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.