Terms! cried Pelayo, cutting short at once That dastard speech, and checking, ere it grew Too powerful for restraint, the incipient wrath Which in indignant murmurs breathing round, Rose like a gathering storm, learn thou what terms Asturias, this day speaking by my voice, Doth constitute to be the law between Thee and thy Country. Our portentous age, As with an earthquake’s desolating force, Hath loosen’d and disjointed the whole frame Of social order, and she calls not now For service with the force of sovereign will. That which was common duty in old times, Becomes an arduous, glorious virtue now; And every one, as between Hell and Heaven, In free election must be left to chuse. Asturias asks not of thee to partake The cup which we have pledged; she claims from none The dauntless fortitude, the mind resolved, Which only God can give; ... therefore such peace As thou canst find where all around is war, She leaves thee to enjoy. But think not, Count, That because thou art weak, one valiant arm, One generous spirit must be lost to Spain! The vassal owes no service to the Lord Who to his Country doth acknowledge none. The summons which thou hast not heart to give, I and Count Pedro over thy domains Will send abroad; the vassals who were thine Will fight beneath our banners, and our wants Shall from thy lands, as from a patrimony Which hath reverted to the common stock, Be fed: such tribute, too, as to the Moors Thou renderest, we will take: It is the price Which in this land for weakness must be paid While evil stars prevail. And mark me, Chief! Fear is a treacherous counsellor! I know Thou thinkëst that beneath his horses’s hoofs The Moor will trample our poor numbers down; But join not, in contempt of us and Heaven, His multitudes! for if thou shouldst be found Against thy country, on the readiest tree Those recreant bones shall rattle in the wind, When the birds have left them bare. As thus he spake, Count Eudon heard and trembled: every joint Was loosen’d, every fibre of his flesh Thrill’d, and from every pore effused, cold sweat Clung on his quivering limbs. Shame forced it forth, Envy, and inward consciousness, and fear Predominant, which stifled in his heart Hatred and rage. Before his livid lips Could shape to utterance their essay’d reply, Compassionately Pedro interposed. Go, Baron, to the Castle, said the Count: There let thy wound be look’d to, and consult Thy better mind at leisure. Let this Moor Attend upon thee there, and when thou wilt, Follow thy fortunes.... To Pelayo then He turn’d, and saying, All-too-long, O Prince, Hath this unlook’d-for conflict held thee here, ... He bade his gallant men begin their march.