She then describes the unconscious growth of their mutual passion — enlarges upon her own imprudence in affording him opportunities of declaring it—and expresses her conviction, that the wretched catastrophe was brought about, not by any premeditated guilt, but in a moment of delirium, which she had herself been instrumental in bringing on:

"Here then, O Father, at thy feet I own
Myself the guiltier; and full well I knew

These were his thoughts! But vengeance master'd me,
And in my agony I curst the man

Whom I lov'd best.'

Dost thou recall that curse?'

Cried Rodrick, in a deep and inward voice,
Still with his head depress'd, and covering still
His countenance. · Recall it?' she exclaimed!
Father! I came to thee because I gave

The reins to wrath too long, . . because I wrought
His ruin, death, and infamy... O God,

Forgive the wicked vengeance thus indulged!

As I forgive the King!'"- p. 132.

Roderick again stops her enthusiastic self-accusation, and rejects her too generous vindication of the King; — and turning to Siverian, adds

"To that old man,' said he,

And to the mother of the unhappy Goth,
Tell, if it please thee, not what thou hast pour'd

Into my secret ear, but that the child

For whom they mourn with anguish unallay'd,
Sinn'd not from vicious will, or heart corrupt,
But fell by fatal circumstance betray'd!
And if, in charity to them, thou say'st
Something to palliate, something to excuse

420

RODERICK

CASTLE OF COUNT PEDRO.

An act of sudden frenzy, when the fiend
O'ercome him, thou wilt do for Roderick
All he could ask thee, all that can be done
On earth, and all his spirit could endure!'
Then, vent'ring towards her an imploring look,
Wilt thou join with me for his soul in prayer?'
He said, and trembled as he spake. That voice
Of sympathy was like Heaven's influence,
Wounding at once and comforting the soul.

O Father! Christ requite thee!' she exclaim'd;

Thou hast set free the springs which with'ring griefs
Have closed too long.'

66

Then in a firmer speech,
For Rodrick, for Count Julian, and myself,
Three wretchedest of all the human race!
Who have destroy'd each other and ourselves,
Mutually wrong'd and wronging —- let us pray!

"-p. 133, 134.

There is great power, we think, and great dramatic talent, in this part of the poem. The meeting of Roderick and Florinda was a touchstone for a poet who had ventured on such a subject; and Mr. Southey, we must say, has come out of the test, of standard weight and purity.

The Eleventh Book brings them in safety to the castle of Count Pedro, the father of the young Alphonso, formerly the feudal foe, but now the loyal soldier of Pelayo. They find him arming in his courts, with all his vassals, to march instantly against the Moors: And their joyful welcome, and the parental delight of father and mother at the return of their noble boy, are very beautifully described.

The Twelfth Canto continues these preparations. The best part of it is the hasty and hopeful investiture of the young Alphonso with the honours of knighthood. The mixture of domestic affection with military ardour, and the youthful innocence, ingenuous modesty, and unclouded hopes of that blooming age, are feelingly combined in the following amiable picture, in which the classical reader will recognise many touches of true Homeric description:

The servants of the
Dispute the charge.

66

Rejoicing in their task, house with emulous love One brings the cuirass, one

YOUNG KNIGHTHOOD OF ALPHONSO.

The buckler; this exultingly displays

The sword, his comrade lifts the helm on high:
Greek artists in the imperial city forged
That splendid armour, perfect in their craft;
With curious skill they wrought it, framed alike
To shine amid the pageantry of war,

And for the proof of battle. Many a time
Alphonso from his nurse's lap had stretch'd
His infant hands toward it eagerly,

Where gleaming to the central fire it hung
High in the hall.

No season this for old solemnities!

For wassailry and sport; . . the bath, the bed,
The vigil,.. all preparatory rites

Omitted now,. .here in the face of Heaven
Before the vassals of his father's house,
With them in instant peril to partake
The chance of life or death, the heroic boy
Dons his first arms! the coated scales of steel
Which o'er the tunic to his knees depend;
The hose, the sleeves of mail: bareheaded then
He stood. But when Count Pedro took the spurs,
And bent his knee, in service to his son,

Alphonso from that gesture half drew back,

Starting in rev'rence, and a deeper hue

Spread o'er the glow of joy which flush'd his cheeks.
Do thou the rest, Pelayo!' said the Count;

So shall the ceremony of this hour

Exceed in honour what in form it lacks.' p. 147-149.

