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?