Complete Poetical Works of Robert Southey

by Robert Southey

  XXIII. THE VALE OF COVADONGA.

  THE camp is stirring, and ere day hath dawn’d

  The tents are struck. Early they rise whom Hope

  Awakens, and they travel fast with whom

  She goes companion of the way. By noon

  Hath Abulcacem in his speed attain’d

  The Vale of Cangas. Well the trusty scouts

  Observe his march, and, fleet as mountain roes,

  From post to post, with instantaneous speed,

  The warning bear: none else is nigh: the vale

  Hath been deserted, and Pelayo’s hall

  Is open to the foe, who on the tower

  Hoist their white signal-flag. In Sella’s stream

  The misbelieving multitudes perform,

  With hot and hasty hand, their noontide rite,

  Then hurryingly repeat the Impostor’s prayer.

  Here they divide; the Chieftain halts with half

  The host, retaining Julian and his men,

  Whom where the valley widen’d he disposed,

  Liable to first attack, that so the deed

  Of murder plann’d with Orpas might be done.

  The other force the Moor Alcahman led,

  Whom Guisla guided up Pionia’s stream

  Eastward to Soto. Ibrahim went with him,

  Proud of Granada’s snowy heights subdued,

  And boasting of his skill in mountain war;

  Yet sure he deem’d an easier victory

  Awaited him this day. Little, quoth he,

  Weens the vain Mountaineer, who puts his trust

  In dens and rocky fastnesses, how close

  Destruction is at hand! Belike he thinks

  The Humma’s happy wings have shadow’d him,

  And therefore Fate with royalty must crown

  His chosen head! Pity the cimeter

  With its rude edge so soon should interrupt

  The pleasant dream

  There can be no escape

  For those who in the cave seek shelter, cried

  Alcahman; yield they must, or from their holes

  Like bees we smoke them out. The Chief perhaps

  May reign awhile King of the wolves and bears,

  Till his own subjects hunt him down, or kites

  And crows divide what hunger may have left

  Upon his ghastly limbs. Happier for him

  That destiny should this day to our hands

  Deliver him; short would be his sufferings then;

  And we right joyfully should in one hour

  Behold our work accomplish’d, and his race

  Extinct.

  Thus these, in mockery and in thoughts

  Of bloody triumph, to the future blind,

  Indulged the scornful vein; nor deem’d that they

  Whom to the sword’s unsparing edge they doom’d,

  Even then in joyful expectation pray’d

  To Heaven for their approach, and, at their post

  Prepared, were trembling with excess of hope.

  Here in these mountain straits the Mountaineer

  Had felt his country’s strength insuperable;

  Here he had pray’d to sec the Mussulman

  With all his myriads; therefore had he look’d

  To Covadonga as a sanctuary

  Apt for concealment, easy of defence;

  And Guisla’s flight, though to his heart it sent

  A pang more poignant for their mother’s sake,

  Yet did it further in its consequence

  His hope and project, surer than decoy

  Well-laid, or best-concerted stratagem.

  That sullen and revengeful mind, he knew,

  Would follow to the extremity of guilt

  Its long fore-purposed shame: the toils were laid,

  And she who by the Mussulmen full sure

  Thought on her kindred her revenge to wreak,

  Led the Moors in.

  Count Pedro and his son

  Were hovering with the main Asturian force

  In the wider vale to watch occasion there,

  And with hot onset when the alarm began

  Pursue the vantage. In the fated straits

  Of Deva had the King disposed the rest:

  Amid the hanging woods, and on the cliffs,

  A long mile’s length on either side its bed,

  They lay. The lever, and the axe and saw

  Had skilfully been plied; and trees and stones,

  A dread artillery, ranged on crag, and shelf,

  And steep descent, were ready at the word

  Precipitate to roll resistless down.

  The faithful maiden not more wistfully

  Looks for the day that brings her lover home;

  Scarce more impatiently the horse endures

  The rein, when loud and shrill the hunter’s horn

  Rings in his joyous ears, than at their post

  The Mountaineers await their certain prey;

  Yet mindful of their Prince’s order, oft

  And solemnly enforced, with eagerness

  Subdued by minds well-master’d, they expect

  The appointed signal.

  Hand must not be raised,

  Foot stirr’d, nor voice be utter’d, said the Chief,

  Till the word pass: impatience would mar all.

  God hath deliver’d over to your hands

  His enemies and ours, so we but use

  The occasion wisely. Not till the word pass

  From man to man transmitted, “In the name

  ‘‘Of God, for Spain and Vengeance!” let a hand

  Be lifted; on obedience all depends.

  Their march below with noise of horse and foot,

  And haply with the clang of instruments,

  Might drown all other signal, this is sure;

  But wait it calmly; it will not be given

  Till the whole line hath enter’d in the toils.

  Comrades, be patient, so shall none escape

  Who once set foot within these straits of death.

