Let them die now, thy children! so thy heart
Shall wear their beautiful image all undimm'd,
Within it, to the last! Nor shalt thou learn
The bitter lesson, of what worthless dust
Are framed the idols, whose false glory binds
Earth's fetter on our souls!-Thou think'st it much
To mourn the early dead; but there are tears
Heavy with deeper anguish! We endow
Those whom we love, in our fond passionate blindness,
With power upon our souls, too absolute
To be a mortal's trust! Within their hands
We lay the flaming sword, whose stroke alone
Can reach our hearts, and they are merciful,
As they are strong, that wield it not to pierce us!
-Aye, fear them, fear the loved !—Had I but wept
O'er my son's grave, as o'er a babe's, where tears
Are as spring dew-drops, glittering in the sun,
And brightening the young verdure, I might still
Have loved and trusted!
And hath not glory medicine in her cup
And listen!-By my side the stripling grew,
Last of my line. I rear'd him to take joy
I' th' blaze of arms, as eagles train their young
To look upon the day-king!-His quick blood
Ev'n to his boyish cheek would mantle up,
When the heavens rang with trumpets, and his eye
Flash with the spirit of a race whose deeds—
But this availeth not!-Yet he was brave.
I've seen him clear himself a path in fight
As lightning through a forest, and his plume
Waved like a torch, above the battle-storm,
The soldier's guide, when princely crests had sunk,
And banners were struck down.-Around my steps
Floated his fame, like music, and I lived
But in the lofty sound. But when my heart
In one frail ark had ventur'd all, when most
He seem'd to stand between my soul and heaven, -Then came the thunder-stroke !
And the unquiet and foreboding sense
That thus 'twill ever be, doth link itself
Darkly with all deep love!-He died?
-Death! Death!-Why, earth should be a paradise,
To make that name so fearful!-Had he died,
With his young fame about him for a shroud,
I had not learn'd the might of agony,
To bring proud natures low!-No! he fell off-
-Why do I tell thee this?-What right hast thou
To learn how pass'd the glory from my house?
Yet listen!-He forsook me !-He, that was
As mine own soul, forsook me! trampled o'er
The ashes of his sires!-Aye, leagued himself
E'en with the infidel, the curse of Spain,
And, for the dark eye of a Moorish maid,
Abjured his faith, his God!-Now, talk of death!
I braced the corslet o'er my heart's deep wound,
And cast my troubled spirit on the tide
Of war and high events, whose stormy waves
Might bear it up from sinking ;-
Be still!-We did!-we met once more.
God had his own high purpose to fulfil,
Or think'st thou that the sun in his bright heaven
Had look'd upon such things?—We met once more.
-That was an hour to leave its lightning-mark
Sear'd upon brain and bosom !-there had been
Combat on Ebro's banks, and when the day
Sank in red clouds, it faded from a field
Still held by Moorish lances. Night closed round,
A night of sultry darkness, in the shadow
Of whose broad wing, ev'n unto death I strove
Long with a turban'd champion; but my sword
Was heavy with God's vengeance-and prevail'd.
He fell my heart exulted-and I stood
In gloomy triumph o'er him-Nature gave
No sign of horror, for 'twas Heaven's decree!
He strove to speak-but I had done the work
Of wrath too well-yet in his last deep moan
A dreadful something of familiar sound
Came o'er my shuddering sense.-The moon look'd forth,
And I beheld-speak not!-'twas he-my son!
My boy lay dying there! He raised one glance,
And knew me for he sought with feeble hand
To cover his glazed eyes. A darker veil
Sank o'er them soon.-I will not have thy look
Fix'd on me thus !—Away!
Thou hast done this, and yet thou liv'st?
And know'st thou wherefore?-On my soul there fell
A horror of great darkness, which shut out
All earth, and heaven, and hope. I cast away
The spear and helm, and made the cloister's shade
The home of my despair. But a deep voice
Came to me through the gloom, and sent its tones
Far through my bosom's depths. And I awoke,
Aye, as the mountain cedar doth shake off
Its weight of wintry snow, e'en so I shook
Despondence from my soul, and knew myself
Seal'd by that blood wherewith my hands were dyed,
And set apart, and fearfully mark'd out
Unto a mighty task!-To rouse the soul
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