And how these women, thus with arms and death
Environed, came amid their company;
For yet, amid the fluctuating light
And tumult of the crowd, he knew them not.
Guisla was one. The Moors had found in her A willing and concerted prisoner.
Gladly to Gegio, to the renegade
On whom her loose and shameless love was bent, Had she set forth; and in her heart she cursed The busy spirit, who, with powerful call
Rousing Pelayo's people, led them on In quick pursual, and victoriously
Achieved the rescue, to her mind
Unwelcome as unlooked for. With dismay She recognized her brother, dreaded now More than he once was dear; her countenance Was turned toward him, not with eager joy To court his sight, and meeting its first glance, Exchange delightful welcome, soul with soul; Her's was the conscious eye, that cannot chuse But look to what it fears. She could not shun His presence, and the rigid smile constrained,
With which she coldly drest her features, ill Concealed her inward thoughts, and the despite Of obstinate guilt and unrepentant shame. Sullenly thus upon her mule she sate, Waiting the greeting which she did not dare
But who is she that at her side,
Upon a stately war-horse eminent,
Holds the loose rein with careless hand? A helm
Presses the clusters of her flaxen hair;
The shield is on her arm; her breast is mailed; A sword-belt is her girdle, and right well
It may be seen that sword hath done its work To-day, for upward from the wrist or sleeve Is stiff with blood. An unregardant eye, As one whose thoughts were not of earth, she cast Upon the turmoil round. One countenance
So strongly marked, so passion-worn was there, That it recalled her mind. Ha! Maccabee! Lifting her arm, exultingly she cried,
Did I not tell thee we should meet in joy? Well, Brother, hast thou done thy part, .. I too Have not been wanting! Now be His the praise,
From whom the impulse came!
That voice so well remembered, touched the Goth With timely impulse now; for he had seen His mother's face, . . and at her sight, the past And present mingled like a frightful dream, Which from some dread reality derives Its deepest horror. Adosinda's voice Dispersed the waking vision. Little deemed Rusilla at that moment that the child, For whom her supplications day and night Were offered, breathed the living air. Her heart Was calm; her placid countenance, though grief Deeper than time had left its traces there, Retained its dignity serene; yet when Siverian, pressing through the people, kissed Her reverend hand, some quiet tears ran down. As she approached the Prince, the crowd made way Respectful. The maternal smile which bore
Her greeting, from Pelayo's heart almost Dispelled its boding. What he would have asked She knew, and bending from her palfrey down, Told him that they for whom he looked were safe, And that in secret he should hear the rest.
How calmly gliding through the dark-blue sky The midnight Moon ascends! Her placid beams Through thinly scattered leaves and boughs grotesque, Mottle with mazy shades the orchard slope; Here, o'er the chesnut's fretted foliage grey And massy, motionless they spread; here shine Upon the crags, deepening with blacker night Their chasms; and there the glittering argentry Ripples and glances on the confluent streams. A lovelier, purer light than that of day Rests on the hills; and oh how awfully Into that deep and tranquil firmament The summits of Auseva rise serene! The watchman on the battlements partakes The stillness of the solemn hour; he feels The silence of the earth, the endless sound
Of flowing water soothes him, and the stars,
Which in that brightest moon-light well-nigh quenched, Scarce visible, as in the utmost depth
Of yonder sapphire infinite, are seen, Draw on with elevating influence
Toward eternity the attempered mind.
Musing on worlds beyond the grave he stands, And to the Virgin Mother silently
Breathes forth her hymn of praise.
Before the castle, round their mouldering fires, Lie on the hearth outstretched. Pelayo's hall Is full, and he upon his careful couch
Hears all around the deep and long-drawn breath Of sleep; for gentle night hath brought to these Perfect and undisturbed repose, alike
Of corporal powers and inward faculty. Wakeful the while he lay, yet more by hope Than grief or anxious thoughts possessed,..though grief For Guisla's guilt, which freshened in his heart The memory of their wretched mother's crime, Still made its presence felt, like the dull sense Of some perpetual inward malady;
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