Complete Poetical Works of Robert Southey

by Robert Southey

When from the expiring miscreant’s neck they saw

  That Roderick took the shield, and round his own

  Hung it, and vaulted in the seat. My horse I

  My noble horse! he cried, with flattering hand

  Patting his high-arch’d neck! the renegade,

  I thank him for’t, hath kept thee daintily!

  Orelio, thou art in thy beauty still,

  Thy pride and strength! Orelio, my good horse,

  Once more thou bearest to the field thy Lord,

  He who so oft hath fed and cherish’d thee,

  He for whose sake, wherever thou wert seen,

  Thou wert by all men honour’d. Once again

  Thou hast thy proper master! Do thy part

  As thou wert wont; and bear him gloriously,

  My beautiful Orelio,.. to the last...

  The happiest of his fields!... Then he drew forth

  The scymitar, and waving it aloft,

  Rode toward the troops; its unaccustom’d shape

  Disliked him; Renegade in all things! cried

  The Goth, and cast it from him; to the Chiefs

  Then said, If I have done ye service here,

  Help me, I pray you, to a Spanish sword!

  The trustiest blade that e’er in Bilbilis

  Was dipt, would not to-day be misbestowed

  On this right hand!.. Go some one, Gunderick cried,

  And bring Count Julian’s sword. Whoe’er thou art,

  The worth which thou hast shown avenging him

  Entitles thee to wear it. But thou goest

  For battle unequipp’d;.. haste there and strip

  Yon villain of his armour!

  Late he spake,

  So fast the Moors came on. It matters not,

  Replied the Goth; there’s many a mountaineer,

  Who in no better armour cased this day

  Than his wonted leathern gipion, will be found

  In the hottest battle, yet bring off untouch’d

  The unguarded life he ventures... Taking then

  Count Julian’s sword, he fitted round his wrist

  The chain, and eyeing the elaborate steel

  With stern regard of joy, The African

  Under unhappy stars was born, he cried,

  Who tastes thy edge!.. Make ready for the charge!

  They come.. they come!.. On, brethren, to the field!..

  The word is Vengeance!

  Vengeance was the word:

  From man to man, and rank to rank it pass’d,

  By every heart enforced, by every voice

  Sent forth in loud defiance of the foe.

  The enemy in shriller sounds return’d

  Their Akbar and the Prophet’s trusted name.

  The horsemen lower’d their spears, the infantry

  Deliberately with slow and steady step

  Advanced; the bow-strings twang’d, and arrow hiss’d,

  And javelins hurtled by. Anon the hosts

  Met in the shock of battle, horse and man

  Conflicting; shield struck shield, and sword and mace

  And curtle-axe on helm and buckler rung;

  Armour was riven, and wounds were interchanged,

  And many a spirit from its mortal hold

  Hurried to bliss or bale. Well did the Chiefs

  Of Julian’s army in that hour support

  Their old esteem; and well Count Pedro there

  Enhanced his former praise; and by his side,

  Rejoicing like a bridegroom in the strife,

  Alphonso through the host of infidels

  Bore on his bloody lance dismay and death.

  But there was worst confusion and uproar,

  There widest slaughter and dismay, where, proud

  Of his recover’d Lord, Orelio plunged

  Through thickest ranks, trampling beneath his feet

  The living and the dead. Where’er he turns

  The Moors divide and fly. What man is this,

  Appall’d they say, who to the front of war

  Bareheaded offers thus his naked life?

  Replete with power he is, and terrible,

  Like some destroying Angel! Sure his lips

  Have drank of Kaf’s dark fountain, and he comes

  Strong in his immortality! Fly! fly!

  They said, this is no human foe!.. Nor less

  Of wonder fill’d the Spaniards when they saw

  How flight and terror went before his way,

  And slaughter in his path. Behold, cries one,

  With what command and knightly ease he sits

  The intrepid steed, and deals from side to side

  His dreadful blows! Not Roderick in his power

  Bestrode with such command and majesty

  That noble war-horse. His loose robe this day

  Is death’s black banner, shaking from its folds

  Dismay and ruin. Of no mortal mould

  Is he who in that garb of peace affronts

  Whole hosts, and sees them scatter where he turns!

  Auspicious Heaven beholds us, and some Saint

  Revisits earth!

  Aye, cries another, Heaven

  Hath ever with especial bounty blest

  Above all other lands its favour’d Spain;

  Chusing her children forth from all mankind

  For its peculiar people, as of yore

  Abraham’s ungrateful race beneath the Law.

  Who knows not how on that most holy night

  When peace on Earth by Angels was proclaim’d,

  The light which o’er the fields of Bethlehem shone,

  Irradiated whole Spain? not just display’d,

  As to the Shepherds, and again withdrawn;

  All the long winter hours from eve till morn

  Her forests and her mountains and her plains,

  Her hills and valleys were embathed in light,

  A light which came not from the sun or moon

  Or stars, by secondary powers dispensed,

  But from the fountain-springs, the Light of Light

  Effluent. And wherefore should we not believe

  That this may be some Saint or Angel, charged

  To lead us to miraculous victory?

