XIX.

RODERICK AND RUSILLA.

When all had been perform’d, the royal Goth Look’d up towards the chamber in the tower, Where gazing on the multitude below, Alone Rusilla stood. He met her eye, For it was singling him amid the crowd; Obeying then the hand which beckon’d him, He went with heart prepared, nor shrinking now, But arm’d with self-approving thoughts that hour. Entering in tremulous haste, he closed the door, And turn’d to clasp her knees; but lo, she spread Her arms, and catching him in close embrace, Fell on his neck, and cried, My Son, my Son!... Ere long, controlling that first agony With effort of strong will, backward she bent, And gazing on his head now shorn and grey, And on his furrow’d countenance, exclaim’d, Still, still, my Roderick! the same noble mind! The same heroic heart! Still, still, my Son; ... Changed, ... yet not wholly fallen, ... not wholly lost, He cried, ... not wholly in the sight of Heaven Unworthy, O my Mother, nor in thine! She lock’d her arms again around his neck, Saying, Lord, let me now depart in peace! And bow’d her head again, and silently Gave way to tears. When that first force was spent, And passion in exhaustment found relief, ... I knew thee, said Rusilla, when the dog Rose from my feet, and lick’d his master’s hand. All flash’d upon me then; the instinctive sense That goes unerringly where reason fails, ... The voice, the eye, ... a mother’s thoughts are quick, ... Miraculous as it seem’d, ... Siverian’s tale, ... Florinda’s, ... every action, ... every word, ... Each strengthening each, and all confirming all, Reveal’d thee, O my Son! but I restrain’d My heart, and yielded to thy holier will The thoughts which rose to tempt a soul not yet Wean’d wholly from the world. What thoughts? replied Roderick. That I might see thee yet again Such as thou wert, she answer’d; not alone To Heaven and me restored, but to thyself, ... Thy Crown, ... thy Country, ... all within thy reach; Heaven so disposing all things, that the means Which wrought the ill, might work the remedy. Methought I saw thee once again the hope, ... The strength, ... the pride of Spain! The miracle Which I beheld made all things possible. I know the inconstant people how their mind, With every breath of good or ill report, Fluctuates, like summer corn before the breeze; Quick in their hatred, quicker in their love, Generous and hasty, soon would they redress All wrongs of former obloquy ... I thought Of happiness restored, ... the broken heart Heal’d, ... and Count Julian, for his daughter’s sake, Turning in thy behalf against the Moors His powerful sword: ... all possibilities That could be found or fancied, built a dream Before me; such as easiest might illude A lofty spirit train’d in palaces, And not alone amid the flatteries Of youth with thoughts of high ambition fed When all is sunshine, but through years of woe, When sorrow sanctified their use, upheld By honourable pride and earthly hopes. I thought I yet might nurse upon my knee Some young Theodofred, and see in him Thy Father’s image and thine own renew’d, And love to think the little hand which there Play’d with the bauble, should in after days Wield the transmitted sceptre; ... that through him The ancient seed should be perpetuate, ... That precious seed revered so long, desired So dearly, and so wonderously preserved.

Nay, he replied, Heaven hath not with its bolts Scathed the proud summit of the tree, and left The trunk unflaw’d; ne’er shall it clothe its boughs Again, nor push again its scyons forth, Head, root, and branch, all mortified alike!... Long ere these locks were shorn had I cut off The thoughts of royalty! Time might renew Their growth, as for Manoah’s captive son, And I too on the miscreant race, like him, Might prove my strength regenerate; but the hour, When in its second best nativity, My soul was born again through grace, this heart Died to the world. Dreams such as thine pass now Like evening clouds before me; if I think How beautiful they seem, ’tis but to feel How soon they fade, how fast the night shuts in. But in that World to which my hopes look on, Time enters not, nor Mutability; Beauty and goodness are unfading there; Whatever there is given us to enjoy, That we enjoy for ever, still the same.... Much might Count Julian’s sword atchieve for Spain And me, but more will his dear daughter’s soul Effect in Heaven; and soon will she be there An Angel at the throne of Grace, to plead In his behalf and mine. I knew thy heart, She answer’d, and subdued the vain desire. It was the World’s last effort. Thou hast chosen The better part. Yes, Roderick, even on earth There is a praise above the monarch’s fame, A higher, holier, more enduring praise, And this will yet be thine! O tempt me not, Mother! he cried; nor let ambition take That specious form to cheat us! What but this, Fallen as I am, have I to offer Heaven? The ancestral sceptre, public fame, content Of private life, the general good report, Power, reputation, happiness, ... whate’er The heart of man desires to constitute His earthly weal, ... unerring Justice claim’d In forfeiture. I with submitted soul Bow to the righteous law and kiss the rod. Only while thus submitted, suffering thus, ... Only while offering up that name on earth, Perhaps in trial offer’d to my choice, Could I present myself before thy sight; Thus only could endure myself, or fix My thoughts upon that fearful pass, where Death Stands in the Gate of Heaven!... Time passes on, The healing work of sorrow is complete; All vain desires have long been weeded out, All vain regrets subdued; the heart is dead, The soul is ripe and eager for her birth. Bless me, my Mother! and come when it will The inevitable hour, we die in peace.

So saying, on her knees he bow’d his head; She raised her hands to Heaven and blest her child; Then bending forward, as he rose, embraced And claspt him to her heart, and cried, Once more Theodofred, with pride behold thy son!