Roderick the Goth! Roderick and Victory! Roderick and Vengeance! Thus he made his way, Smiting and slaying through the astonish’d ranks, Till he beheld, where on a fiery barb, Ebba, performing well a soldier’s part, Dealt to the right and left his deadly blows. With mutual rage they met. The renegade Displays a scymitar, the splendid gift Of Walid from Damascus sent; its hilt Emboss’d with gems, its blade of perfect steel, Which, like a mirror sparkling to the sun With dazzling splendour, flash’d. The Goth objects His shield, and on its rim received the edge Driven from its aim aside, and of its force Diminish’d. Many a frustrate stroke was dealt On either part, and many a foin and thrust Aim’d and rebated; many a deadly blow Straight, or reverse, delivered and repell’d. Roderick at length with better speed hath reach’d The apostate’s turban, and through all its folds The true Cantabrian weapon making way Attain’d his forehead. Wretch! the avenger cried, It comes from Roderick’s hand! Roderick the Goth, Who spared, who trusted thee, and was betray’d! Go tell thy father now how thou hast sped With all thy treasons! Saying thus he seized The miserable, who, blinded now with blood, Reel’d in the saddle; and with sidelong step Backing Orelio, drew him to the ground. He shrieking, as beneath the horse’s feet He fell, forgot his late-learnt creed, and call’d On Mary’s name. The dreadful Goth pass’d on, Still plunging through the thickest war, and still Scattering, where’er he turn’d, the affrighted ranks.