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 not just display’d, As to the Shepherds, and again withdrawn; All the long winter hours from eve till morn Her forests and her mountains and her plains, Her hills and valleys were embathed in light, A light which came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! hew them down in sacrifice! God is with us! his Saints are 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: 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!