QUEEN of the silver bow, by thy pale beam
Alone and pensive I delight to stray,
And watch thy shadow trembling in the stream,
Or mark the floating clouds that cross thy way.
And while I gaze, thy mild and placid light
Sheds a soft calm upon my troubled breast;
And oft I think, fair planet of the night,
That in thy orb the wretched may have rest;
The sufferers of the earth perhaps may go,
Released by death, to thy benignant sphere;
And the sad children of despair and woe,
Forget, in thee, their cup of sorrow here.
O! that I soon may reach thy world serene,
Poor wearied pilgrim-in this toiling scene.
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 moonlight 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 ranks, the Goth in silence stood,
While from all voices round, loquacious joy
Mingled its buzz continuous with the blast
Of horn, shrill pipe, and tinkling cymbals' clash,
And sound of deafening drum. But when the Prince
Drew nigh, and Urban, with the cross upheld,
Stept forth to meet him, all at once were stilled
With instantaneous hush; as when the wind,
Before whose violent gusts the forest oaks,
Tossing like billows their tempestuous heads,
Roar like a raging sea, suspends its force,
And leaves so dead a calm that not a leaf
Moves on the silent spray. The passing air
Bore with it from the woodland undisturbed
The ring-dove's wooing, and the quiet voice
Of Heroes and of Kings! the Primate thus Addressed him, Thou in whom the Gothic blood, Mingling with old Iberia's, has restored
To Spain a ruler of her native line,
Stand forth, and in the face of God and man
Swear to uphold the right, abate the wrong,
With equitable hand, protect the cross
Whereon thy lips this day shall seal their vow,
And underneath that hallowed symbol, wage
Holy and inextinguishable war
Against the accursed nation that usurps
Thy country's sacred soil!
Now and for ever, O my countrymen !
Replied Pelayo; and so deal with me
Here and hereafter, thou, Almighty God,
In whom I put my trust;
Lord God of Hosts,
Urban pursued, of Angels and of Men
Creator and Disposer, King of Kings,
Ruler of Earth and Heaven,-look down this day,
And multiply thy blessings on the head
Of this thy servant, chosen in thy sight!
Be thou his counsellor, his comforter,
His hope, his joy, his refuge, and his strength!
Crown him with justice, and with fortitude!
Defend him with thy all-sufficient shield,
Surround him every where with the right hand
Of thine all-present power! and with the might
Of thine omnipotence ;-send in his aid
Thy unseen angels forth, that potently
And royally against all enemies,
He
may endure and triumph! Bless the land
O'er which he is appointed; bless it with
The waters of the firmament, the springs
Of the low-lying deep, the fruits which sun
And moon mature for man, the precious stores
Of the eternal hills, and all the gifts
Of earth, its wealth and fulness!
Pelayo's hand, and on his finger placed
The mystic circlet. With this ring, O Prince,
To our dear Spain, who like a widow now
Mourneth in desolation, I thee wed:
For weal or woe thou takest her, till death
Dispart the union. Be it blest to her,
To thee, and to thy seed.
Of such discourse, Julian was silent then,
And sate contemplating. Florinda too
Was calmed. If sore experience may be thought
To teach the uses of adversity,
She said, alas! who better learned than I
In that sad school! Methinks if ye would know How visitations of calamity
Affect the pious soul, 'tis shown ye there!
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