Thus Roderick spake, and spread his arms as if He offer’d to the sword his willing breast, With looks of passionate persuasion fix’d Upon the Count, who in his first access Of anger, seem’d as though he would have call’d His guards to seize the Priest. The attitude Disarm’d him, and that fervent zeal sincere, And more than both, the look and voice, which like A mystery troubled him. Florinda too Hung on his arm with both her hands, and cried, O father, wrong him not! he speaks from God! Life and salvation are upon his tongue! Judge thou the value of that faith whereby, Reflecting on the past, I murmur not, And to the end of all look on with joy Of hope assured! Peace, innocent! replied The Count, and from her hold withdrew his arm. Then with a gather’d brow of mournfulness Rather than wrath, regarding Roderick, said, Thou preachest that all sins may be effaced: Is there forgiveness, Christian, in thy creed For Roderick’s crime?... For Roderick and for thee, Count Julian, said the Goth, and as he spake Trembled through every fibre of his frame, The gate of Heaven is open. Julian threw His wrathful hand aloft, and cried, Away! Earth could not hold us both, nor can one Heaven Contain my deadliest enemy and me! My father, say not thus! Florinda cried; I have forgiven him! I have pray’d for him! For him, for thee, and for myself I pour One constant prayer to Heaven! In passion then She knelt, and bending back, with arms and face Raised toward the sky, the supplicant exclaim’d, Redeemer, heal his heart! It is the grief Which festers there that hath bewilder’d him! Save him, Redeemer! by thy precious death Save, save him, O my God! Then on her face She fell, and thus with bitterness pursued In silent throes her agonizing prayer.