That his whole body had been gored with wounds, And quill’d with spears, as if the Moors had felt That in his single life the victory lay, More than in all the host! Siverian’s eyes Shone with a youthful ardour while he spake, His gathering brow grew stern, and as he raised His arm, a warrior’s impulse character’d The impassion’d gesture. But the King was calm And heard him with unchanging countenance; For he had taken his resolve, and felt Once more the peace of God within his soul, As in that hour when by his father’s grave He knelt before Pelayo. Soon the old man Pursued in calmer tones, ... Thus much I dare Believe, that Roderick fell not on that day When treason brought about his overthrow. If yet he live, for sure I think I know His noble mind, ’tis in some wilderness, Where, in some savage den inhumed, he drags The weary load of life, and on his flesh As on a mortal enemy, inflicts Fierce vengeance with immitigable hand. Oh that I knew but where to bend my way In his dear search! my voice perhaps might reach His heart, might reconcile him to himself, Restore him to his mother ere she dies, His people and his country: with the sword, Them and his own good name should he redeem. Oh might I but behold him once again Leading to battle these intrepid bands, Such as he was, ... yea rising from his fall More glorious, more beloved! Soon I believe Joy would accomplish then what grief hath fail’d To do with this old heart, and I should die Clasping his knees with such intense delight, That when I woke in Heaven, even Heaven itself Could have no higher happiness in store.