when if this solid Earth Had open’d and let out the central fire Before whose all-involving flames wide Heaven Shall shrivel like a scroll and be consumed, The universal wreck had been to me Relief and comfort; ... even then this Moor Turn’d on me his libidinous eyes, and bade His men reserve me safely for an hour Of dalliance, ... me!... me in my agonies! But when I found for what this miscreant child Of Hell had snatch’d me from the butchery, The very horror of that monstrous thought Saved me from madness; I was calm at once, ... Yet comforted and reconciled to life: Hatred became to me the life of life, Its purpose and its power. The glutted Moors At length broke up. This hell-dog turn’d aside Toward his home: we travell’d fast and far, Till by a forest edge at eve he pitched His tents. I wash’d and ate at his command, Forcing revolted nature; I composed My garments and bound up my scatter’d hair; And when he took my hand, and to his couch Would fain have drawn me, gently I retired From that abominable touch, and said, Forbear to-night I pray thee, for this day A widow, as thou seest me, am I made; Therefore, according to our law, must watch And pray to-night. The loathsome villain paused Ere he assented, then laid down to rest; While at the door of the pavilion, I Knelt on the ground, and bowed my face to earth; But when the neighbouring tents had ceased their stir, The fires were out, and all were fast asleep, Then I arose. The blessed Moon from Heaven Lent me her holy light. I did not pray For strength, for strength was given me as I drew The scymitar, and, standing o’er his couch, Raised it in both my hands with steady aim And smote his neck. Upward, as from a spring When newly open’d by the husbandman, The villain’s life-blood spouted. Twice I struck So making vengeance sure; then, praising God, Retired amid the wood, and measured back My patient way to Auria, to perform This duty which thou seest. As thus she spake, Roderick intently listening had forgot His crown, his kingdom, his calamities, His crimes, ... so like a spell upon the Goth Her powerful words prevail’d. With open lips, And eager ear, and eyes which, while they watch’d Her features, caught the spirit that she breathed, Mute and enrapt he stood, and motionless; The vision rose before him; and that shout, Which, like a thunder-peal, victorious Spain Sent through the welkin, rung within his soul Its deep prophetic echoes. On his brow The pride and power of former majesty Dawn’d once again, but changed and purified: Duty and high heroic purposes Now hallow’d it, and as with inward light Illumed his meagre countenance austere.