

Venturing, he brake with interrupted speech

The troubled silence. Father Maccabee,

I cannot rest till I have laid my heart

Open before thee. When Pelayo wish’d

That his poor kinsman were alive to rear

His banner once again, a sudden thought..

A hope.. a fancy.. what shall it be call’d?

Possess’d 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 fallen,

That sword, I know, would only have been found

Clench’d 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 perish’d! Where the strife

Was hottest, ring’d about with slaughter’d foes,

Should Roderick have been found: by this sure mark

Ye should have known him, if nought else remain’d,

That his whole body had been gored with wounds,

And quill’d 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 character’d

The impassion’d 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, ... 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

As on a mortal enemy, inflicts

Fierce vengeance with immitigable hand.

Oh 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 again

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 fail’d

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 long’d

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, be sure 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

Thy first, best, dearest duty; next must be

To hold right onward in that noble path,

Which he would counsel, could his voice be heard.

Now therefore aid me, while I call upon

The Leaders and the People, that this day

We may acclaim Pelayo for our King.