When Roderick came for vengeance, she endured, And then for ever left her bridal halls. Oh when I last beheld yon princely pile, Exclaim’d Siverian, with what other thoughts Full, and elate of spirit, did I pass Its joyous gates! The weedery which through The interstices of those neglected courts Uncheck’d had flourish’d long, and seeded there, Was trampled then and bruised beneath the feet Of thronging crowds. Here drawn in fair array, The faithful vassals of my master’s house, Their javelins sparkling to the morning sun, Spread their triumphant banners; high-plumed helms Rose o’er the martial ranks, and prancing steeds Made answer to the trumpet’s stirring voice; While yonder towers shook the dull silence off Which long to their deserted walls had clung, And with redoubling echoes swell’d the shout That hail’d victorious Roderick. Louder rose The acclamation, when the dust was seen Rising beneath his chariot-wheels far off; But nearer as the youthful hero came, All sounds of all the multitude were hush’d, And from the thousands and ten thousands here, Whom Cordoba and Hispalis sent forth, ... Yea whom all Bætica, all Spain pour’d out To greet his triumph, ... not a whisper rose To Heaven, such awe and reverence master’d them, Such expectation held them motionless. Conqueror and King he came; but with no joy Of conquest, and no pride of sovereignty That day display’d; for at his father’s grave Did Roderick come to offer up his vow Of vengeance well perform’d. Three coal-black steed Drew on his ivory chariot: by his side, Still wrapt in mourning for the long-deceased, Rusilla state; a deeper paleness blanch’d Her faded countenance, but in her eye The light of her majestic nature shone. Bound, and expecting at their hands the death So well deserved, Witiza follow’d them; Aghast and trembling, first he gazed around, Wildly from side to side; then from the face Of universal execration shrunk, Hanging his wretched head abased; and poor Of spirit, with unmanly tears deplored His fortune, not his crimes. With bolder front, Confiding in his priestly character, Came Orpas next; and then the spurious race Whom in unhappy hour Favila’s wife Brought forth for Spain. O mercy ill bestow’d, When Roderick, in compassion for their youth, And for Pelayo’s sake, forebore to crush The brood of vipers! Err perchance he might, Replied the Goth, suppressing as he spake All outward signs of pain, though every word Went like a dagger to his bleeding heart; ... But sure, I ween, that error is not placed Among his sins. Old man, thou mayest regret The mercy ill deserved, and worse return’d, But not for this wouldst thou reproach the King!