  Hath not the Virgin Mother oftentimes

  Descending, clothed in glory, sanctified

  With feet adorable our happy soil?...

  Mark’d ye not, said another, how he cast

  In wrath the unhallow’d scymitar away,

  And called for Christian weapon? Oh be sure

  This is the aid of Heaven! On, comrades, on!

  A miracle to-day is wrought for Spain!

  Victory and Vengeance! Hew the miscreants down,

  And spare not! how them down in sacrifice!

  God is with us! his Saints arc in the field!

  Victory! miraculous Victory!

  Thus they

  Inflamed with wild belief the keen desire

  Of vengeance on their enemies abhorr’d,

  The Moorish chief, meantime, o’erlooked the fight

  From an eminence, and cursed the renegade

  Whose counsels sorting to such ill effect

  Had brought this danger on. Lo, from the East

  Comes fresh alarm! a few poor fugitives

  Well-nigh with fear exanimate came up,

  From Covadonga flying, and the rear

  Of that destruction, scarce with breath to tell

  Their dreadful tale. When Abulcacem heard,

  Stricken with horror, like a man bereft

  Of sense, he stood. O Prophet, he exclaim’d,

  A hard and cruel fortune hast thou brought

  This day upon thy servant! Must I then

  Here with disgrace and ruin close a life

  Of glorious deeds? But how should man resist

  Fate’s irreversible decrees, or why

  Murmur at what must be? They who survive

  May mourn the evil which this day begins:<
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  My part will soon be done!... Grief then gave way

  To rage, and cursing Guisla, he pursued,

  Oh that that treacherous woman were but here!

  It were a consolation to give her

  The evil death she merits!

  That reward

  She hath had, a Moor replied. For when we reach’d

  ‘The entrance of the vale, it was her choice

  There in the farthest dwellings to be left,

  Lest she should see her brother’s face; but thence

  We found her flying at the overthrow,

  And visiting the treason on her head,

  Pierced her with wounds... Poor vengeance for a host

  Destroyed! said Abulcacem in his soul.

  Howbeit, resolving to the last to do

  His office, he roused up his spirit. Go,

  Strike off Count Eudon’s head! he cried; the fear

  Which brought him to our camp will bring him else

  In arms against us now; For Sisibert

  And Ebba, he continued thus in thought,

  Their uncle’s fate for ever bars all plots

  Of treason on their part; no hope have they

  Of safety but with us. He call’d them then

  With chosen troops to join him in the front

  Of battle, that by bravely making head,

  Retreat might now be won. Then fiercer raged

  The conflict, and more frequent cries of death,

  Mingling with imprecations and with prayers,

  Rose through the din of war.

  By this the blood

  Which Deva down her fatal channel pour’d,

  Purpling Pionia’s course, had reach’d and stain’d

  The wider stream of Sella. Soon far off

  The frequent glance of spears and gleam of arms

  Were seen, which sparkled to the westering orb,

  Where down the vale, impatient to complete

  The glorious work so well that day begun,

  Pelayo led his troops. On foot they came,

  Chieftains and men alike; the Oaken Cross

  Triumphant borne on high, precedes their march,

  And broad and bright the argent banner shone.

  Roderick, who dealing death from side to side,

  Had through the Moorish army now made way,

  Beheld it flash, and judging well what aid

  Approach’d, with sudden impulse that way rode,

  To tell of what had pass’d,.. lest in the strife

  They should engage with Julian’s men, and mar

  The mighty consummation. One ran on

  To meet him fleet of foot, and having given

  His tale to this swift messenger, the Goth

  Halted awhile to let Orelio breathe.

  Siverian, quoth Pelayo, if mine eyes

  Deceive me not, yon horse, whose reeking sides

  Are red with slaughter, is the same on whom

  The apostate Orpas in his vauntery

  Wont to parade the streets of Cordoba.

  But thou shouldst know him best; regard him well:

  Is’t not Orelio?

  Either it is he,

  The old man replied, or one so like to him,

  Whom all thought matchless, that similitude

  Would be the greater wonder. But behold,

  What man is he who in that disarray

  Doth with such power and majesty bestride

  The noble steed, as if he felt himself

  In his own proper seat? Look how he leans

  To cherish him; and how the gallant horse

  Curves up his stately neck, and bends his head,

  As if again to court that gentle touch,

  And answer to the voice which praises him.

  Can it be Maccabee? rejoin’d the King,

  Or are the secret wishes of my soul

  Indeed fulfill’d, and hath the grave given up

  Its dead?... So saying, on the old man he turn’d

  Eyes full of wide astonishment, which told

  The incipient thought that for incredible

  He spake no farther. But enough had pass’d,

  For old Siverian started at the words

  Like one who sees a spectre, and exclaim’d,

  Blind that I was to know him not till now!

  My Master, O my Master!

  He meantime

  With easy pace moved on to meet their march.

  King, to Pelayo he began, this day

  By means scarce less than miracle, thy throne

  Is stablish’d, and the wrongs of Spain revenged.

