He claspt his hands, and, lifting them to Heaven, Cried, Would to God that he were yet alive! For not more gladly did I draw my sword Against Witiza in our common cause, Than I would fight beneath his banners now, And vindicate his name! Did he say this? The Prince? Pelayo? in astonishment Roderick exclaim’d.... He said it, quoth the old man. None better knew his kinsman’s noble heart, None loved him better, none bewail’d him more: And as he felt, like me, for his reproach A deeper grief than for his death, even so He cherish’d in his heart the constant thought Something was yet untold, which, being known, Would palliate his offence, and make the fall Of one till then so excellently good, Less monstrous, less revolting to belief, More to be pitied, more to be forgiven. While thus he spake, the fall’n King felt his face Burn, and his blood flow fast. Down, guilty thoughts! Firmly he said within his soul; lie still, Thou heart of flesh! I thought thou hadst been quell’d, And quell’d thou shalt be! Help me, O my God, That I may crucify this inward foe! Yea, thou hast help’d me, Father! I am strong, O Saviour, in thy strength. As he breath’d thus His inward supplications, the old man Eyed him with frequent and unsteady looks. He had a secret trembling on his lips, And hesitated, still irresolute In utterance to embody the dear hope: Fain would he have it strengthen’d and assured By this concording judgement, yet he fear’d To have it chill’d in cold accoil. At length Venturing, he brake with interrupted speech The troubled silence. Father Maccabee, I cannot rest till I have laid my heart Open before thee. When Pelayo wish’d That his poor kinsman were alive to rear His banner once again, a sudden thought.. A hope.. a fancy.. what shall it be call’d? Possess’d me, that perhaps the wish might see Its glad accomplishment,.. that Roderick lived, And might in glory take the field once more For Spain.... I see thou startest at the thought! Yet spurn it not with hasty unbelief, As though ’twere utterly beyond the scope Of possible contingency. I think That I have calmly satisfied myself How this is more than idle fancy, more Than mere imaginations of a mind Which from its wishes builds a baseless faith. His horse, his royal robe, his horned helm, His mail and sword were found upon the field; But if King Roderick had in battle fallen, That sword, I know, would only have been found Clench’d in the hand which, living, knew so well To wield the dreadful steel! Not in the throng Confounded, nor amid the torpid stream, Opening with ignominious arms a way For flight, would he have perish’d! Where the strife Was hottest, ring’d about with slaughter’d foes, Should Roderick have been found: by this sure mark Ye should have known him, if nought else remain’d,