But the deep eddies whelm'd both man and horse, And for their bondsmen base the freeborn natives brand. XXIII Then rose the grated Harem, to enclose The loveliest maidens of the Christian line; The Santon's frantic dance, the Fakir's gibbering moan. XXIV. How fares Don Roderick?-E'en as one who spies He curses earth and heaven-himself in chier- XXV. That scythe-armed Giant turned his fatal glass, And twilight on the landscape closed her wings, Far to Asturian hills the war-sounds pass, And in their stead rebeck or timbrel rings; And to the sound the bell-deck'd dancer springs, Bazars resound as when their marts are met, In tourney light the Moor his jerrid flings, And on the land as evening seem'd to set, Eo pass'd that pageant. Ere another came, Whose sulch'rous wreaths were cross'd by sheet of flame; With every flash a bolt explosive broke, Till Roderick deem'd the fiends had burst their yoke, And waved 'gainst heaven the infernal gonfalone! For War a new and dreadful language spoke, Never by ancient warrior heard or known: Lightning and smoke her breath, and thunder was her tone. From the dim landscape roll the clouds away- This clad in sackcloth, that in armour bright, Valour was harness'd like a Chief of old, Arm'd at all points, and prompt for knightly gest; The spoils of Afric's lion bound his breast. Fierce he stepp'd forward and flung down his gage, As if of mortal kind to brave the best. Him follow'd his Companion, dark and sage, Iaughty of heart and brow the Warrior came, So found the loftiest soul his toils he wound, And with his spells subdued the fierce and free, Honouring his scourge and hair-cloth, meekly kiss'd the ground. And thus it chanced that VALOUR, peerless Knight, Victorious still in bull-feast, or in fight, Nor reason'd of the right nor of the wrong, And wrought fell deeds the troubled world along For he was fierce as brave, and pitiless as strong. XXXI Oft his proud galleys sought some new found world,” · Crowns by Caciques, aigrettes by Omrahs worn, Bedabbled all with blood.-With grisly scowl The Hermit mark'd the stains, and smiled beneath his cowl XXXII Then did he bless the offering, and bade make And at his word the choral hymns awake, And many a hand the silver censer sways. But with the incense-breath these censers raise, Mix steams from corpses smouldering in the fire; The groans of prison'd victims mar the lays, And shrieks of agony confound the quire, While, 'mid the mingled sounds, the darken'd scenes expire. XXXIII. Preluding light, were strains of music heard, The Mozo blithe, with gay Muchacha met, Each tiptoe perch'd to spring, and shake the castanet. XXXIV. And well such strains the opening scene became; Lay stretch'd, full loth the weight of arms to brook; And soften'd BIGOTRY, upon his book, Patter'd a task of little good or ill: But the blithe peasant plied his pruning-hook, XXXV. Grey Royalty, grown impotent of toil, And to the tinkling of the light guitar, Sweet stoop'd the western sun, sweet rose the evening star XXXVI As that sea-cloud, in size like human hand, Awhile, perchance, bedeck'd with colours sheen, And blotted heaven with one broad sable cloudThen sheeted rain burst down, and whirlwinds howl'd alouds XXXVII. Even so upon that peaceful scene was pour'd, Like gathering clouds, full many a foreign band. And HE, their Leader, wore in sheath his sword And offer'd peaceful front and open hand; Veiling the perjured treachery he plann'd, By friendship's zeal and honour's spacious guise, Until he won the passes of the land; Then, burst were honour's oath, and friendship's ties! Пle clutch'd his vulture-grasp, and call'd fair Spain his prize. XXXVIII. An Iron Crown his anxious forehead bore; XXXIX From a rude isle his ruder lineage came: Hath not a meaner or more sordid birth. Hath not a source more sullen, stagnant, and impure. XL. Before that Leader strode a shadowy Form: Her limbs like mist, her torch like meteor show'd, With which she beckon'd him through fight aud storm, And all he crush'd that cross'd his desperate road, Nor thought, nor fear'd, nor look'd on what he trodes Realms could not glut his pride, blood could not slake, So oft as e'er she shook her torch abroad— It was Ambition bade his terrors wake, XLI. No longer now she spurn'd at mean revenge. As when the banded powers of Greece were task'd |