Said Urban then, the hand of Heaven is here,
And dreadful though they be, yet for wise end
Of good, these visitations do its work;
And dimly as our mortal sight may scan
The future, yet methinks my soul descries
How in Pelayo should the purposes
Of Heaven be best accomplish’d. All too long,
Here in their own inheritance, the sons
Of Spain have groan’d beneath a foreign yoke,
Punic and Roman, Kelt, and Goth, and Greek: