Pelayo stood confused: he had not seen Count Julian’s daughter since in Roderick’s court, Glittering in beauty and in innocence, A radiant vision, in her joy she moved; More like a poet’s dream, or form divine, Heaven’s prototype of perfect womanhood, So lovely was the presence, ... than a thing Of earth and perishable elements. Now had he seen her in her winding-sheet, Less painful would that spectacle have proved; For peace is with the dead, and piety Bringeth a patient hope to those who mourn O’er the departed; but this alter’d face, Bearing its deadly sorrow character’d, Came to him like a ghost, which in the grave Could find no rest. He, taking her cold hand, Raised her, and would have spoken; but his tongue Fail’d in its office, and could only speak In under tones compassionate her name. The voice of pity soothed and melted her; And when the Prince bade her be comforted, Proffering his zealous aid in whatsoe’er Might please her to appoint, a feeble smile Pass’d slowly over her pale countenance, Like moonlight on a marble statue. Heaven Requite thee, Prince! she answer’d. All I ask Is but a quiet resting-place, wherein A broken heart, in prayer and humble hope, May wait for its deliverance. Even this My most unhappy fate denies me here. Griefs which are known too widely and too well I need not now remember. I could bear Privation of all Christian ordinances, The woe which kills hath saved me too, and made A temple of this ruin’d tabernacle, Wherein redeeming God doth not disdain To let his presence shine. And I could bear To see the turban on my father’s brow, ... Sorrow beyond all sorrows, ... shame of shames, ... Yet to be borne, while I with tears of blood, And throes of agony, in his behalf Implore and wrestle with offended Heaven. This I have borne resign’d: but other ills And worse assail me now; the which to bear, If to avoid be possible, would draw Damnation down. Orpas, the perjured Priest, The apostate Orpas, claims me for his bride. Obdurate as he is, the wretch profanes My sacred woe, and woos me to his bed, The thing I am, ... the living death thou seest! Miscreant! exclaim’d Pelayo. Might I meet That renegado, sword to scymitar, In open field, never did man approach The altar for the sacrifice in faith More sure, than I should hew the villain down! But how should Julian favour his demand?... Julian, who hath so passionately loved His child, so dreadfully revenged her wrongs!