May pass with me the portals of the grave, And with a thought, like sin which cannot die, Embitter Heaven. My father hath renounced His hope in Christ! It was his love for me Which drove him to perdition.... I was born To ruin all who loved me, ... all I loved! Perhaps I sinn’d in leaving him; ... that fear Rises within me to disturb the peace Which I should else have found. To Roderick then The pious mourner turn’d her suppliant eyes: O Father, there is virtue in thy prayers!... I do beseech thee offer them to Heaven In his behalf! For Roderick’s sake, for mine, Wrestle with Him whose name is Merciful, That Julian may with penitence be touch’d, And clinging to the Cross, implore that grace Which ne’er was sought in vain. For Roderick’s sake And mine, pray for him! We have been the cause Of his offence! What other miseries May from that same unhappy source have risen, Are earthly, temporal, reparable all; ... But if a soul be lost through our misdeeds, That were eternal evil! Pray for him, Good Father Maccabee, and be thy prayers More fervent, as the deeper is the crime. While thus Florinda spake, the dog who lay Before Rusilla’s feet, eyeing him long And wistfully, had recognised at length, Changed as he was and in those sordid weeds, His royal master. And he rose and lick’d His wither’d hand, and earnestly look’d up With eyes whose human meaning did not need The aid of speech; and moan’d, as if at once To court and chide the long-withheld caress. A feeling uncommix’d with sense of guilt Or shame, yet painfulest, thrill’d through the King; But he to self-controul now long inured, Represt his rising heart, nor other tears, Full as his struggling bosom was, let fall Than seem’d to follow on Florinda’s words. Looking toward her then, yet so that still He shunn’d the meeting of her eye, he said, Virtuous and pious as thou art, and ripe For Heaven, O Lady, I must think the man Hath not by his good Angel been cast off For whom thy supplications rise. The Lord Whose justice doth in its unerring course Visit the children for the sire’s offence, Shall He not in his boundless mercy hear The daughter’s prayer, and for her sake restore The guilty parent? My soul shall with thine In earnest and continual duty join.... How deeply, how devoutly, He will know To whom the cry is raised! Thus having said, Deliberately, in self-possession still, Himself from that most painful interview Dispeeding, he withdrew. The watchful dog Follow’d his footsteps close. But he retired Into the thickest grove; there yielding way To his o’erburthen’d nature, from all eyes Apart, he cast himself upon the ground, And threw his arms around the dog, and cried, While tears stream’d down, Thou, Theron, then hast known Thy poor lost master, ... Theron, none but thou! XVI. COVADONGA.