When Roderick, in compassion for their youth,
And for Pelayo’s sake, forebore to crush
The brood of vipers!
Err perchance he might,
Replied the Goth, suppressing as he spake
All outward signs of pain, though every word
Went like a dagger to his bleeding heart; ...
But sure, I ween, that error is not placed
Among his sins. Old man, thou mayest regret
The mercy ill deserved, and worse return’d,