He went resolved to tell his Mother all, Fall at her feet, and drinking the last dregs Of bitterness, receive the only good Earth had in store for him. Resolved for this He went; yet was it a relief to find That painful resolution must await A fitter season, when no eye but Heaven’s Might witness to their mutual agony. Count Julian’s daughter with Rusilla sate; Both had been weeping, both were pale, but calm. With head as for humility abased Roderick approach’d, and bending, on his breast He cross’d his humble arms. Rusilla rose In reverence to the priestly character, And with a mournful eye regarding him, Thus she began. Good Father, I have heard From my old faithful servant and true friend, Thou didst reprove the inconsiderate tongue, That in the anguish of its spirit pour’d A curse upon my poor unhappy child. O Father Maccabee, this is a hard world, And hasty in its judgements! Time has been, When not a tongue within the Pyrenees Dared whisper in dispraise of Roderick’s name, Lest, if the conscious air had caught the sound, The vengeance of the honest multitude Should fall upon the traitorous head, or brand For life-long infamy the lying lips. Now if a voice be raised in his behalf, ’Tis noted for a wonder, and the man Who utters the strange speech shall be admired For such excess of Christian charity. Thy Christian charity hath not been lost; ... Father, I feel its virtue: ... it hath been Balm to my heart; ... with words and grateful tears, ... All that is left me now for gratitude, ... I thank thee, and beseech thee in thy prayers That thou wilt still remember Roderick’s name.