421

The ceremony is followed by a solemn vow of fidelity to Spain, and eternal war with the Infidel, administered by Roderick, and devoutly taken by the young Knight, and all his assembled followers.

The Thirteenth Book contains a brief account of the defeat of a Moorish detachment by this faithful troop; and of the cowardice and rebuke of Count Eudon, who had tamely yielded to the invaders, and is dismissed with scorn to the castle which his brave countrymen had redeemed. They then proceed to guard or recover the castle of Pelayo.

The Fourteenth Book describes their happy arrival at that fortress, at the fall of evening; where, though they do not find his wife and daughters, who had retired for safety to a sacred cave in the mountains, they meet a joyful and triumphant band of his retainers, returning

422

RODERICK'S INTERVIEW WITH HIS MOTHER.

from a glorious repulse of the Moors, and headed by the inspiring heroine Adosinda; who speedily recognises in Roderick her mournful assistant and first proselyte at Auria, while he at the same moment discovers, among the ladies of her train, the calm and venerable aspect of his beloved mother, Rusilla.

The Fifteenth Book contains the history of his appearance before that venerated parent. Unable to sleep, he had wandered forth before dawn

"that morn

With its cold dews might bathe his throbbing brow,
And with its breath allay the fev'rish heat

That burnt within. Alas! the gales of morn

Reach not the fever of a wounded heart!

How shall he meet his mother's eye, how make
His secret know, and from that voice rever'd
Obtain forgiveness!" p. 179.

While he is meditating under what pretext to introduce himself, the good Siverian comes to say, that his lady wishes to see the holy father who had spoken so charitably of her unhappy son. -The succeeding scene is very finely conceived, and supported with great judg ment and feeling.

"Count Julian's daughter with Rusilla sate;

Both had been weeping, both were pale, but calm.
With head as for humility abased

Rod'rick approach'd, and bending, on his breast

He cross'd his humble arms.

Rusilla rose

In reverence to the priestly character,
And with a mournful eye regarding him,
Thus she began: Good Father, I have heard
From my old faithful servant and true friend,
Thou didst reprove the inconsiderate tongue,
That in the anguish of its spirit pour'd
A curse upon my poor unhappy child!
O Father Maccabee, this is a hard world,
And hasty in its judgments! Time has been,
When not a tongue within the Pyrenees
Dared whisper in dispraise of Rodrick's name.
Now, if a voice be raised in his behalf,
"Tis noted for a wonder; and the man

Who utters the strange speech shall be admired
For such excess of Christian charity.
Thy Christian charity hath not been lost; ...

RECOGNISED BY HIS ARGUS.

Father, I feel its virtue...it hath been

Balm to my heart! ..With words and grateful tears,......

All that is left me now for gratitude,...

I thank thee! and beseech thee in thy prayers
That thou wilt still remember Rod'rick's name.'

423

- p. 180, 181.

The all-enduring King shudders at these words of kindness; - but repressing his emotion

O venerable Lady,' he replied,

If aught may comfort that unhappy soul

It must be thy compassion, and thy prayers.
She whom he most hath wrong'd, she who alone
On earth can grant forgiveness for his crime,
She hath forgiven him! and thy blessing now
Were all that he could ask,...all that could bring
Profit or consolation to his soul,

If he hath been, as sure we may believe,

A penitent sincere.'

p. 182.

Florinda then asks his prayers for her unhappy and apostate father; and his advice as to the means of rejoining him.

"While thus Florinda spake, the dog who lay
Before Rusilla's feet, eyeing him long
And wistfully, had recognis'd at length,
Changed as he was and in those sordid weeds,
His royal Master! And he rose and lick'd
His wither'd hand; and earnestly look'd up
With eyes whose human meaning did not need
The aid of speech; and moan'd, as if at once
To court and chide the long-withheld caress!
A feeling uncommix'd with sense of guilt

Or shame, yet painfullest, thrill'd through the King;
But he, to self-control now long inured,

Represt his rising heart," &c.- p. 186.

He makes a short and pious answer to the desolate Florinda; - and then

"Deliberately, in self-possession, still,

Himself from that most painful interview
Dispeeding, he withdrew. The watchful dog
Follow'd his footsteps close. But he retired
Into the thickest grove; there giving way
To his o'erburthen'd nature, from all eyes
Apart, he casts himself upon the ground,

And threw his arms around the dog! and cried,

6

While tears stream'd down, Thou, Theron, then hast known

Thy poor lost master,... Theron, none but thou!"- p. 187.