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.