2153. Robert Southey to Walter Savage Landor, [ c. early October 1812] *

7.¹

Twas not in vain that on her absent son Pelayo’s mother from the bed of death Call’d for forgiveness, & in agony Besought his prayers; all guilty as she was He had not sure been human, if that cry Had fail’d to pierce him. When he heard the tale He blest the messenger, even while his speech Was faltering, & from head to foot he shook With icy feelings from his inmost heart Effused. It changed the nature of his woe, Making the burthen more endurable. The life-long sorrow that remaind, became A healing & a chastening grief, & brought His soul in close communion, nearer Heaven For he had been first born, & the love Which at her breast he drew, & from her smiles And from her voice of tenderness imbibed, As opening flowers in sunshine gather strength, Gave such unnatural horror to her crimes That when the thought came over him, it seemd As if the milk which with his infant life Had blended, thrill’d like poison thro his frame. It [MS obscured] beyond all reach of hope, [MS obscured] dreadful tale of her remorse [MS obscured] his heart; & ever from that day [MS obscured] her who bore him, night & morn Pour out the anguish of his soul in prayer – But chiefly as the night return’d which heard Her last expiring groans of penitence; Then thro the long & painful hours, before The altar, like a penitent himself, He kept his vigils; & when Rodericks sword Subdued Witiza, & the land was free, Duly before her grave he offered up His yearly sacrifice of agony And prayer; this was the night & he it was Who now before Siverian & the King Stood up in sackcloth. The old man, from fear Recovering & from wonder, knew him first. It is the Prince! he cried, & bending down Embraced his knees. The action & the word Awakened Roderick; he shook off the load Of struggling thoughts which pressing on his heart Held him like one entranced; yet all untaught To bend before the face of man, confusd Awhile he stood, forgetful of his part, But when Siverian cried, my Lord, my Lord, Now God he prais’d that I have found thee thus, My Lord & Prince, Spains only hope & mine! Then Roderick echoing him exclaimd, my Lord And Prince, Pelayo! & approaching near He bent his knee obeisant, but his head Earthward inclin’d, while the old man looking up From his low gesture to Pelayo’s face, Wept at beholding him, for grief & joy.

Siverian? cried the Chief, what brings thee here? Some tale of ill! – my wife, – my children – speak!

They are as thou wouldst wish them, he replied, Wert thou but Lord of thine own home again And Spain were Spain once more. I bear a tale Of ill, but one which touches not the heart Like what thy fears forebode. The renegade Numacian woos thy sister, & she lends To the vile slave unworthily her ear The Lady Gaudiosa hath in vain Warn’d her of all the evils which await A union thus accurst; she sets at nought Her faith, her lineage, & thy certain wrath.

Pelayo hearing him remain’d awhile Silent, then turning to his mothers grave, O thou poor dust, hath then the infectious taint Survived thy dread remorse, that it should run In Guisla’s veins! he cried, I should have heard This shameful sorrow any where but here! Humble thyself proud heart! thou, gracious Heaven Be merciful, – it is the original flaw, – And what are we, a weak unhappy race Born to our sad inheritance of sin And death. – He smote his forehead as he spake, And from his head the ashes fell, like snow Shaken from some dry beech leaves when a bird Lights on the bending spray. A little while, In silence rather than in thought he stood, Passive beneath the sorrow. Turning then, And what doth Gaudiosa counsel me, He askd the old man, for she hath ever been My wise & faithful counsellor. – He replied, The Lady Gaudiosa bade me say She sees the danger that on every part Besets her husband’s house: here she had ceas’d, – But when my noble Mistress gave in charge How I should tell thee that in evil times The bravest counsel ever is the best, Then that high-minded Lady thus rejoin’d, Whatever to my Lords resolve, he knows I bear a mind prepared. Brave spirits, cried Pelayo, – worthy to remove all stain Of weakness from their sex. I should be less Than man, if drawing strength where others find Their hearts most open to assault of fear, I quaild at danger. Never be it said Of Spain, that in the hour of her distress Her women were as heroes, but her men Performd the womens part. Roderick at that Lookd up, & taking up the word exclaim’d O Prince, in better days the pride of Spain And prostrate as she lies, her current hope Hear now my tale. The fire which seemd extinct Hath risen revigorate: a living spark From Aurias ashes by a Womans hand Preserved & quickened, kindles far & wide The beacon-flame oer all the Asturian hills. There hath a vow been offered up, which binds Us & our childrens children to the work Of holy hatred; in the name of Spain That vow hath been pronounced & registered Above, to be the bond whereby we stand For condemnation or acceptance. Heaven Received the irrevocable vow, & Earth Must witness its fulfillment, Earth & Heaven Call upon thee Pelayo! upon thee The spirits of thy royal ancestors Look down expectant; unto thee from fields Laid waste, & hamlets burnt & cities sack’d The blood of infancy & helpless age Cries out; – thy native mountains call for thee Echoing from all their armed sons thy names: And deem not thou that rash impatience goads Thy countrymen to counsels immature, Odoar & Urban from Visonias banks Send me their sworn & trusted messenger To summon thee, & tell thee in their name That now the hour is come. For sure it seems, Thus saith the Primate, Heavens high will to rear Upon the soil of Spain a Spanish throne, Restoring in thy native line, O Prince The sceptre to the Spaniard. Worthy son Of that most ancient & heroic race, Which with unweariable endurance still Hath striven against its mightier enemies Roman or Carthaginian, Greek or Goth; So often by superior arts beguild & <arms> opprest More often by superior arts beguild. Yet amid all its sufferings, all the waste Of sword & fire remorselessly employ’d, Unconquerd & unconquerable still, – Son of that injurd & illustrious stock Stand forward thou, draw forth the sword of Spain Restore them to their rights, too long withheld, And place upon thy brow the Spanish crown.

While Roderick ceasd the princely Mountaineer Gazed on the passionate orator awhile With eyes intently fixd, & thoughtful brow. Then turning to the altar, he let fall The sackcloth robe which late with folded arms Against his heart was prest, & stretching forth His hands toward the Crucifix, exclaim’d My God & my Redeemer where but here Before thy aweful presence, in this garb, With penitential ashes thus bestrewn, Could I so fitly answer to the call Of Spain, & for her sake & in thy name Accept the crown of thorns she proffers me!

And where but here, said Roderick in his heart, Could I so properly with humbled knee And willing soul, confirm my forfeiture? – The action followed on that secret thought. He knelt & took Pelayo’s hand, & cried, First of the Spaniards let me with this kiss Do homage to thee here, my Lord & King. With voice unchanged & steady countenance He spake; but when Siverian followed him The old man trembled as his lips pronounced The faltering vow, & rising he exclaim’d, God grant thee, O my Prince, a better fate Than thy poor kinsmans, who in happier days Receivd thy homage here! – Grief choakd his speech And bursting into tears he sobbd aloud; Tears too adown Pelayo’s manly cheek Roll’d silently. Roderick alone appeard Unmov’d & calm, for now the royal Goth Had offered his accepted sacrifice, And therefore in his soul he felt that peace Which follows painful duty well perform’d, A heavenly peace, above all earthly joys.