Classic Poem

That awful silence still endured, when one,
Who to the northern entrance of the vale
Had turn'd his casual eye, exclaim'd, The Moors! —
For from the forest verge a troop were seen
Hastening toward Pedro's hall. Their forward speed
Was check'd when they beheld his banner spread,
And saw his order'd spears in prompt array,
Marshalled to meet their coming. But the pride
Of power and insolence of long command
Prick'd on their Chief presumptuous: We are come
Late for prevention, cried the haughty Moor,
But never time more fit for punishment!
These unbelieving slaves must feel and know
Their master's arm! — On, faithful Mussulmen,
On — on, — and hew down the rebellious dogs. —
Then, as he spurr'd his steed, Allah is great!
Mahommed is his Prophet! he exclaim'd,
And led the charge.
Count Pedro met the Chief
In full career; he bore him from his horse
A full spear's length upon the lance transfix'd;
Then leaving in his breast the mortal shaft,
Pass'd on, and, breaking through the turban'd files,
Open'd a path. Pelayo, who that day
Fought in the ranks afoot, for other war
Yet unequipp'd, pursued and smote the foe,
But ever on Alphonso, at his side,
Retained a watchful eye. The gallant boy
Gave his good sword that hour its earliest tas.
Of Moorish blood, — that sword, whose hungry edge,
Through the fair course of all his glorious life,
From that auspicious day, was fed so well.
Cheap was the victory now for Spain achieved;
For the first fervor of their zeal inspired
The Mountaineers, — the presence of their Chiefs,
The sight of all dear objects, all dear ties,
The air they breathed, the soil whereon they trod,
Duty, devotion, faith, and hope, and joy.
And little had the misbelievers ween'd
In such impetuous onset to receive
A greeting deadly as their own intent;
Victims they thought to find, not men prepared
And eager for the fight; their confidence
Therefore gave way to wonder, and dismay
Effected what astonishment began.
Scatter'd before the impetuous Mountaineers,
Buckler, and spear, and cimeter they dropp'd,
As in precipitate rout they fled before
The Asturian sword: the vales, and hills, and rocks,
Received their blood, and where they fell the wolves
At evening found them.
From the fight apart
Two Africans had stood, who held in charge
Count Eudon. When they saw their countrymen
Falter, give way, and fly before the foe,
One turn'd toward him with malignant rage,
And saying, Infidel! thou shalt not live
To join their triumph! aim'd against his neck
The moony falchion's point. His comrade raised
A hasty hand, and turn'd its edge aside,
Yet so that o'er the shoulder glancing down,
It scarr'd him as it pass'd. The murderous Moor,
Not tarrying to secure his vengeance, fled;
While he of milder mood, at Eudon's feet
Fell and embraced his knees. The mountaineer
Who found them thus, withheld at Eudon's voice
His wrathful hand, and led them to his Lord.

Count Pedro, and Alphonso, and the Prince
Stood on a little rocky eminence
Which overlook'd the vale. Pedro had put
His helmet off, and with sonorous horn
Blew the recall; for well he knew what thoughts,
Calm as the Prince appear'd and undisturb'd,
Lay underneath his silent fortitude;
And how at this eventful juncture speed
Imported more than vengeance. Thrice he sent
The long-resounding signal forth, which rung
From hill to hill, reichoing far and wide.
Slow and unwillingly his men obey'd
The swelling horn's reiterated call;
Repining that a single foe escaped
The retribution of that righteous hour.
With lingering step reluctant from the chase
They turn'd, — their veins full-swollen, their sinews strung
For battle still, their hearts unsatisfied;
Their swords were dropping still with Moorish blood,
And where they wiped their reeking brows, the stain
Of Moorish gore was left. But when they came
Where Pedro, with Alphonso at his side,
Stood to behold their coming, then they press'd,
All emulous, with gratulation round,
Extolling, for his deeds that day display'd,
The noble boy. Oh! when had Heaven, they said,
With such especial favor manifest
Illustrated a first essay in arms!
They bless'd the father from whose loins he sprung,
The mother at whose happy breast he fed;
And pray'd that their young hero's fields might be
Many, and all like this.
Thus they indulged
The honest heart, exuberant of love,
When that loquacious joy at once was check'd,
For Eudon and the Moor were brought before
Count Pedro. Both came fearfully and pale,
But with a different fear: the African
Felt, at this crisis of his destiny,
Such apprehension as without reproach
Might blanch a soldier's cheek, when life and death
Hang on another's will, and helplessly
He must abide the issue. But the thoughts
Which quail'd Count Eudon's heart, and made his limbs
Quiver, were of his own unworthiness,
Old enmity, and that he stood in power
Of hated and hereditary foes.
I came not with them willingly! he cried,
Addressing Pedro and the Prince at once,
Rolling from each to each his restless eyes
Aghast, — the Moor can tell I had no choice;
They forced me from my castle: — in the fight
They would have slain me: — see, I bleed! The Moor
Can witness that a Moorish cimeter
Inflicted this: — he saved me from worse hurt: —
I did not come in arms: — he knows it all; —
Speak, man, and let the truth be known to clear
My innocence!
Thus as he ceased, with fear
And rapid utterance, panting open-mouth'd,
Count Pedro half repress'd a mournful smile,
Wherein compassion seem'd to mitigate
His deep contempt. Methinks, said he, the Moor
Might with more reason look himself to find
An intercessor, than be call'd upon
To play the pleader's part. Didst thou then save
The Baron from thy comrades?
Let my Lord
Show mercy to me, said the Mussulman,
As I am free from falsehood. We were left,
I and another, holding him in charge;
My fellow would have slain him when he saw
How the fight fared; I turn'd the cimeter
Aside, and trust that life will be the meed
For life by me preserved.
Nor shall thy trust,
Rejoin'd the Count, be vain. Say further now,
From whence ye came; — your orders, what — what force
In Gegio; and if others like yourselves
Are in the field.
The African replied,
We came from Gegio, order'd to secure
This Baron on the way, and seek thee here
To bear thee hence in bonds. A messenger
From Cordoba, whose speed denoted well
He came with urgent tidings, was the cause
Of this our sudden movement. We went forth
Three hundred men; an equal force was sent
For Cangas, on like errand, as I ween.
Four hundred in the city then were left.
If other force be moving from the south,
I know not, save that all appearances
Denote alarm and vigilance
The Prince
Fix'd upon Eudon then his eye severe;
Baron, he said, the die of war is cast;
What part art thou prepared to take? against,
Or with the oppressor?
Not against my friends, —
Not against you! — the irresolute wretch replied,
Hasty, yet faltering in his fearful speech;
But, — have ye weigh'd it well? — It is not yet
Too late, — their numbers, — their victorious force,
Which hath already trodden in the dust
The sceptre of the Goths: — the throne destroy'd, —
Our towns subdued, — our country overrun, —
The people to the yoke of their new Lords
Resign'd in peace — Can I not mediate? —
Were it not better through my agency
To gain such terms, — such honorable terms? —

