Pelayo, when he saw
Those glittering sources and their sacred cave,
Took from his side the bugle silver-tipt,
And with a breath long drawn and slow expired
Sent forth that strain, which, echoing from the walls
Of Cangas, wont to tell his glad return.
When from the chace he came. At the first sound
Favila started in the cave, and cried,
My father’s horn!... A sudden flush suffused
Hermesind’s cheek, and she with quicken’d eye