Abd. —And love restore.

Egil. O generous Abdalazis! never! never! My enemies—Julian alone remains— The worst, in safety, far beyond my reach, Breathe freely on the summit of their hopes; Because they never stopt, because they sprang From crime to crime, and trampled down remorse. Oh! if her heart knew tenderness like mine! p. 102Grant vengeance on the guilty; grant but that, I ask no more; my hand, my crown, is thine. Fulfill the justice of offended heaven, Assert the sacred rights of royalty, Come not in vain, crush the rebellious crew, Crush, I implore, the indifferent and supine.

p. 102

Muza. Roderigo thus escaped from Julian’s tent?

Egil. No, not escaped—escorted—like a king. The base Covilla first pursued her way On foot; but after her the royal car, Which bore me from San Pablos to the throne, Empty indeed, yet ready at her voice, Rolled o’er the plain, amid the carcases Of those who fell in battle or in flight: She, a deceiver still, to whate’er speed The moment might incite her, often stopt To mingle prayers with the departing breath, Improvident! and those with heavy wounds Groaned bitterly beneath her tottering knee.

Tarik. Now, by the clement and the merciful! The girl did well: when I breathe out my soul, p. 103Oh! if compassion give one pang the more, That pang be mine; here be it, in this land— Such women are they in this land alone.

p. 103

Egil. Insulting man!

Muza. We shall confound him yet. Say, and speak quickly, whither went the king? Thou knewest where was Julian.

Abd. I will tell Without his answer: yes, my friends! yes, Tarik, Now will I speak, nor thou, for once, reply. There is, I hear, a poor half-ruin’d cell In Xeres, whither few indeed resort; Green are the walls within, green is the floor And slippery from disuse; for christian feet Avoid it, as half-holy, half-accurst. Still in its dark recess fanatic sin Abases to the ground his tangled hair, And servile scourges and reluctant groans Roll o’er the vault uninterruptedly, Till, such the natural stilness of the place, The very tear upon the damps below p. 104Drops audible, and the heart’s throb replies. There is the idol maid of christian creed, And taller images, whose history I know not, nor inquired—a scene of blood, Of resignation amid mortal pangs, And other things, exceeding all belief. Hither the aged Opas of Seville Walked slowly, and behind him was a man Barefooted, bruized, 

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