By this concording judgement, yet he fear’d
To have it chill’d in cold accoil. At length
Venturing, he brake with interrupted speech
The troubled silence. Father Maccabee,
I cannot rest till I have laid my heart
Open before thee. When Pelayo wish’d
That his poor kinsman were alive to rear
His banner once again, a sudden thought..
A hope.. a fancy.. what shall it be call’d?
Possess’d me, that perhaps the wish might see