XVIII.

THE ACCLAMATION.

Now, when from Covadonga, down the vale Holding his way, the princely mountaineer Came with that happy family in sight Of Cangas and his native towers, far off He saw before the gate, in fair array, The assembled land. Broad banners were display’d, And spears were sparkling to the sun, shields shone, And helmets glitter’d, and the blairing horn, With frequent sally of impatient joy, Provoked the echoes round. Well he areeds, From yonder ensigns and augmented force, That Odoar and the Primate from the west Have brought their aid; but wherefore all were thus Instructed as for some great festival, He found not, till Favila’s quicker eye Catching the ready buckler, the glad boy Leapt up, and clapping his exultant hands, Shouted, King! King! my father shall be King This day! Pelayo started at the word, And the first thought which smote him brought a sigh For Roderick’s fall; the second was of hope, Deliverance for his country, for himself Enduring fame, and glory for his line. That high prophetic forethought gather’d strength, As looking to his honour’d mate, he read Her soul’s accordant augury; her eyes Brighten’d; the quicken’d action of the blood Tinged with a deeper hue her glowing cheek, And on her lips there sate a smile which spake The honourable pride of perfect love, Rejoicing, for her husband’s sake, to share The lot he chose, the perils he defied, The lofty fortune which their faith foresaw.

Roderick, in front of all the assembled troops, Held the broad buckler, following to the end That steady purpose to the which his zeal Had this day wrought the Chiefs. Tall as himself, Erect it stood beside him, and his hands Hung resting on the rim. This was an hour That sweeten’d life, repaid and recompensed All losses; and although it could not heal All griefs, yet laid them for awhile to rest. The active agitating joy that fill’d The vale, that with contagious influence spread Through all the exulting mountaineers, that gave New ardour to all spirits, to all breasts Inspired fresh impulse of excited hope, Moved every tongue, and strengthen’d every limb, ... That joy which every man reflected saw From every face of all the multitude, And heard in every voice, in every sound, Reach’d not the King. Aloof from sympathy, He from the solitude of his own soul Beheld the busy scene. None shared or knew His deep and incommunicable joy; None but that heavenly Father, who alone Beholds the struggles of the heart, alone Sees and rewards the secret sacrifice.

Among the chiefs conspicuous, Urban stood, He whom, with well-weigh’d choice, in arduous time To arduous office the consenting Church Had call’d when Sindered fear-smitten fled; Unfaithful shepherd, who for life alone Solicitous, forsook his flock, when most In peril and in suffering they required A pastor’s care. Far off at Rome he dwells In ignominious safety, while the Church Keeps in her annals the deserter’s name, But from the service which with daily zeal Devout her ancient prelacy recalls, Blots it, unworthy to partake her prayers. Urban, to that high station thus being call’d, From whence disanimating fear had driven The former primate, for the general weal Consulting first, removed with timely care The relics and the written works of Saints, Toledo’s choicest treasure, prized beyond All wealth, their living and their dead remains; These to the mountain fastnesses he bore Of unsubdued Cantabria, there deposed, One day to be the boast of yet unbuilt Oviedo, and the dear idolatry Of multitudes unborn. To things of state Then giving thought mature, he held advice With Odoar, whom of counsel competent And firm of heart he knew. What then they plann’d, Time and the course of over-ruled events To earlier act had ripen’d, than their hope Had ever in its gladdest dream proposed; And here by agents unforeseen, and means Beyond the scope of foresight brought about, This day they saw their dearest heart’s desire Accorded them: All-able Providence Thus having ordered all, that Spain this hour With happiest omens, and on surest base, Should from its ruins rear again her throne.

