Julian,.. God pardon the unhappy hand
That wounded thee!.. but whither didst thou
For healing? Thou hast turned away from Him,
Who saith, Forgive, as ye would be forgiven;
And that the Moorish sword might do thy work,
Received the creed of Mecca: with what fruit
For Spain, let tell her cities sacked, her sons
Slaughtered, her daughters than thine own dear child
More foully wronged, more wretched! For thyself,
Thou hast had thy fill of vengeance, and perhaps
The cup was sweet: but it hath left behind
A bitter relish! Gladly would thy soul
Forget the past; as little canst thou bear
To send into futurity thy thoughts:
And for this Now, what is it, Count, but fear..
However bravely thou may'st bear thy front,..
Danger, remorse, and stinging obloquy?
One only hope, one only remedy,
One only refuge yet remains.... My life
Is at thy mercy, Count! Call, if thou wilt,
Thy men, and to the Moors deliver me!
Or strike thyself! Death were from any hand
A welcome gift; from thine, and in this cause,
A boon indeed! My latest words on earth
Should tell thee that all sins may be effaced,
Bid thee repent, have faith, and be forgiven!
Strike, Julian, if thou wilt, and send my soul
To intercede for thine, that we may meet,
Thou and thy child and I, beyond the grave
Thus Roderick spake, and spread his arms as if
He offered to the sword his willing breast,
With looks of passionate persuasion fixed
Upon the Count: who in his first access
Of anger, seemed as though he would have called
His guards to seize the Priest. The attitude
Disarmed him, and that fervent zeal sincere,
And, more than both, the look and voice, which like
A mystery troubled him. Florinda too
Hung on his arm with both her hands, and cried,
O father, wrong him not! he speaks from God!
Life and Salvation are upon his tongue!
Judge thou the value of that faith whereby,
Reflecting on the past, I murmur not,
And to the end of all look on with joy
Of hope assured!
The Count, and from her hold withdrew his arm.
Then, with a gathered brow of mournfulness
Rather than wrath, regarding Roderick, said,
Thou preachest that all sins may be effaced:
Is there forgiveness, Christian, in thy creed
For Roderick's crime?.. For Roderick and for thee,
Count Julian, said the Goth, and as he spake
Trembled through every fibre of his frame,
The gate of Heaven is open. Julian threw
His wrathful hand aloft, and cried, Away!
Earth could not hold us both, nor can one Heaven
My father, say not thus! Florinda cried;
I have forgiven him! I have prayed for him!
For him, for thee, and for myself I pour
One constant prayer to Heaven! In passion then
She knelt, and bending back, with arms and face
Raised toward the sky, the supplicant exclaimed,
Redeemer, heal his heart! It is the grief
Which festers there that hath bewildered him!
Save him, Redeemer! by thy precious death
Save, save him, O my God! Then on her face
She fell, and thus with bitterness pursued
In silent throes her agonizing prayer.
Afflict not thus thyself, my child, the Count
Exclaimed; O dearest, be thou comforted;
Set but thy heart at rest, I ask no more!
Peace dearest, peace!.. and weeping as he spake,
He knelt to raise her. Roderick also knelt ;
Be comforted, he cried, and rest in faith
That God will hear thy prayers! they must be heard.
He who could doubt the worth of prayers like thine
May doubt of all things! Sainted as thou art
In sufferings here, this miracle will be
They seated her upon the fountain's brink,
And there beside her sate. The moon had risen, And that fair spring lay blackened half in shade, Half like a burnished mirror in her light.
By that reflected light Count Julian saw
That Roderick's face was bathed with tears, and pale As monumental marble. Friend, said he,
Whether thy faith be fabulous, or sent
Indeed from Heaven, its dearest gift to man,
Thy heart is true: and had the mitred Priest
Of Seville been like thee, or hadst thou held
The place he filled;...but this is idle talk,...
Things are as they will be; and we, poor slaves,
Fret in the harness as we may, must drag
The car of Destiny where'er she drives,
Inexorable and blind!
Cried Roderick, if thou seekëst to assuage
Thy wounded spirit with that deadly drug, Hell's subtlest venom! look to thine own heart, Where thou hast Will and Conscience to belie This juggling sophistry, and lead thee yet Through penitence to Heaven!
That governs us, in mournful tone the Count
Replied, Fate, Providence, or Allah's will,
Or reckless fortune, still the effect the same,
A World of evil and of misery!
Look where we will we meet it; wheresoe'er
We go we bear it with us. Here we sit
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