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 yon 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.