With that he fell upon the old man’s neck; Then vaulted in the saddle, gave the reins, And soon rejoin’d the host. On, comrades, on! Victory and Vengeance! he exclaim’d, and took The lead on that good charger, he alone Horsed for the onset. They with one consent Gave all their voices to the inspiring cry, Victory and Vengeance! and the hills and rocks Caught the prophetic shout and roll’d it round. Count Pedro’s people heard amid the heat Of battle, and return’d the glad acclaim. The astonish’d Musselmen, on all sides charged, Hear that tremendous cry; yet manfully They stood, and every where with gallant front Opposed in fair array the shock of war. Desperately they fought, like men expert in arms, And knowing that no safety could be found, Save from their own right hands. No former day Of all his long career had seen their chief Approved so well; nor had Witiza’s sons Ever before this hour achieved in fight Such feats of resolute valour. Sisibert Beheld Pelayo in the field afoot, And twice essay’d beneath his horse’s feet To thrust him down. Twice did the Prince evade The shock, and twice upon his shield received The fratricidal sword. Tempt me no more, Son of Witiza, cried the indignant chief, Lest I forget what mother gave thee birth! Go meet thy death from any hand but mine. He said, and turn’d aside. Fitliest from me! Exclaim’d a dreadful voice, as through the throng Orelio forced his way; fitliest from me Receive the rightful death too long withheld! ’Tis Roderick strikes the blow! And as he spake, Upon the traitor’s shoulder fierce he drove The weapon, well-bestow’d. He in the seat Totter’d and fell. The Avenger hasten’d on In search of Ebba; and in the heat of fight Rejoicing and forgetful of all else, Set up his cry as he was wont in youth, Roderick the Goth!... his war-cry known so well. Pelayo eagerly took up the word, And shouted out his kinsman’s name beloved, Roderick the Goth! Roderick and Victory! Roderick and Vengeance! Odoar gave it forth; Urban repeated it, and through his ranks Count Pedro sent the cry. Not from the field Of his great victory, when Witiza fell, With louder acclamations had that name Been borne abroad upon the winds of heaven. The unreflecting throng, who yesterday, If it had pass’d their lips, would with a curse Have clogg’d it, echoed it as if it came From some celestial voice in the air, reveal’d To be the certain pledge of all their hopes. Roderick the Goth! Roderick and Victory! Roderick and Vengeance! O’er the field it spread, All hearts and tongues uniting in the cry; Mountains and rocks and vales re-echoed round; And he, rejoicing in his strength, rode on, Laying on the Moors with that good sword, and smote, And overthrew, and scatter’d, and destroy’d, And trampled down; and still at every blow Exultingly he sent the war-cry forth,