That aweful silence still endured, when one, Who to the northern entrance of the vale Had turn’d his casual eye, exclaim’d, The Moors!... For from the forest verge a troop were seen Hastening toward Pedro’s hall. Their forward speed Was check’d when they beheld his banner spread, And saw his order’d spears in prompt array Marshall’d to meet their coming. But the pride Of power and insolence of long command Prick’d on their Chief presumptuous: We are come Late for prevention, cried the haughty Moor, But never time more fit for punishment! These unbelieving slaves must feel and know Their master’s arm!... On, faithful Musselmen, On ... on, ... and hew down the rebellious dogs!... Then as he spurr’d his steed, Allah is great! Mahommed is his Prophet! he exclaim’d, And led the charge. Count Pedro met the Chief In full career; he bore him from his horse A full spear’s length upon the lance transfix’d; Then leaving in his breast the mortal shaft, Pass’d on, and breaking through the turban’d files Open’d a path. Pelayo, who that day Fought in the ranks afoot, for other war Yet unequipp’d, pursued and smote the foe, But ever on Alphonso at his side Retain’d a watchful eye. The gallant boy Gave his good sword that hour its earliest taste Of Moorish blood, ... that sword whose hungry edge, Through the fair course of all his glorious life From that auspicious day, was fed so well. Cheap was the victory now for Spain achieved; For the first fervour of their zeal inspired The Mountaineers, ... the presence of their Chiefs, The sight of all dear objects, all dear ties, The air they breathed, the soil whereon they trod, Duty, devotion, faith, and hope and joy. And little had the misbelievers ween’d In such impetuous onset to receive A greeting deadly as their own intent; Victims they thought to find, not men prepared And eager for the fight; their confidence Therefore gave way to wonder, and dismay Effected what astonishment began. Scatter’d before the impetuous Mountaineers, Buckler and spear and scymitar they dropt, As in precipitate route they fled before The Asturian sword: the vales and hills and rocks Received their blood, and where they fell the wolves At evening found them. From the fight apart Two Africans had stood, who held in charge Count Eudon. When they saw their countrymen Falter, give way, and fly before the foe, One turn’d toward him with malignant rage, And saying, Infidel! thou shalt not live To join their triumph! aim’d against his neck The moony falchion’s point. His comrade raised A hasty hand and turn’d its edge aside, Yet so that o’er the shoulder glancing down It scarr’d him as it pass’d. The murderous Moor, Not tarrying to secure his vengeance, fled; While he of milder mood, at Eudon’s feet Fell and embraced his knees. The mountaineer