XX. THE MOORISH CAMP.

The times are big with tidings; every hour

From east and west and south the breathless scouts

Bring swift alarums in; the gathering foe,

Advancing from all quarters to one point,

Close their wide crescent. Nor was aid of fear

To magnify their numbers needed now,

They came in myriads. Africa had pour’d

Fresh shoals upon the coast of wretched Spain;

Lured from their hungry deserts to the scene

Of spoil, like vultures to the battle-field,

Fierce, unrelenting, habited in crimes,

Like bidden guests the mirthful ruffians flock

To that free feast which in their Prophet’s name

Rapine and Lust proclaim’d. Nor were the chiefs

Of victory less assured, by long success

Elate, and proud of that o’erwhelming strength,

Which, surely they believed, as it had roll’d

Thus far uncheck’d would roll victorious on,

Till, like the Orient, the subjected West

Should bow in reverence at Mahommed’s name;

And pilgrims, from remotest Arctic shores,

Tread with religious feet the burning sands

Of Araby, and Mecca’s stony soil.

Proud of his part in Roderick’s overthrow,

Their leader Abulcacem came, a man

Immitigable, long in war renown’d.

Here Magued comes, who on the conquer’d walls

Of Cordoba, by treacherous fear betray’d,

Planted the moony standard: Ibrahim here,

He, who by Genil and in Darro’s vales,

Had for the Moors the fairest portion won

Of all their spoils, fairest and best maintain’d,

And to the Alpuxarras given in trust

His other name, through them preserved in song

Here too Alcahman, vaunting his late deeds

At Auria, all her children by the sword

Cut off, her bulwarks rased, her towers laid low,

Her dwellings by devouring flames consumed,

Bloody and hard of heart, he little ween’d,

Vain-boastful chief! that from those fatal flames

The fire of retribution had gone forth

Which soon should wrap him round.

The renegades

Here too were seen, Ebba and Sisibert;

A spurious brood, but of their parent’s crimes

True heirs, in guilt begotten, and in ill

Train’d up. The same unnatural rage that turn’d

Their swords against their country, made them seek,

Unmindful of their wretched mother’s end,

Pelayo’s life. No enmity is like

Domestic hatred. For his blood they thirst,

As if that sacrifice might satisfy

Witiza’s guilty ghost, efface the shame

Of their adulterous birth, and one crime more

Crowning a hideous course, emancipate

Thenceforth their spirits from all earthly fear.

This was their only care; but other thoughts

Were rankling in that elder villain’s mind,

Their kinsman Orpas, he of all the crew

Who in this fatal visitation fell,

The foulest and the falsest wretch that e’er

Renounced his baptism. From his cherish’d views

Of royalty cut off, he coveted

Count Julian’s wide domains, and hopeless now

To gain them through the daughter, laid his toils

Against the father’s life, ... the instrument

Of his ambition first, and now design’d

Its victim. To this end with cautious hints,

At favouring season ventured, he possess’d

The leader’s mind; then, subtly fostering

The doubts himself had sown, with bolder charge

He bade him warily regard the Count,

Lest underneath an outward show of faith

The heart uncircumcised were Christian still:

Else, wherefore had Florinda not obey’d

Her dear loved sire’s example, and embraced

The saving truth? Else, wherefore was her hand,

Plighted to him so long, so long withheld,

Till she had found a fitting hour to fly

With that audacious Prince, who now in arms,

Defied the Caliph’s power; ... for who could doubt

That in his company she fled, perhaps

The mover of his flight? What if the Count

Himself had plann’d the evasion which he feign’d

In sorrow to condemn? What if she went

A pledge assured, to tell the mountaineers

That when they met the Musselmen in the heat

Of fight, her father passing to their side

Would draw the victory with him?... Thus he breathed

Fiend-like in Abulcacem’s ear his schemes

Of murderous malice; and the course of things,

Ere long, in part approving his discourse,

Aided his aim, and gave his wishes weight.

