’Twas now the earliest morning; soon the Sun, Rising above Albardos, pour’d his light Amid the forest, and with ray aslant Entering its depth, illumed the branchless pines, Brighten’d their bark, tinged with a redder hue Its rusty stains, and cast along the floor Long lines of shadow, where they rose erect Like pillars of the temple. With slow foot Roderick pursued his way; for penitence, Remorse which gave no respite, and the long And painful conflict of his troubled soul, Had worn him down. Now brighter thoughts arose, And that triumphant vision floated still Before his sight with all her blazonry, Her castled helm, and the victorious sword That flash’d like lightning o’er the field of blood. Sustain’d by thoughts like these, from morn till eve He journey’d, and drew near Leyria’s walls. ’Twas even-song time, but not a bell was heard Instead thereof, on her polluted towers, Bidding the Moors to their unhallow’d prayer, The cryer stood, and with his sonorous voice Fill’d the delicious vale where Lena winds Thro’ groves and pastoral meads. The sound, the sight Of turban, girdle, robe, and scymitar, And tawny skins, awoke contending thoughts Of anger, shame, and anguish in the Goth; The face of human-kind so long unseen Confused him now, and through the streets he went With haggëd mien, and countenance like one Crazed or bewilder’d. All who met him turn’d, And wonder’d as he pass’d. One stopt him short. Put alms into his hand, and then desired In broken Gothic speech, the moon-struck man To bless him. With a look of vacancy Roderick received the alms; his wandering eye Fell on the money, and the fallen King, Seeing his own royal impress on the piece, Broke out into a quick convulsive voice, That seem’d like laughter first, but ended soon In hollow groans supprest; the Musselman Shrunk at the ghastly sound, and magnified The name of Allah as he hasten’d on. A Christian woman spinning at her door Beheld him, and, with sudden pity touch’d She laid her spindle by, and running in Took bread, and following after call’d him back, And placing in his passive hands the loaf, She said, Christ Jesus for his mother’s sake Have mercy on thee! With a look that seem’d Like idiotcy he heard her, and stood still, Staring awhile; then bursting into tears Wept like a child, and thus relieved his heart, Full even to bursting else with swelling thoughts. So through the streets, and through the northern gate Did Roderick, reckless of a resting-place, With feeble yet with hurried step pursue His agitated way; and when he reach’d The open fields, and found himself alone Beneath the starry canopy of Heaven, The sense of solitude, so dreadful late, Was then repose and comfort. There he stopt Beside a little rill, and brake the loaf; And shedding o’er that long untasted food Painful but quiet tears, with grateful soul