  Thus had Pelayo on the Mountaineers

  With frequent and impressive charge enforced

  The needful exhortation. This alone

  He doubted, that the Mussulmen might see

  The perils of the vale, and warily

  Forbear to enter. But they thought to find,

  As Guisla told, the main Asturian force

  Seeking concealment there, no other aid

  Soliciting from these their native hills;

  And that, the babes and women having fallen

  In thraldom, they would lay their weapons down,

  And supplicate forgiveness for their sake.

  Nor did the Moors perceive in what a strait

  They enter’d; for the morn had risen o’ercast,

  And when the Sun had reach’d the height ofheaven,

  Dimly his pale and beamless orb was seen

  Moving through mist. A soft and gentle rain,

  Scarce heavier than the summer’s evening dew,

  Descended, — through so still an atmosphere,

  That every leaf upon the moveless trees

  Was studded o’er with rain-drops, bright and full,

  None falling till from its own weight o’erswollen

  The motion catnc.

  Low on the mountain side

  The fleecy vapor hung, and in its veil,

  With all their dreadful preparations, wrapp’d

  The Mountaineers; — in breathless hope they lay,

  Some blessing God in silence for the power

  This day vouchsafed; others with fervency

  Of prayer and vow invoked the Mother-Maid,

  Beseeching her that in this favoring hour

  She would be strongly with them. From below,

  Meantime, distinct they heard the passing tramp

  Of horse and foot, continues as the sound

  Of Deva’s stream, and barbarous tongues commix’d
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  With laughter, and with frequent shouts, — for all

  Exultant came, expecting sure success;

  Blind wretches, over whom the ruin hung!

  They say, quoth one, that though the Prophet’s soul

  Doth, with the black-eyed Houris bathe in bliss,

  Life hath not left his body, which bears up

  By its miraculous power the holy tomb,

  And holds it, at Medina, in the air,

  Buoyant between the temple’s floor and roof;

  And there the Angels fly to him with news

  From East, West, North, and South, of what befalls

  His faithful people. If, when he shall hear

  The talc of this day’s work, he should, for joy,

  Forget that he is dead, and walk abroad,

  It wore as good a miracle as when

  He sliced the moon! Sir Angel, hear me now,

  Whoe oe’er thou be’st who art about to speed

  From Spain to Araby! when thou hast got

  The Prophet’s ear, be sure thou tellest him

  How bravely Ghauleb did his part to-day,

  And with what special reverence he alone

  Desired thee to commend him to his grace!

  Fie on thee, scoffer that thou art! replied

  His comrade; thou wilt never leave these gibes

  Till some commission’d arrow through the teeth

  Shall nail the offending tongue. Hast thou not heard

  How, when our clay is leaven’d first with life,

  The ministering Angel brings it from that spot

  Whereon ’tis written in the eternal book

  That soul and body must their parting take,

  And earth to earth return? How knowest thou

  But that the spirit who compounded thee,

  To distant Syria from this very vale

  Bore thy component dust, and Azrael here

  Awaits thee at this hour? — Little thought he

  Who spake, that, in that valley, at that hour,

  One death awaited both!

  Thus they pursued

  Toward the cave their inauspicious way.

  Weak childhood there, and ineffective age,

  In the chambers of the rock, were placed secure;

  But of the women, all whom with the babes

  Maternal care detain’d not, were aloft

  To aid in the destruction; by the side

  Of fathers, brethren, husbands, station’d there,

  They watch and pray. Pelayo in the cave,

  With the venerable primate, took his post.

  Ranged on the rising cliffs, on either hand,

  Vigilant sentinels, with eye intent,

  Observe his movements, when to take the word

  And pass it forward. He, in arms complete,

  Stands in the portal; a stern majesty

  Reign’d in his countenance severe that hour,

  And in his eye a deep and dreadful joy

  Shone, as advancing up the vale he saw

  The Moorish banners. God hath blinded them

  He said; the measure of their crimes is full

  O Vale of Deva, famous shalt thou be

  From this day forth forever; and to these

  Thy springs shall unborn generations come

  In pilgrimage, and hallow with their prayers

  The cradle of their native monarchy!

  There was a stirring in the air; the sun

  Prevail’d, and gradually the brightening mist

  Began to rise and melt. A jutting crag

  Upon the right projected o’er the stream,

  Not farther from the cave than a strong hand

  Expert, with deadly aim, might cast the spear,

  Or a strong voice, pitch’d to full compass, make

  Its clear articulation heard distinct.

