condemnation.

Cov. O kind father, Pursue the guilty, but remember Spain.

Jul. Child, thou wert in thy nursery short time since, p. 23And latterly hast past the vacant hour Where the familiar voice of history Is hardly known, however nigh, attuned In softer accents to the sickened ear; But thou hast heard, for nurses tell these tales, Whether I drew my sword for Witiza Abandoned by the people he betrayed, Tho’ brother to the woman who of all Was ever dearest to this broken heart, Till thou, my daughter, wert a prey to grief, And a brave country brooked the wrongs I bore. For I had seen Rusilla guide the steps Of her Theodofred, when burning brass Plunged its fierce fang into the founts of light, And Witiza’s the guilt! when, bent with age, He knew the voice again, and told the name, Of those whose proffer’d fortunes had been laid Before his throne, while happiness was there, And strain’d the sightless nerve tow’rds where they stood At the forced memory of the very oaths p. 24He heard renewed from each—but heard afar, For they were loud, and him the throng spurn’d off.

p. 23

p. 24

Cov. Who were all these?

Jul. All who are seen to-day. On prancing steeds richly caparisoned In loyal acclamation round Roderigo; Their sons beside them, loving one another Unfeignedly, thro’ joy, while they themselves In mutual homage mutual scorn suppress. Their very walls and roofs are welcoming The King’s approach, their storied tapestry Swells its rich arch for him triumphantly At every clarion blowing from below.

Cov. Such wicked men will never leave his side.

Jul. For they are insects which see nought beyond Where they now crawl; whose changes are complete, Unless of habitation.

Cov. Whither go Creatures, unfit for better, or for worse?

Jul. Some to the grave—where peace be with them—some p. 25Across the Pyrenean mountains far, Into the plains of France; suspicion there Will hang on every step from rich and poor, Grey quickly-glancing eyes will wrinkle round And courtesy will watch them, day and night. Shameless they are, yet will they blush, amidst A nation that ne’er blushes: some will drag The captive’s chain, repair the shattered bark, Or heave it, from a quicksand, to the shore, Among the marbles on the Lybian coast; Teach patience to the lion in his cage, And, by the order of a higher slave, Hold to the elephant 

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