VIII.

ALPHONSO.

Fain would Pelayo have that hour obey’d The call, commencing his adventurous flight, As one whose soul impatiently endured His country’s thraldom, and in daily prayer Imploring her deliverance, cried to Heaven, How long, O Lord, how long!... But other thoughts Curbing his spirit, made him yet awhile Sustain the weight of bondage. Him alone, Of all the Gothic baronage, the Moors Watch’d with regard of wary policy, ... Knowing his powerful name, his noble mind, And how in him the old Iberian blood, Of royal and remotest ancestry, From undisputed source flow’d undefiled; His mother’s after-guilt attainting not The claim legitimate he derived from her, Her first-born in her time of innocence. He too of Chindasuintho’s regal line Sole remnant now, drew after him the love Of all true Goths, uniting in himself Thus by this double right, the general heart Of Spain. For this the renegado crew, Wretches in whom their conscious guilt and fear Engender’d cruellest hatred, still advised The extinction of Pelayo’s house; but most The apostate Prelate, in iniquity Witiza’s genuine brother as in blood, Orpas, pursued his life. He never ceased With busy zeal, true traitor, to infuse His deadly rancour in the Moorish chief; Their only danger, ever he observed, Was from Pelayo; root his lineage out, The Caliph’s empire then would be secure, And universal Spain, all hope of change Being lost, receive the Prophet’s conquering law. Then did the Arch-villain urge the Moor at once To cut off future peril, telling him Death was a trusty keeper, and that none E’er broke the prison of the grave. But here Keen malice overshot its mark: the Moor, Who from the plunder of their native land Had bought the recreant crew that join’d his arms Or cheaplier with their own possessions bribed Their sordid souls, saw through the flimsy show Of policy wherewith they sought to cloak Old enmity, and selfish aims: he scorn’d To let their private purposes incline His counsels, and believing Spain subdued, Smiled, in the pride of power and victory, Disdainful at the thought of farther strife. Howbeit he held Pelayo at his court, And told him that until his countrymen Submissively should lay their weapons down, He from his children and paternal hearth Apart must dwell; nor hope to see again His native mountains and their vales beloved, Till all the Asturian and Cantabrian hills Had bow’d before the Caliph; Cordoba Must be his nightly prison till that hour. This night, by special favour from the Moor Ask’d and vouchsafed, he pass’d without the walls Keeping his yearly vigil; on this night Therefore the princely Spaniard could not fly, Being thus in strongest bonds by honour held; Nor would he by his own escape expose To stricter bondage, or belike to death, Count Pedro’s son. The ancient enmity Of rival houses from Pelayo’s heart Had, like a thing forgotten, pass’d away; He pitied child and parent, separated By the stern mandate of unfeeling power, And almost with a father’s eyes beheld The boy, his fellow in captivity. For young Alphonso was in truth an heir Of nature’s largest patrimony; rich In form and feature, growing strength of limb, A gentle heart, a soul affectionate, A joyous spirit fill’d with generous thoughts, And genius heightening and ennobling all; The blossom of all manly virtues made His boyhood beautiful. Shield, gracious Heaven, In this ungenial season perilous, ... Thus would Pelayo sometimes breathe in prayer The aspirations of prophetic hope, ... Shield, gracious Heaven, the blooming tree! and let This goodly promise, for thy people’s sake, Yield its abundant fruitage. When the Prince, With hope and fear and grief and shame disturb’d, And sad remembrance, and the shadowy light Of days before him, thronging as in dreams, Whose quick succession fill’d and overpower’d Awhile the unresisting faculty, Could in the calm of troubled thoughts subdued Seek in his heart for counsel, his first care Was for the boy; how best they might evade The Moor, and renegade’s more watchful eye; And leaving in some unsuspicious guise The city, through what unfrequented track Safeliest pursue with speed their dangerous way. Consumed in cares like these, the fleeting hours Went by. The lamps and tapers now grew pale, And through the eastern window slanting fell The roseate ray of morn. Within those walls Returning day restored no cheerful sounds Or joyous motions of awakening life; But in the stream of light the speckled motes, As if in mimicry of insect play, Floated with mazy movement. Sloping down Over the altar pass’d the pillar’d beam, And rested on the sinful woman’s grave As if it enter’d there, a light from Heaven. So be it! cried Pelayo, even so! As in a momentary interval, When thought expelling thought, had left his mind Open and passive to the influxes Of outward sense, his vacant eye was there.... So be it, Heavenly Father, even so! Thus may thy vivifying goodness shed Forgiveness there; for let not thou the groans Of dying penitence, nor my bitter prayers Before thy mercy-seat, be heard in vain! And thou, poor soul, who from the dolorous house Of weeping and of pain, dost look to me To shorten and assuage thy penal term, Pardon me that these hours in other thoughts And other duties than this garb, this night Enjoin, should thus have past! Our mother-land Exacted of my heart the sacrifice; And many a vigil must thy son perform Henceforth in woods and mountain fastnesses, And tented fields, outwatching for her sake The starry host, and ready for the work Of day, before the sun begins his course.

