Classic Poem

The camp is stirring, and ere day hath dawn'd
The tents are struck. Early they rise whom Hope
Awakens, and they travel fast with whom
She goes companion of the way. By noon
Hath Abulcacem in his speed attain'd
The Vale of Cangas. Well the trusty scouts
Observe his march, and, fleet as mountain roes,
From post to post, with instantaneous speed,
The warning bear: none else is nigh: the vale
Hath been deserted, and Pelayo's hall
Is open to the foe, who on the tower
Hoist their white signal-flag. In Sella's stream
The misbelieving multitudes perform,
With hot and hasty hand, their noontide rite,
Then hurryingly repeat the Impostor's prayer.
Here they divide; the Chieftain halts with half
The host, retaining Julian and his men,
Whom where the valley widen'd he disposed,
Liable to first attack, that so the deed
Of murder plann'd with Orpas might be done.
The other force the Moor Alcahman led,
Whom Guisla guided up Pionia's stream
Eastward to Soto. Ibrahim went with him,
Proud of Granada's snowy heights subdued,
And boasting of his skill in mountain war;
Yet sure he deem'd an easier victory
Awaited him this day. Little, quoth he,
Weens the vain Mountaineer, who puts his rust
In dens and rocky fastnesses, how close
Destruction is at hand! Belike he thinks
The Humma's happy wings have shadow'd him,
And therefore Fate with royalty must crown
His chosen head! Pity the cimeter
With its rude edge so soon should interrupt
The pleasant dream!
There can be no escape
For those who in the cave seek shelter, cried
Alcahman; yield they must, or from their holes
Like bees we smoke them out. The Chief perhaps
May reign awhile King of the wolves and bears,
Till his own subjects hunt him down, or kites
And crows divide what hunger may have left
Upon his ghastly limbs. Happier for him
That destiny should this day to our hands
Deliver him; short would be his sufferings then;
And we right joyfully should in one hour
Behold our work accomplish'd, and his race
Extinct.
Thus these, in mockery and in thoughts
Of bloody triumph, to the future blind,
Indulged the scornful vein; nor deem'd that they
Whom to the sword's unsparing edge they doom'd,
Even then in joyful expectation pray'd
To Heaven for their approach, and, at their post
Prepared, were trembling with excess of hope.
Here in these mountain straits the Mountaineer
Had felt his country's strength insuperable;
Here he had pray'd to see the Mussulman
With all his myriads; therefore had he look'd
To Covadonga as a sanctuary
Apt for concealment, easy of defence;
And Guisla's flight, though to his heart it sent
A pang more poignant for their mother's sake,
Yet did it further in its consequence
His hope and project, surer than decoy
Well-laid, or best concerted stratagem.
That sullen and revengeful mind, he knew,
Would follow to the extremity of guilt
Its long fore-purposed shame: the toils were laid,
And she who by the Mussulmen full sure
Thought on her kindred her revenge to wreak,
Let the Moors in.
Count Pedro and his son
Were hovering with the main Asturian force
In the wider vale to watch occasion there,
And with hot onset when the alarm began
Pursue the vantage. In the fated straits
Of Deva had the King disposed the rest:
Amid the hanging woods, and on the cliffs,
A long mile's length on either side its bed,
They lay. The lever, and the axe; and saw
Had skilfully been plied; and trees and stones,
A dread artillery, ranged on crag, and shelf,
And steep descent, were ready at the word
Precipitate to roll resistless down.
The faithful maiden not more wistfully
Looks for the day that brings her lover home,
Scarce more impatiently the horse endures
The rein, when loud and shrill the hunter's horn
Rings in his joyous ears, than at their post
The Mountaineers await their certain prey;
Yet mindful of their Prince's order, oft
And solemnly enforced, with eagerness
Subdued by minds well-master'd, they expect
The appointed signal.
Hand must not be raised,
Foot stirr'd, nor voice be utter'd, said the Chief,
Till the word pass: impatience would mar all.
God hath deliver'd over to your hands
His enemies and ours, so we but use
The occasion wisely. Not till the word pass
From man to man transmitted, " In the name
" Of God, for Spain and Vengeance! " let a hand
Be lifted; on obedience all depends.
Their march below with noise of horse and foot,
And haply with the clang of instruments,
Might drown all other signal, this is sure;
But wait it calmly; it will not be given
Till the whole line hath enter'd in the toils.
Comrades, be patient, so shall none escape
Who once set foot within these straits of death.
Thus had Pelayo on the Mountaineers
With frequent and impressive charge enforced
The needful exhortation. This alone
He doubted, that the Mussulmen might see
The perils of the vale, and warily
Forbear to enter. But they thought to find,
As Guisla told, the main Asturian force
Seeking concealment there, no other aid
Soliciting from these their native hills;
And that, the babes and women having fallen
In thraldom, they would lay their weapons down,
And supplicate forgiveness for their sake.
Nor did the Moors perceive in what a strait
They enter'd; for the morn had risen o'ercast,
And when the Sun had reach'd the height of heaven,
Dimly his pale and beamless orb was seen
Moving through mist. A soft and gentle rain,
Scarce heavier than the summer's evening dew,
Descended, — through so still an atmosphere,
That every leaf upon the moveless trees
Was studded o'er with rain-drops, bright and full,
None falling till from its own weight o'erswollen
The motion came.
Low on the mountain side
The fleecy vapor hung, and in its veil,
With all their dreadful preparations, wrapp'd
The Mountaineers; — in breathless hope they lay,
Some blessing God in silence for the power
This day vouchsafed; others with fervency
Of prayer and vow invoked the Mother-Maid,
Beseeching her that in this favoring hour
She would be strongly with them. From below,
Meantime, distinct they heard the passing tramp
Of horse and foot, continues as the sound
Of Deva's stream, and barbarous tongues commix'd
With laughter, and with frequent shouts, — for all
Exultant came, expecting sure success;
Blind wretches, over whom the ruin hung!