For scarce on the Asturian territory

Had they set foot, when, with the speed of fear,

Count Eudon, nothing doubting that their force

Would like a flood sweep all resistance down,

Hasten’d to plead his merits; ... he alone,

Found faithful in obedience through reproach

And danger, when the madden’d multitude

Hurried their chiefs along, and high and low

With one infectious frenzy seized, provoked

The invincible in arms. Pelayo led

The raging crew, ... he doubtless the prime spring

Of all these perilous movements; and ’twas said

He brought the assurance of a strong support,

Count Julian’s aid, for in his company

From Cordoba, Count Julian’s daughter came.

Thus Eudon spake before the assembled chiefs;

When instantly a stern and wrathful voice

Replied, I know Pelayo never made

That senseless promise! He who raised the tale

Lies foully; but the bitterest enemy

That ever hunted for Pelayo’s life

Hath never with the charge of falsehood touch’d

His name.

The Baron had not recognized

Till then, beneath the turban’s shadowing folds,

Julian’s swart visage, where the fiery skies

Of Africa, through many a year’s long course,

Had set their hue inburnt. Something he sought

In quick excuse to say of common fame,

Lightly believed and busily diffused,

And that no enmity had moved his speech

Repeating rumour’s tale. Julian replied,

Count Eudon, neither for thyself nor me

Excuse is needed here. The path I tread

Is one wherein there can be no return.

No pause, no looking back! A choice like mine

For time and for eternity is made,

Once and for ever! and as easily

The breath of vain report might build again

The throne which my just vengeance overthrew,

As in the Caliph and his Captain’s mind

Affect the opinion of my well-tried truth.

The tidings which thou givest me of my child

Touch me more vitally; bad though they be,

A secret apprehension of aught worse

Makes me with joy receive them.

Then the Count

To Abulcacem turn’d his speech, and said,

I pray thee, Chief, give me a messenger

By whom I may to this unhappy child

Dispatch a father’s bidding, such as yet

May win her back. What I would say requires

No veil of privacy; before ye all

The errand shall be given.

Boldly he spake,

Yet wary in that show of open truth,

For well he knew what dangers girt him round

Amid the faithless race. Blind with revenge,

For them in madness had he sacrificed

His name, his baptism, and his native land,

To feel, still powerful as he was, that life

Hung on their jealous favour. But his heart

Approved him now, where love, too long restrain’d,

Resumed its healing influence, leading him

Right on with no misgiving. Chiefs, he said,

Hear me, and let your wisdom judge between

Me and Prince Orpas!... Known it is to all,

Too well, what mortal injury provoked

My spirit to that vengeance which your aid

So signally hath given. A covenant

We made when first our purpose we combined,

That he should have Florinda for his wife,

My only child, so should she be, I thought,

Revenged and honour’d best. My word was given

Truly, nor did I cease to use all means

Of counsel or command, entreating her

Sometimes with tears, seeking sometimes with threats

Of an offended father’s curse to enforce

Obedience; that, she said, the Christian law

Forbade, moreover she had vow’d herself

A servant to the Lord. In vain I strove

To win her to the Prophet’s saving faith,

Using perhaps a rigour to that end

Beyond permitted means, and to my heart,

Which loved her dearer than its own life-blood,

Abhorrent. Silently she suffer’d all,

Or when I urged her with most vehemence,

Only replied, I knew her fix’d resolve,

And craved my patience but a little while

Till death should set her free. Touch’d as I was,

I yet persisted, till at length to escape

The ceaseless importunity, she fled:

And verily I fear’d until this hour,

My rigour to some fearfuller resolve

Than flight, had driven my child. Chiefs, I appeal

To each and all, and Orpas to thyself

Especially, if, having thus essay’d

All means that law and nature have allow’d

To bend her will, I may not rightfully

Hold myself free, that promise being void

Which cannot be fulfill’d.

Thou sayest then,

Orpas replied, that from her false belief

Her stubborn opposition drew its force.

I should have thought that from the ways corrupt

Of these idolatrous Christians, little care

Might have sufficed to wean a duteous child,

The example of a parent so beloved

Leading the way; and yet I will not doubt

Thou didst enforce with all sincerity

And holy zeal upon thy daughter’s mind

The truths of Islam.