  A venturous dalesman, once ascending there

  To rob the eagle’s nest, had fallen, and hung

  Among the heather, wondrously preserved:

  Therefore had he with pious gratitude

  Placed on that overhanging brow a Cross,

  Tall as the mast of some light fisher’s skiff,

  And from the vale conspicuous. As the Moors

  Advanced, the Chieftain in the van was seen,

  Known by his arms, and from the crag a voice

  Pronounced his name, — Alcahman! hoa, look up,

  Alcahman! As the floating mist drew up,

  It had divided there, and open’d round

  The Cross; part clinging to the rock beneath,

  Hovering and waving part in fleecy folds,

  A canopy of silver light condensed

  To shape and substance. In the midst there stood

  A female form, one hand upon the Cross,

  The other raised in menacing act; below

  Loose flow’d her raiment, but her breast was arm’d,

  And helmeted her head. The Moor turn’d pale,

  For on the walls of Auria he had seen

  That well-known figure, and had well believed

  She rested with the dead. What, hoa! she cried,

  Alcalnnan! In the name of all who fell

  At Auria in the massacre, this hour

  I summon thee before the throne of God

  To answer for the innocent blood! This hour,

  Moor, Miscreant, Murderer, Child of Hell, this hour

  I summon thee to judgment! — In the name

  Of God! for Spain and Vengeance!

  Thus she closed

  Her speech; for taking from the Primate’s hand

  That oaken cross which at the sacring rites

  Had served for crosier, at the cavern’s mouth,

  Pelayo lifted it and gave the word.

  From voice to voice on either side it pass’d

  With rapid repetition, — In the name

  Of God! for Spain and Vengeance! and forthwith,

  On cither side, along the whole defile,

  The Asturians, shouting in the name of God,

  Set the whole ruin loose! Huge trunks and stones,

  And loosen’d crags, down, down they roll’d with rush,

  And bound, and thundering force. Such was the fall,

  As when some city, by the laboring earth

  Heaved from its strong foundations, is cast down,

  And all its dwellings, towers, and palaces,

  In one wide desolation prostrated.

  From end to end of that long strait, the crash

  Was heard continuous, and, commix’d with sounds

  More dreadful, shrieks of horror, and despair,

  And death, — the wild and agonizing cry

  Of that whole host in one destruction whelm’d.

  Vain was all valor there, all martial skill;

  The valiant arm is helpless now; the feet

  Swift in the race avail not now to save;

  They perish; all their thousands perish there,

  Horsemen and infantry, they perish all,

  The outward armor and the bones within

  Broken, and bruised, and crush’d. Echo prolong’d

  The long uproar: a silence then ensued,

  Through which the sound of Deva’s stream was heard,

  A lonely voice of waters, wild and sweet;

  The lingering groan, the faintly-utter’d prayer,

  The louder curses of despairing death,

  Ascended not so high. Down from the cave

  Pelayo hastes; the Asturians hasten down;

  Fierce and immitigable down they speed

  On all side; and along the vale of blood

  The avenging sword did mercy’s work that hour.

  XXIV. RODERICK AND COUNT JULIAN.

  Thou hast been busy, Death! this day, and yet

  But half thy work is done; the Gates of Hell

  Are throng’d, yet twice ten thousand spirits more,

  Who from their warm and healthful tenements

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bsp; Fear no divorce, must, ere the sun go down,

  Enter the world of woe! The Gate of Heaven

  Is open too, and Angels round the throne

  Of Mercy on their golden harps this day

  Shall sing the triumphs of Redeeming Love.

  There was a Church at Cangas dedicate

  To that Apostle unto whom his Lord

  Had given the keys — a humble edifice,

  Whose rude and time-worn structure suited well

  That vale among the mountains. Its low roof

  With stone plants and with moss was overgrown,

  Short fern, and richer weeds, which from the eaves

  Hung their long tresses down. White lichens clothed

  The sides, save where the ivy spread, which bower’d

  The porch, and clustering round the pointed wall,

  Wherein two bells, each open to the wind,

  Hung side by side, threaded with hairy shoots

  The double niche; and climbing to the cross,

  Wreathed it, and half conceal’d its sacred form

  With bushy tufts luxuriant. Here in the font —

  Borne hither with rejoicing and with prayers

  Of all the happy land, who saw in him

  The lineage of their ancient Chiefs renew’d —

  The Prince had been immersed: and here within

  An oaken galilee, now black with age,

  His old Iberian ancestors were laid.

  Two stately oaks stood nigh, in the full growth

  Of many a century. They had flourish’d there

  Before the Gothic sword was felt in Spain,

  And when the ancient sceptre of the Goths

  Was broken, there they flourish’d still. Their boughs,

  Mingled on high, and stretching wide around,

  Form’d a deep shade, beneath which canopy,

  Upon the ground Count Julian’s board was spread;

  For to his daughter he had left his tent,

  Pitched for her use hard by. He at the board

  Sat with his trusted Captains, Gunderick,

  Felix and Miro, Theudered and Paul,

  Basil and Cottila, and Virimar,

  Men through all fortunes faithful to their Lord,

  And to that old and tried fidelity,

  By personal love and honour held in ties

  Strong as religious bonds. As there they sate,

  In the distant vale a rising dust was seen.

  And frequent flash of steel,.. the flying fight

  Of men who, by a fiery foe pursued,

  Put forth their coursers at full speed, to reach

  The aid in which they trust. Up sprung the Chiefs,

  And hastily taking helm and shield, and spear,

  Sped to their post.