For acclamation and for sacring now One form must serve, more solemn for the breach Of old observances, whose absence here Deeplier impress’d the heart, than all display Of regal pomp and wealth pontifical, Of vestments radiant with their gems, and stiff With ornature of gold; the glittering train, The long procession, and the full-voiced choir. This day the forms of piety and war, In strange but fitting union must combine. Not in his alb and cope and orary Came Urban now, nor wore he mitre here, Precious or auriphrygiate; bare of head He stood, all else in arms complete, and o’er His gorget’s iron rings the pall was thrown Of wool undyed, which on the Apostle’s tomb Gregory had laid, and sanctified with prayer; That from the living Pontiff and the dead Replete with holiness, it might impart Doubly derived its grace. One Page beside Bore his broad-shadow’d helm; another’s hand Held the long spear, more suited in these times For Urban, than the crosier richly wrought With silver foliature, the elaborate work Of Grecian or Italian artist, train’d In the eastern capital, or sacred Rome, Still o’er the West predominant, though fallen. Better the spear befits the shepherd’s hand When robbers break the fold. Now he had laid The weapon by, and held a natural cross Of rudest form, unpeel’d, even as it grew On the near oak that morn. Mutilate alike Of royal rites was this solemnity. Where was the rubied crown, the sceptre where, And where the golden pome, the proud array Of ermines, aureate vests, and jewelry, With all which Leuvigild for after kings Left, ostentatious of his power? The Moor Had made his spoil of these, and on the field Of Xeres, where contending multitudes Had trampled it beneath their bloody feet, The standard of the Goths forgotten lay Defiled, and rotting there in sun and rain. Utterly is it lost; nor ever more Herald or antiquary’s patient search Shall from forgetfulness avail to save Those blazon’d arms, so fatally of old Renown’d through all the affrighted Occident. That banner, before which imperial Rome First to a conqueror bow’d her head abased; Which when the dreadful Hun, with all his powers, Came like a deluge rolling o’er the world, Made head, and in the front of battle broke His force, till then resistless; which so oft Had with alternate fortune braved the Frank: Driven the Byzantine from the farthest shores Of Spain, long lingering there, to final flight; And of their kingdoms and their name despoil’d The Vandal, and the Alan, and the Sueve; Blotted from human records is it now As it had never been. So let it rest With things forgotten! But Oblivion ne’er Shall cancel from the historic roll, nor Time, Who changeth all, obscure that fated sign, Which brighter now than mountain snows at noon To the bright sun displays its argent field.

Rose not the vision then upon thy soul, O Roderick, when within that argent field Thou saw’st the rampant Lion, red as if Upon some noblest quarry he had roll’d, Rejoicing in his satiate rage, and drunk With blood and fury? Did the auguries Which open’d on thy spirit bring with them A perilous consolation, deadening heart And soul, yea worse than death, ... that thou through all Thy checquer’d way of life, evil and good, Thy errors and thy virtues, had’st but been The poor mere instrument of things ordain’d, Doing or suffering, impotent alike To will or act, ... perpetually bemock’d With semblance of volition, yet in all Blind worker of the ways of destiny! That thought intolerable, which in the hour Of woe indignant conscience had repell’d, As little might it find reception now, When the regenerate spirit self-approved Beheld its sacrifice complete. With faith Elate, he saw the banner’d Lion float Refulgent, and recall’d that thrilling shout Which he had heard when on Romano’s grave The joy of victory woke him from his dream, And sent him with prophetic hope to work Fulfilment of the great events ordain’d, There in imagination’s inner world Prefigured to his soul. Alone, advanced Before the ranks, the Goth in silence stood, While from all voices round, loquacious joy Mingled its buzz continuous with the blast Of horn, shrill pipe, and tinkling cymbals’ clash, And sound of deafening drum. But when the Prince Drew nigh, and Urban with the Cross upheld Stept forth to meet him, all at once were still’d With instantaneous hush; as when the wind, Before whose violent gusts the forest oaks, Tossing like billows their tempestuous heads, Roar like a raging sea, suspends its force, And leaves so dead a calm that not a leaf Moves on the silent spray. The passing air Bore with it from the woodland undisturb’d The ringdove’s wooing, and the quiet voice Of waters warbling near. Son of a race Of Heroes and of Kings! the Primate thus Address’d him, Thou in whom the Gothic blood, Mingling with old Iberia’s, hath restored To Spain a ruler of her native line, Stand forth, and in the face of God and man Swear to uphold the right, abate the wrong, With equitable hand, protect the Cross Whereon thy lips this day shall seal their vow, And underneath that hallow’d symbol, wage Holy and inextinguishable war Against the accursëd nation that usurps Thy country’s sacred soil! So speak of me Now and for ever, O my countrymen! Replied Pelayo; and so deal with me Here and hereafter, thou, Almighty God, In whom I put my trust! Lord God of Hosts, Urban pursued, of Angels and of Men Creator and Disposer, King of Kings, Ruler of Earth and Heaven, ... look down this day, And multiply thy blessings on the head Of this thy servant, chosen in thy sight! Be thou his counsellor, his comforter, His hope, his joy, his refuge, and his strength; Crown him with justice, and with fortitude, Defend him with thine all-sufficient shield, Surround him every where with the right hand Of thine all-present power, and with the might Of thine omnipotence, send in his aid Thy unseen Angels forth, that potently And royally against all enemies He may endure and triumph! Bless the land O’er which he is appointed: bless thou it With the waters of the firmament, the springs Of the low-lying deep, the fruits which Sun And Moon mature for man, the precious stores Of the eternal hills, and all the gifts Of Earth, its wealth and fulness! Then he took Pelayo’s hand, and on his finger placed The mystic circlet.... With this ring, O Prince, To our dear Spain, who like a widow now Mourneth in desolation, I thee wed: For weal or woe thou takest her, till death Dispart the union: Be it blest to her, To thee, and to thy seed! Thus when he ceased, He gave the awaited signal. Roderick brought The buckler: Eight for strength and stature chosen Came to their honour’d office: Round the shield Standing, they lower it for the Chieftain’s feet, Then, slowly raised upon their shoulders, lift The steady weight. Erect Pelayo stands, And thrice he brandishes the burnish’d sword, While Urban to the assembled people cries, Spaniards, behold your King! The multitude Then sent forth all their voice with glad acclaim, Raising the loud _Real_; thrice did the word Ring through the air, and echo from the walls Of Cangas. Far and wide the thundering shout, Rolling among reduplicating rocks, Peal’d o’er the hills, and up the mountain vales. The wild ass starting in the forest glade Ran to the covert; the affrighted wolf Skulk’d through the thicket to a closer brake; The sluggish bear, awakened in his den, Roused up and answer’d with a sullen growl, Low-breathed and long; and at the uproar scared, The brooding eagle from her nest took wing.