They say, quoth one, that though the Prophet's soul
Doth, with the black-eyed Houris bathe in bliss,
Life hath not left his body, which bears up
By its miraculous power the holy tomb,
And holds it, at Medina, in the air,
Buoyant between the temple's floor and roof;
And there the Angels fly to him with news
From East, West, North, and South, of what befalls
His faithful people. If, when he shall hear
The tale of this day's work, he should, for joy,
Forget that he is dead, and walk abroad, —
It were as good a miracle as when
He sliced the moon! Sir Angel, hear me now,
Whoe'er thou be'st who art about to speed
From Spain to Araby! when thou hast got
The Prophet's ear, be sure thou tellest him
How bravely Ghauleb did his part to-day,
And with what special reverence he alone
Desired thee to commend him to his grace! —
Fie on thee, scoffer that thou art! replied
His comrade; thou wilt never leave these gibes
Till some commission'd arrow through the teeth
Shall nail the offending tongue. Hast thou not heard
How, when our clay is leaven'd first with life,
The ministering Angel brings it from that spot
Whereon 'tis written in the eternal book
That soul and body must their parting take,
And earth to earth return? How knowest thou
But that the spirit who compounded thee,
To distant Syria from this very vale
Bore thy component dust, and Azrael here
Awaits thee at this hour? — Little thought he
Who spake, that, in that valley, at that hour,
One death awaited both!
Thus they pursued
Toward the cave their inauspicious way.
Weak childhood there, and ineffective age,
In the chambers of the rock, were placed secure;
But of the women, all whom with the babes
Maternal care detain'd not, were aloft
To aid in the destruction; by the side
Of fathers, brethren, husbands, station'd there,
They watch and pray. Pelayo in the cave,
With the venerable primate, took his post.
Ranged on the rising cliffs, on either hand,
Vigilant sentinels, with eye intent,
Observe his movements, when to take the word
And pass it forward. He, in arms complete,
Stands in the portal; a stern majesty
Reign'd in his countenance severe that hour,
And in his eye a deep and dreadful joy
Shone, as advancing up the vale he saw
The Moorish banners. God hath blinded them
He said; the measure of their crimes is full!
O Vale of Deva, famous shalt thou be
From this day forth forever; and to these
Thy springs shall unborn generations come
In pilgrimage, and hallow with their prayers
The cradle of their native monarchy!

There was a stirring in the air; the sun
Prevail'd, 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, pitch'd 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 open'd 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 flow'd her raiment, but her breast was arm'd,
And helmeted her head. The Moor turn'd 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!
Thus she closed
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 pass'd
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 loosen'd crags, down, down they roll'd with rush,
And bound, and thundering force. Such was the fall,
As when some city, by the laboring 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, commix'd with sounds
More dreadful, shrieks of horror, and despair,
And death, — the wild and agonizing cry
Of that whole host in one destruction whelm'd.
Vain was all valor 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 armor and the bones within
Broken, and bruised, and crush'd. Echo prolong'd
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-utter'd prayer,
The louder curses of despairing death,
Ascended not so high. Down from the cave
Pelayo hastes; the Asturians hasten down;
Fierce and immitigable down they speed
On all sides; and along the vale of blood
The avenging sword did mercy's work that hour.