  Orpas the accursed, upon yonder field

  Lies ready for the ravens. By the Moors

  Treacherously slain, Count Julian will be found

  Before Saint Peter’s altar; unto him

  Grace was vouchsafed; and by that holy power

  Which at Visonia from the Primate’s hand

  Of his own proper act to me was given,

  Unworthy as I am,.. yet sure I think

  Not without mystery, as the event hath shown,..

  Did I accept Count Julian’s penitence,

  And reconcile the dying man to Heaven.

  Beside him hath his daughter fallen asleep;

  Deal honourably with his remains, and let

  One grave with Christian rites receive them both.

  Is it not written that as the Tree falls

  So it shall lie?

  In this and all things else,

  Pelayo answer’d, looking wistfully

  Upon the Goth, thy pleasure shall be done.

  Then Roderick saw that he was known, and turn’d

  His head away in silence. But the old man

  Laid hold upon his bridle, and look’d up

  In his master’s face, weeping and silently.

  Thereat the Goth with fervent pressure took

  His hand, and bending down toward him, said,

  My good Siverian, go not thou this day

  To war! I charge thee keep thyself from harm!

  Thou art past the age for battles, and with whom

  Hereafter should thy mistress talk of me

  If thou wert gone?.. Thou seest I am unarm’d;

  Thus disarray’d as thou beholdest me,

  Clean through you miscreant army have I cut

  My way unhurt; but being once by Heaven

  Preserved: I would not perish with the guilt

  Of having wilfully provoked my death.

  Give me thy helmet and thy cuirass!.. nay,..

  Thou wert not wont to let me ask in vain,

  Nor to gainsay me when my will was known!

  To thee methinks I should be still the King.

  Thus saying, they withdrew a little way

  Within the trees. Roderick alighted there,

  And in the old man’s armour dight himself.

  Dost thou not marvel by what wonderous chance,

  Said he, Orelio to his master’s hand

  Hath been restored? I found the renegade

  Of Seville on his back, and hurl’d him down

  Headlong to the earth. The noble animal

  Rejoicingly obey’d my hand to shake

  His recreant burthen off, and trample out

  The life which once I spared in evil hour.

  Now let me meet Witiza’s viperous sons

  In yonder field, and then I may go rest

  In peace,.. my work is done!

  And nobly done!

  Exclaim’d the old man. Oh! thou art greater now

  Than in that glorious hour of victory

  When grovelling in the dust Witiza lay,

  The prisoner of thy hand!.. Roderick replied,

  O good Siverian, happier victory

  Thy son hath now achieved,.. the victory

  Over the world, his sins and his despair.

  If on the field my body should be found,

  See it, I charge thee, laid in Julian’s gr
ave,

  And let no idle ear be told for whom

  Thou mournest. Thou wilt use Orelio

  As doth beseem the steed which hath so oft

  Carried a King to battle;.. he hath done

  Good service for his rightful Lord to-day,

  And better yet must do. Siverian, now

  Farewell! I think we shall not meet again,

  Till it be in that world where never change

  Is known, and they who love shall part no more.

  Commend me to my mother’s prayers, and say

  That never man enjoy’d a heavenlier peace

  Than Roderick at this hour. O faithful friend,

  How dear thou art to me these tears may tell!

  With that he fell upon the old man’s neck;

  Then vaulted in the saddle, gave the reins,

  And soon rejoin’d the host. On, comrades, on!

  Victory and Vengeance! he exclaim’d, and took

  The lead on that good charger, he alone

  Horsed for the onset. They with one consent

  Gave all their voices to the inspiring cry,

  Victory and Vengeance! and the hills and rucks

  Caught the prophetic shout and roll’d it round.

  Count Pedro’s people heard amid the heat

  Of battle, and return’d the glad acclaim.

  The astonish’d Musselmen, on all sides charged,

  Hear that tremendous cry; yet manfully

  They stood, and every where with gallant front

  Opposed in fair array the shock of war.

  Desperately they fought, like men expert in aims,

  And knowing that no safety could be found,

  Save from their own right hands. No former day

  Of all his long career had seen their chief

  Approved so well; nor had Witiza’s sons

  Ever before this hour achieved in fight

  Such feats of resolute valour. Sisibert

  Beheld Pelayo in the field afoot,

  And twice essay’d beneath his horse’s feet

  To thrust him down. Twice did the Prince evade

  The shock, and twice upon his shield received

  The fratricidal sword. Tempt me no more,

  Son of Witiza, cried the indignant chief,

  Lest I forget what mother gave thee birth!

  Go meet thy death from any hand but mine.

  He said, and turn’d aside. Fitliest from me!

  Exclaim’d a dreadful voice, as through the throng

  Orelio forced his way; fitliest from me

  Receive the rightful death too long withheld!

  ’Tis Roderick strikes the blow! And as he spake,

  Upon the traitor’s shoulder fierce he drove

  The weapon, well-bestow’d. He in the seat

  Totter’d and fell. The Avenger hasten’d on