Boy as I was, before all Saints in Heaven, And highest God, whose justice slumbereth not, I made the vow. According to thy prayer, In all things, O my father, is that vow Perform’d, alas too well! for thou didst pray, While looking up I felt the burning tears Which from thy sightless sockets stream’d, drop down, ... That to thy grave, and not thy living feet, The oppressor might be led. Behold him there, ... Father! Theodofred! no longer now In darkness, from thy heavenly seat look down, And see before thy grave thine enemy In bonds, awaiting judgment at my hand! Thus while the hero spake, Witiza stood Listening in agony, with open mouth, And head, half-raised, toward his sentence turn’d; His eye-lids stiffen’d and pursed up, ... his eyes Rigid, and wild, and wide; and when the King Had ceased, amid the silence which ensued, The dastard’s chains were heard, link against link Clinking. At length upon his knees he fell, And lifting up his trembling hands, outstretch’d In supplication, ... Mercy! he exclaim’d.... Chains, dungeons, darkness, ... any thing but death!... I did not touch his life. Roderick replied, His hour, whenever it had come, had found A soul prepared: he lived in peace with Heaven, And life prolong’d for him, was bliss delay’d. But life, in pain and darkness and despair, For thee, all leprous as thou art with crimes, Is mercy.... Take him hence, and let him see The light of day no more! Such Roderick was When last I saw these courts, ... his theatre Of glory; ... such when last I visited My master’s grave! Ten years have hardly held Their course, ... ten little years ... break, break, old heart.... Oh why art thou so tough! As thus he spake They reach’d the church. The door before his hand Gave way; both blinded with their tears, they went Straight to the tomb; and there Siverian knelt, And bow’d his face upon the sepulchre, Weeping aloud; while Roderick, overpower’d, And calling upon earth to cover him, Threw himself prostrate on his father’s grave. Thus as they lay, an aweful voice in tones Severe address’d them. Who are ye, it said, That with your passion thus, and on this night, Disturb my prayers? Starting they rose; there stood A man before them of majestic form And stature, clad in sackcloth, bare of foot, Pale, and in tears, with ashes on his head. VII. RODERICK AND PELAYO.