Father, at length she said, all tongues amid This general ruin shed their bitterness On Roderick, load his memory with reproach, And with their curses persecute his soul.... Why shouldst thou tell me this? exclaim’d the Goth, From his cold forehead wiping as he spake The death-like moisture; ... Why of Roderick’s guilt Tell me? Or thinkest thou I know it not? Alas! who hath not heard the hideous tale Of Roderick’s shame! Babes learn it from their nurses, And children, by their mothers unreproved, Link their first execrations to his name. Oh, it hath caught a taint of infamy, That, like Iscariot’s, through all time shall last, Reeking and fresh for ever! There! she cried, Drawing her body backward where she knelt, And stretching forth her arms with head upraised, There! it pursues me still!... I came to thee, Father, for comfort, and thou heapest fire Upon my head. But hear me patiently, And let me undeceive thee; self-abased, Not to arraign another, do I come; I come a self-accuser, self-condemn’d To take upon myself the pain deserved; For I have drank the cup of bitterness, And having drank therein of heavenly grace, I must not put away the cup of shame. Thus as she spake she falter’d at the close, And in that dying fall her voice sent forth Somewhat of its original sweetness. Thou!... Thou self-abased! exclaim’d the astonish’d King; ... Thou self-condemn’d!... The cup of shame for thee! Thee ... thee, Florinda!... But the very excess Of passion check’d his speech, restraining thus From farther transport, which had haply else Master’d him; and he sate like one entranced, Gazing upon that countenance so fallen, So changed: her face, raised from its muffler now, Was turn’d toward him, and the fire-light shone Full on its mortal paleness; but the shade Conceal’d the King. She roused him from the spell Which held him like a statue motionless. Thou too, quoth she, dost join the general curse, Like one who when he sees a felon’s grave, Casting a stone there as he passes by, Adds to the heap of shame. Oh what are we, Frail creatures as we are, that we should sit In judgement man on man! and what were we, If the All-merciful should mete to us With the same rigorous measure wherewithal Sinner to sinner metes! But God beholds The secrets of the heart, ... therefore his name Is Merciful. Servant of God, see thou The hidden things of mine, and judge thou then In charity thy brother who hath fallen.... Nay, hear me to the end! I loved the King, ... Tenderly, passionately, madly loved him. Sinful it was to love a child of earth With such entire devotion as I loved Roderick, the heroic Prince, the glorious Goth! And yet methought this was its only crime, The imaginative passion seem’d so pure: Quiet and calm like duty, hope nor fear