Terms! cried Pelayo, cutting short at once
That dastard speech, and checking, ere it grew
Too powerful for restraint, the incipient wrath
Which in indignant murmurs breathing round,
Rose like a gathering storm, learn thou what terms
Asturias, this day speaking by my voice,
Doth constitute to be the law between
Thee and thy Country. Our portentous age,
As with an earthquake's desolating force,
Hath loosen'd and disjointed the whole frame
Of social order, and she calls not now
For service with the force of sovereign will.
That which was common duty in old times,
Becomes an arduous, glorious virtue now;
And every one, as between Hell and Heaven,
In free election must be left to choose.
Asturias asks not of thee to partake
The cup which we have pledged; she claims from none
The dauntless fortitude, the mind resolved,
Which only God can give; — therefore such peace
As thou canst find where all around is war,
She leaves thee to enjoy. But think not, Count,
That because thou art weak, one valiant arm,
One generous spirit must be lost to Spain!
The vassal owes no service to the Lord
Who to his Country doth acknowledge none.
The summons which thou hast not heart to give,
I and Count Pedro over thy domains
Will send abroad; the vassals who were thine
Will fight beneath our banners, and our wants
Shall from thy lands, as from a patrimony
Which hath reverted to the common stock,
Be fed: such tribute, too, as to the Moors
Thou renderest, we will take It is the price
Which in this land for weakness must be paid:
While evil stars prevail. And mark me, Chief!
Fear is a treacherous counsellor! I know
Thou thinkist that beneath his horses' hoofs
The Moor will trample our poor numbers down;
But join not, in contempt of us and Heaven,
His multitudes! for if thou shouldst be found
Against thy country, on the readiest tree
Those recreant bones shall rattle in the wind,
When the birds have left them bare.
As thus he spake,
Count Eudon heard and trembled: every joint
Was loosen'd, every fibre of his flesh
Thrill'd, and from every pore effused, cold sweat
Clung on his quivering limbs. Shame forced it forth,
Envy, and inward consciousness, and fear
Predominant, which stifled in his heart
Hatred and rage. Before his livid lips
Could shape to utterance their essay'd reply,
Compassionately Pedro interposed.
Go, Baron, to the Castle, said the Count;
There let thy wound be look'd to, and consult
Thy better mind at leisure. Let this Moor
Attend upon thee there, and when thou wilt,
Follow thy fortunes — — To Pelayo then
He turn'd, and saying, All-too-long, O Prince,
Hath this unlook'd-for conflict held thee here, —
He bade his gallant men begin their march.

Flush'd with success, and in auspicious hour,
The Mountaineers set forth. Blessings and prayers
Pursued them at their parting, and the tears
Which fell were tears of fervor, not of grief.
The sun was verging to the western slope
Of Heaven, but they till midnight travell'd on;
Renewing then at early dawn their way,
They held their unremitting course from morn
Till latest eve, such urgent cause impell'd;
And night had closed around, when to the vale
Where Sella in her ampler bed receives
Pionia's stream they came. Massive and black
Pelayo's castle there was seen; its lines
And battlements against the deep blue sky
Distinct in solid darkness visible.
No light is in the tower. Eager to know
The worst, and with that fatal certainty
To terminate intolerable dread,
He spurr'd his courser forward. All his fears
Too surely are fulfill'd, — for open stand
The doors, and mournfully at times a dog
Fills with his howling the deserted hall.
A moment overcome with wretchedness,
Silent Pelayo stood! recovering then,
Lord God, resign'd he cried, thy will be done!