The arching rock disclosed above the springs A cave, where hugest son of giant birth, That e’er of old in forest of romance ’Gainst knights and ladies waged discourteous war, Erect within the portal might have stood. The broken stone allow’d for hand and foot No difficult ascent, above the base In height a tall man’s stature, measured thrice. No holier spot than Covadonga Spain Boasts in her wide extent, though all her realms Be with the noblest blood of martyrdom In elder or in later days enrich’d, And glorified with tales of heavenly aid By many a miracle made manifest; Nor in the heroic annals of her fame Doth she show forth a scene of more renown. Then, save the hunter, drawn in keen pursuit Beyond his wonted haunts, or shepherd’s boy, Following the pleasure of his straggling flock, None knew the place. Pelayo, when he saw Those glittering sources and their sacred cave, Took from his side the bugle silver-tipt, And with a breath long drawn and slow expired Sent forth that strain, which, echoing from the walls Of Cangas, wont to tell his glad return. When from the chace he came. At the first sound Favila started in the cave, and cried, My father’s horn!... A sudden flush suffused Hermesind’s cheek, and she with quicken’d eye Look’d eager to her mother silently; But Gaudiosa trembled and grew pale, Doubting her sense deceived. A second time The bugle breathed its well-known notes abroad And Hermesind around her mother’s neck Threw her white arms, and earnestly exclaim’d, ’Tis he!... But when a third and broader blast Rung in the echoing archway, ne’er did wand, With magic power endued, call up a sight So strange, as sure in that wild solitude It seem’d, when from the bowels of the rock The mother and her children hastened forth; She in the sober charms and dignity Of womanhood mature, nor verging yet Upon decay; in gesture like a Queen, Such inborn and habitual majesty Ennobled all her steps, ... or Priestess, chosen Because within such faultless work of Heaven Inspiring Deity might seem to make Its habitation known.... Favila such In form and stature as the Sea Nymph’s son, When that wise Centaur from his cave well-pleased Beheld the boy divine his growing strength Against some shaggy lionet essay, And fixing in the half-grown mane his hands, Roll with him in fierce dalliance intertwined. But like a creature of some higher sphere His sister came; she scarcely touch’d the rock, So light was Hermesind’s aërial speed. Beauty and grace and innocence in her In heavenly union shone. One who had held The faith of elder Greece, would sure have thought She was some glorious nymph of seed divine, Oread or Dryad, of Diana’s train The youngest and the loveliest: yea she seem’d Angel, or soul beatified, from realms Of bliss, on errand of parental love To earth re-sent, ...