The punishment hath fallen, the more our hope That through the blood of Jesus he may find That sin forgiven him. Pausing then, he raised His hand, and pointed where Siverian lay Stretch’d on the heath. To that old man, said he, And to the mother of the unhappy Goth, Tell, if it please thee, ... not what thou hast pour’d Into my secret ear, but that the child For whom they mourn with anguish unallay’d, Sinn’d not from vicious will, or heart corrupt, But fell by fatal circumstance betray’d. And if in charity to them thou sayest Something to palliate, something to excuse An act of sudden frenzy when the Fiend O’ercame him, thou wilt do for Roderick All he could ask thee, all that can be done On earth, and all his spirit could endure. Venturing towards her an imploring look, Wilt thou join with me for his soul in prayer? He said, and trembled as he spake. That voice Of sympathy was like Heaven’s influence, Wounding at once and comforting the soul. O Father, Christ requite thee! she exclaim’d; Thou hast set free the springs which withering griefs Have closed too long. Forgive me, for I thought Thou wert a rigid and unpitying judge; One whose stern virtue, feeling in itself No flaw of frailty, heard impatiently Of weakness and of guilt. I wrong’d thee Father!... With that she took his hand, and kissing it, Bathed it with tears. Then in a firmer speech, For Roderick, for Count Julian and myself, Three wretchedest of all the human race, Who have destroyed each other and ourselves, Mutually wrong’d and wronging, let us pray! XI. COUNT PEDRO’S CASTLE.