’Twas not in vain that on her absent son, Pelayo’s mother from the bed of death Call’d for forgiveness, and in agony Besought his prayers; all guilty as she was, Sure he had not been human, if that cry Had fail’d to pierce him. When he heard the tale He bless’d the messenger, even while his speech Was faltering, ... while from head to foot he shook With icey feelings from his inmost heart Effused. It changed the nature of his woe, Making the burthen more endurable: The life-long sorrow that remain’d, became A healing and a chastening grief, and brought His soul, in close communion, nearer Heaven. For he had been her first-born, and the love Which at her breast he drew, and from her smiles, And from her voice of tenderness imbibed, Gave such unnatural horror to her crimes, That when the thought came over him, it seem’d As if the milk which with his infant life Had blended, thrill’d like poison through his frame. It was a woe beyond all reach of hope, Till with the dreadful tale of her remorse Faith touch’d his heart; and ever from that day Did he for her who bore him, night and morn, Pour out the anguish of his soul in prayer: But chiefly as the night return’d, which heard Her last expiring groans of penitence, Then through the long and painful hours, before The altar, like a penitent himself, He kept his vigils; and when Roderick’s sword Subdued Witiza, and the land was free, Duly upon her grave he offer’d up His yearly sacrifice of agony And prayer. This was the night, and he it was Who now before Siverian and the King Stood up in sackcloth. The old man, from fear Recovering and from wonder, knew him first. It is the Prince! he cried, and bending down Embraced his knees. The action and the word Awaken’d Roderick; he shook off the load Of struggling thoughts, which pressing on his heart, Held him like one entranced; yet, all untaught To bend before the face of man, confused Awhile he stood, forgetful of his part. But when Siverian cried, My Lord, my Lord, Now God be praised that I have found thee thus, My Lord and Prince, Spain’s only hope and mine! Then Roderick, echoing him, exclaim’d, My Lord, And Prince, Pelayo!... and approaching near, He bent his knee obeisant: but his head Earthward inclined; while the old man, looking up From his low gesture to Pelayo’s face, Wept at beholding him for grief and joy. Siverian! cried the chief, ... of whom hath Death Bereaved me, that thou comest to Cordoba?... Children, or wife?... Or hath the merciless scythe Of this abhorr’d and jealous tyranny Made my house desolate at one wide sweep?