Look down expectant; unto thee, from fields Laid waste, and hamlets burnt, and cities sack’d, The blood of infancy and helpless age Cries out; thy native mountains call for thee, Echoing from all their armed sons thy name. And deem not thou that hot impatience goads Thy countrymen to counsels immature. Odoar and Urban from Visonia’s banks Send me, their sworn and trusted messenger, To summon thee, and tell thee in their name That now the hour is come: For sure it seems, Thus saith the Primate, Heaven’s high will to rear Upon the soil of Spain a Spanish throne, Restoring in thy native line, O Prince, The sceptre to the Spaniard. Worthy son Of that most ancient and heroic race, Which with unweariable endurance still Hath striven against its mightier enemies, Roman or Carthaginian, Greek or Goth; So often by superior arms oppress’d, More often by superior arts beguiled; Yet amid all its sufferings, all the waste Of sword and fire remorselessly employ’d, Unconquer’d and unconquerable still; ... Son of that injured and illustrious stock, Stand forward thou, draw forth the sword of Spain, Restore them to their rights, too long withheld, And place upon thy brow the Spanish crown. When Roderick ceased, the princely Mountaineer Gazed on the passionate orator awhile, With eyes intently fix’d, and thoughtful brow; Then turning to the altar, he let fall The sackcloth robe, which late with folded arms Against his heart was prest; and stretching forth His hands toward the crucifix, exclaim’d, My God and my Redeemer! where but here, Before thy aweful presence, in this garb, With penitential ashes thus bestrewn, Could I so fitly answer to the call Of Spain; and for her sake, and in thy name, Accept the Crown of Thorns she proffers me! And where but here, said Roderick in his heart, Could I so properly, with humbled knee And willing soul, confirm my forfeiture?... The action follow’d on that secret thought: He knelt, and took Pelayo’s hand, and cried, First of the Spaniards, let me with this kiss Do homage to thee here, my Lord and King!... With voice unchanged and steady countenance He spake; but when Siverian follow’d him, The old man trembled as his lips pronounced The faltering vow; and rising he exclaim’d, God grant thee, O my Prince, a better fate Than thy poor kinsman’s, who in happier days Received thy homage here! Grief choak’d his speech And, bursting into tears, he sobb’d aloud. Tears too adown Pelayo’s manly cheek Roll’d silently. Roderick alone appear’d Unmoved and calm; for now the royal Goth Had offer’d his accepted sacrifice, And therefore in his soul he felt that peace Which follows painful duty well perform’d, ... Perfect and heavenly peace, ... the peace of God. VIII. ALPHONSO.