Julian knit his brow,

And scowling on the insidious renegade,

He answer’d, By what reasoning my poor mind

Was from the old idolatry reclaim’d,

None better knows than Seville’s mitred chief,

Who first renouncing errors which he taught,

Led me his follower to the Prophet’s pale.

Thy lessons I repeated as I could;

Of graven images, unnatural vows,

False records, fabling creeds, and juggling priests,

Who making sanctity the cloak of sin,

Laugh’d at the fools on whose credulity

They fatten’d. To these arguments, whose worth

Prince Orpas, least of all men, should impeach,

I added, like a soldier bred in arms,

And to the subtleties of schools unused,

The flagrant fact, that Heaven with victory,

Where’er they turn’d, attested and approved

The chosen Prophet’s arms. If thou wert still

The mitred Metropolitan, and I

Some wretch of Arian or of Hebrew race

Thy proper business then might be to pry,

And question me for lurking flaws of faith.

We Musselmen, Prince Orpas, live beneath

A wiser law, which with the iniquities

Of thine old craft, hath abrogated this

Its foulest practice!

As Count Julian ceased,

From underneath his black and gather’d brow

There went a look, which with these wary words

Bore to the heart of that false renegade

Their whole envenom’d meaning. Haughtily

Withdrawing then his alter’d eyes, he said

Too much of this! return we to the sum

Of my discourse. Let Abulcacem say,

In whom the Caliph speaks, if with all faith

Having essay’d in vain all means to win

My child’s consent, I may not hold henceforth

The covenant discharged.

The Moor replied.

Well hast thou said, and rightly may’st assure

Thy daughter that the Prophet’s holy law

Forbids compulsion. Give thine errand now;

The messenger is here.

Then Julian said,

Go to Pelayo, and from him entreat

Admittance to my child, where’er she be.

Say to her, that her father solemnly

Annuls the covenant with Orpas pledged,

Nor with solicitations, nor with threats,

Will urge her more, nor from that liberty

Of faith restrain her, which the Prophet’s law,

Liberal as Heaven from whence it came, to all

Indulges. Tell her that her father says

His days are number’d, and beseeches her

By that dear love, which from her infancy

Still he hath borne her, growing as she grew.

Nursed in our weal and strengthen’d in our woe,

She will not in the evening of his life

Leave him forsaken and alone. Enough

Of sorrow, tell her, have her injuries

Brought on her father’s head; let not her act

Thus aggravate the burden. Tell her too,

That when he pray’d her to return, he wept

Profusely as a child; but bitterer tears

Than ever fell from childhood’s eyes, were those

Which traced his hardy cheeks.

With faltering voice

He spake, and after he had ceased from speech

His lip was quivering still. The Moorish chief

Then to the messenger his bidding gave.

Say, cried he, to these rebel infidels,

Thus Abulcacem in the Caliph’s name

Exhorteth them: Repent and be forgiven!

Nor think to stop the dreadful storm of war,

Which conquering and to conquer must fulfil

Its destined circle, rolling eastward now

Back from the subjugated west, to sweep

Thrones and dominions down, till in the bond

Of unity all nations join, and Earth

Acknowledge, as she sees one Sun in heaven,

One God, one Chief, one Prophet, and one Law.

Jerusalem, the holy City, bows

To holier Mecca’s creed; the Crescent shines

Triumphant o’er the eternal pyramids;

On the cold altars of the worshippers

Of Fire, moss grows, and reptiles leave their slime;

The African idolatries are fallen,

And Europe’s senseless gods of stone and wood

Have had their day. Tell these misguided men,

A moment for repentance yet is left,

And mercy the submitted neck will spare

Before the sword is drawn: but once unsheath’d,

Let Auria witness how that dreadful sword

Accomplisheth its work! They little know

The Moors who hope in battle to withstand

Their valour, or in flight escape their rage!

Amid our deserts we hunt down the birds

Of heaven, ... wings do not save them! Nor shall rocks,

And holds, and fastnesses, avail to save

These mountaineers. Is not the Earth the Lord’s?

And we, his chosen people, whom he sends

To conquer and possess it in his name?