The noble Mountaineer, concluding then With silent prayer the service of the night, Went forth. Without the porch awaiting him He saw Alphonso, pacing to and fro With patient step and eye reverted oft. He, springing forward when he heard the door Move on its heavy hinges, ran to him, And welcomed him with smiles of youthful love. I have been watching yonder moon, quoth he How it grew pale and paler as the sun Scatter’d the flying shades; but woe is me, For on the towers of Cordoba the while That baleful crescent glitter’d in the morn, And with its insolent triumph seem’d to mock The omen I had found.... Last night I dreamt That thou wert in the field in arms for Spain, And I was at thy side: the infidels Beset us round, but we with our good swords Hew’d out a way. Methought I stabb’d a Moor Who would have slain thee; but with that I woke For joy, and wept to find it but a dream.

Thus as he spake a livelier glow o’erspread His cheek, and starting tears again suffused The brightening lustre of his eyes. The Prince Regarded him a moment stedfastly, As if in quick resolve; then looking round On every side with keen and rapid glance, Drew him within the church. Alphonso’s heart Throbb’d with a joyful boding as he mark’d The calmness of Pelayo’s countenance Kindle with solemn thoughts, expressing now High purposes of resolute hope. He gazed All eagerly to hear what most he wish’d. If, said the Prince, thy dream were verified, And I indeed were in the field in arms For Spain, ... wouldst thou be at Pelayo’s side?... If I should break these bonds, and fly to rear Our country’s banner on our native hills, Wouldst thou, Alphonso, share my dangerous flight, Dear boy, ... and wilt thou take thy lot with me For death, or for deliverance? Shall I swear? Replied the impatient boy; and laying hand Upon the altar, on his knee he bent, Looking towards Pelayo with such joy Of reverential love, as if a God Were present to receive the eager vow. Nay, quoth Pelayo: what hast thou to do With oaths?... Bright emanation as thou art, It were a wrong to thy unsullied soul, A sin to nature, were I to require Promise or vow from thee! Enough for me That thy heart answers to the stirring call. Alphonso, follow thou in happy faith Alway the indwelling voice that counsels thee; And then, let fall the issue as it may, Shall all thy paths be in the light of Heaven, The peace of Heaven be with thee in all hours.

How then, exclaim’d the boy, shall I discharge The burthen of this happiness, ... how ease My overflowing soul!... Oh gracious God, Shall I behold my mother’s face again, ... My father’s hall, ... my native hills and vales, And hear the voices of their streams again, ... And free as I was born amid those scenes Beloved, maintain my country’s freedom there, ... Or, failing in the sacred enterprise, Die as becomes a Spaniard?... Saying thus, He lifted up his hands and eyes toward The image of the Crucified, and cried, O Thou who didst with thy most precious blood Redeem us, Jesu! help us while we seek Earthly redemption from this yoke of shame And misbelief and death. The noble boy Then rose, and would have knelt again to clasp Pelayo’s knees, and kiss his hand in act Of homage; but the Prince, preventing this, Bent over him in fatherly embrace, And breathed a fervent blessing on his head.