Look yonder at that cloud, which through the sky
Sailing alone, doth cross in her career
The rolling moon! I watched it as it came,
And deemed the deep opake would blot her beams;
But, melting like a wreath of snow, it hangs
In folds of wavy silver round, and clothes
The orb with richer beauties than her own,
Then passing, leaves her in her light serene.
Thus having said, the pious sufferer sat,
Beholding with fixed eyes that lovely orb,
Till quiet tears confused in dizzy light
The broken moonbeams. They too by the toil
Of spirit, as by travail of the day
Subdued, were silent, yielding to the hour.
The silver cloud diffusing slowly past,
And now into its airy elements
Resolved is gone; while through the azure depth
Alone in heaven the glorious moon pursues
Her course appointed, with indifferent beams
Shining upon the silent hills around,
And the dark tents of that unholy host,
Who, all unconscious of impending fate,
Take their last slumber there. The camp is still,
The fires have mouldered, and the breeze which stirs
The soft and snowy embers, just lays bare,
At times a red and evanescent light,
Or for a moment wakes a feeble flame.
They by the fountain hear the stream below,
Whose murmurs, as the wind arose or fell,
Fuller or fainter, reach the ear attuned.
And now the nightingale, not distant far,
Began her solitary song; and poured
To the cold moon a richer, stronger strain,
Than that with which the lyric lark salutes
The new-born day. Her deep and thrilling song
Seemed with its piercing melody to reach
The soul, and in mysterious unison
Blend with all thoughts of gentleness and love.
Their hearts were open to the healing power
Of nature; and the splendour of the night,
The flow of waters, and that sweetest lay
Came to them like a copious evening dew,
Falling on vernal herbs which thirst for rain.
There was a stirring in the air, the sun
Prevailed, and gradually the brightening mist
Began to rise and melt. A jutting crag
Upon the right projected o'er the stream,
Not farther from the cave than a strong hand
Expert, with deadly aim, might cast the spear,
Or a strong voice, pitched to full compass, make
Its clear articulation heard distinct.
A venturous dalesman, once ascending there
To rob the eagle's nest, had fallen, and hung
Among the heather, wondrously preserved :
Therefore had he with pious gratitude
Placed on that overhanging brow a cross,
Tall as the mast of some light fisher's skiff,
And from the vale conspicuous. As the Moors
Advanced, the chieftain in the van was seen,
Known by his arms, and from the crag a voice
Pronounced his name-Alcahman, hoa! look up,
Alcahman! As the floating mist drew up,
It had divided there, and opened round
The cross; part clinging to the rock beneath,
Hovering and waving part in fleecy folds,
A canopy of silver light, condensed
To shape and substance. In the midst there stood
A female form, one hand upon the cross,
The other raised in menacing act: below
Loose flowed her raiment, but her breast was armed,
And helmeted her head. The Moor turned pale;
For on the walls of Auria he had seen
That well-known figure, and had well believed
She rested with the dead. What, hoa! she cried;
Alcahman ! In the name of all who fell
At Auria in the massacre, this hour
I summon thee before the throne of God,
To answer for the innocent blood! This hour, Moor, Miscreant, Murderer, Child of Hell, this hour I summon thee to judgment! In the name
Of God! for Spain and vengeance!
Her speech; for, taking from the Primate's hand
That oaken cross, which at the sacring rites
Had served for crosier, at the cavern's mouth
Pelayo lifted it, and gave the word.
From voice to voice on either side it past
With rapid repetition-In the name
Of God! for Spain and vengeance! and forthwith
On either side, along the whole defile,
The Asturians shouting in the name of God,
Set the whole ruin loose! huge trunks and stones,
And loosened crags, down, down they rolled with rush
And bound, and thundering force. Such was the fall,
As when some city, by the labouring earth
Heaved from its strong foundations, is cast down,
And all its dwellings, towers, and palaces
In one wide desolation prostrated.
From end to end of that long strait, the crash
Was heard continuous, and commixt with sounds
More dreadful-shrieks of horror, and despair,
And death-the wild and agonizing cry
Of that whole host in one destruction whelmed.
Vain was all valour there, all martial skill;
The valiant arm is helpless now; the feet
Swift in the race, avail not now to save;
They perish, all their thousands perish there;
Horsemen and infantry, they perish all,-
The outward armour, and the bones within,
Broken, and bruised, and crushed. Echo prolonged
The long uproar: a silence then ensued,
Through which the sound of Deva's stream was heard,
A lonely voice of waters, wild and sweet.
The lingering groan, the faintly-uttered prayer,
The louder curses of despairing death,
Ascended not so high. Down from the cave
Pelayo hastes, the Asturians hasten down;
Fierce and unmitigable, down they speed
On all sides, and along the vale of blood
The avenging sword did mercy's work that hour.
Aye, Idleness! the rich folks never fail
To find some reason why the poor deserve
Their miseries !-Is it idleness, I pray you,
That brings the fever or the ague fit?
That makes the sick one's sickly appetite
Turn at the dry bread and potatoe meal?
Is it idleness that makes small wages fail
For growing wants? Six years ago, these bells
Rung on my wedding-day, and I was told
What I might look for,-but I did not heed
Good counsel. I had lived in service, Sir,
Knew never what it was to want a meal;
Laid down without one thought to keep me sleepless,
Or trouble me in sleep; had for a Sunday
My linen gown, and when the pedlar came
Could buy me a new ribbon. And my husband,
A towardly young man and well to do.
He had his silver buckles and his watch;
There was not in the village one who looked
Sprucer on holidays. We married, Sir,
And we had children, but as wants increased
Wages did not. The silver buckles went,
So went the watch; and when the holiday coat
Was worn to work, no new one in its place.
For me-you see my rags! but I deserve them,
For wilfully, like this new-married pair,
Aye, it falls heavy there; and yet their pittance
|