Heroes and Chiefs of old! and ye who bore Firm to the last your part in that dread strife, When Julian and Witiza’s viler race Betray’d their country, hear ye from yon Heaven The joyful acclamation which proclaims That Spain is born again! O ye who died In that disastrous field, and ye who fell Embracing with a martyr’s love your death Amid the flames of Auria; and all ye Victims innumerable, whose cries unheard On earth, but heard in Heaven, from all the land Went up for vengeance; not in vain ye cry Before the eternal throne!... Rest innocent blood! Vengeance is due, and vengeance will be given, Rest innocent blood! The appointed age is come! The star that harbingers a glorious day Hath risen! Lo there the Avenger stands! Lo there He brandishes the avenging sword! Lo there The avenging banner spreads its argent field Refulgent with auspicious light!... Rejoice, O Leon, for thy banner is displayed, Rejoice with all thy mountains, and thy vales And streams! And thou, O Spain, through all thy realms, For thy deliverance cometh! Even now, As from all sides the miscreant hosts move on ... From southern Betis; from the western lands, Where through redundant vales smooth Minho flows, And Douro pours through vine-clad hills the wealth Of Leon’s gathered waters; from the plains Burgensian, in old time Vardulia call’d, But in their castellated strength ere long To be design’d Castille, a deathless name; From midland regions where Toledo reigns Proud city on her royal eminence, And Tagus bends his sickle round the scene Of Roderick’s fall; from rich Rioja’s fields; Dark Ebro’s shores; the walls of Salduba, Seat of the Sedetanians old, by Rome Cæsarian and August denominate, Now Zaragoza, in this later time Above all cities of the earth renown’d For duty perfectly perform’d; ... East, West And South, where’er their gather’d multitudes Urged by the speed of vigorous tyranny, With more than with commeasurable strength Haste to prevent the danger, crush the hopes Of rising Spain, and rivet round her neck The eternal yoke, ... the ravenous fowls of heaven Flock there presentient of their food obscene, Following the accursed armies, whom too well They know their purveyors long. Pursue their march, Ominous attendants! Ere the moon hath fill’d Her horns, these purveyors shall become the prey, And ye on Moorish not on Christian flesh Wearying your beaks, shall clog your scaly feet With foreign gore. Soon will ye learn to know, Followers and harbingers of blood, the flag Of Leon where it bids you to your feast! Terror and flight shall with that flag go forth, And Havoc and the Dogs of War and Death. Thou Covadonga with the tainted stream Of Deva, and this now rejoicing vale, Soon its primitial triumphs wilt behold! Nor shall the glories of the noon be less Than such miraculous promise of the dawn: Witness Clavijo, where the dreadful cry Of Santiago, then first heard, o’erpower’d The Akbar, and that holier name blasphemed By misbelieving lips! Simancas, thou Be witness! And do ye your record bear, Tolosan mountains, where the Almohade Beheld his myriads scatter’d and destroy’d, Like locusts swept before the stormy North! Thou too, Salado, on that later day When Africa received her final foil, And thy swoln stream incarnadined, roll’d back The invaders to the deep, ... there shall they toss Till on their native Mauritanian shore The waves shall cast their bones to whiten there.