As Pedro would have answer’d, a loud cry Of menacing imprecation from the troops Arose; for Orpas, by the Moorish Chief Sent to allay the storm his villainy Had stirr’d, came hastening on a milk-white steed, And at safe distance having check’d the rein, Beckon’d for parley. ’Twas Orelio On which he rode, Roderick’s own battle-horse, Who from his master’s hand had wont to feed, And with a glad docility obey His voice familiar. At the sight the Goth Started, and indignation to his soul Brought back the thoughts and feelings of old times. Suffer me, Count, he cried, to answer him, And hold these back the while! Thus having said, He waited no reply, but as he was, Bareheaded, in his weeds, and all unarm’d, Advanced toward the renegade. Sir Priest, Quoth Orpas as he came, I hold no talk With thee; my errand is with Gunderick And the Captains of the host, to whom I bring Such liberal offers and clear proof.... The Goth, Breaking with scornful voice his speech, exclaim’d, What, could no steed but Roderick’s serve thy turn? I should have thought some sleek and sober mule Long train’d in shackles to procession pace, More suited to my lord of Seville’s use Than this good war-horse, ... he who never bore A villain, until Orpas cross’d his back!... Wretch! cried the astonish’d renegade, and stoopt, Foaming with anger, from the saddle-bow To reach his weapon. Ere the hasty hand Trembling in passion could perform its will, Roderick had seized the reins. How now, he cried, Orelio! old companion, ... my good horse, ... Off with this recreant burthen!... And with that He raised his hand, and rear’d and back’d the steed, To that remember’d voice and arm of power Obedient. Down the helpless traitor fell Violently thrown, and Roderick over him Thrice led with just and unrelenting hand The trampling hoofs. Go join Witiza now, Where he lies howling, the avenger cried, And tell him Roderick sent thee! At that sight, Count Julian’s soldiers and the Asturian host Set up a shout, a joyful shout, which rung Wide through the welkin. Their exulting cry With louder acclamation was renew’d, 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! 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!...