_Her._ Eternal is its glory, if the deed Be not forgotten till it be surpast: Much praise by land, by sea much more, he won, For then a Julian was not at his side, Nor led the van, nor awed the best before; The whole, a mighty whole, was his alone. There might be seen how far he shone above All others of the day: old Muza watched From his own shore the richly laden fleet, Ill-arm’d and scatter’d, and pursued the rear Beyond those rocks that bear St. Vincent’s name, Cutting the treasure, not the strength, away— Valiant, where any prey lies undevour’d In hostile creek or too confiding isle: Tarik, with his small barks, but with such love As never chief from rugged sailor won, Smote their high masts and swelling rampires down; And Cadiz wept in fear o’er Trafalgar. Who that beheld our sails from off the hights, Like the white birds, nor larger, tempt the gale In sunshine and in shade, now almost touch The solitary shore, glance, turn, retire, Would think these lovely playmates could portend Such mischief to the world; such blood, such woe; Could draw to them from far the peaceful hinds, Cull the gay flower of cities, and divide Friends, children, every bond of human life; Could dissipate whole families, could sink Whole states in ruin, at one hour, one blow. _Jul._ Go, good Hernando—who _would_ think these things? Say to the valiant Tarik, I depart Forthwith: he knows not from what heaviness Of soul I linger here; I could endure No converse, no compassion, no approach, Other than thine, whom the same cares improved Beneath my father’s roof, my foster-brother, To brighter days and happier end, I hope; In whose fidelity my own resides With Tarik and with his compeers and chief. I cannot share the gladness I excite, Yet shall our Tarik’s generous heart rejoice. [_Egilona enters_. _Hernando goes_. ACT IV. SCENE 3. JULIAN _and_ EGILONA. _Egil._ O fly me not because I am unhappy, Because I am deserted fly me not. It was not so before, it cannot be Ever from Julian. _Jul._ What would Egilona That Julian’s power with her new lords can do? Surely her own must there preponderate. _Egil._ I hold no suit to them—restore, restore Roderigo. _Jul._ He no longer is my prisoner. _Egil._ Escapes he then? _Jul._ Escapes he—dost thou say? O Egilona! what unworthy passion— _Egil._ Unworthy, when I loved him, was my passion, The passion that now swells my heart, is just. _Jul._ What fresh reproaches hath he merited? _Egil._ Deeprooted hatred shelters no reproach. But whither is he gone. _Jul._ Far from the walls. _Egil._ And I knew nothing!— _Jul._ His offence was known To thee at least. _Egil._ Will it be expiated?