Cov. Not remember!
What have the wretched else for consolation,
What else have they who pining feed their woe?
Can I, or should I, drive from memory
All that was dear and sacred, all the joys
Of innocence and peace; when no debate
Was in the convent, but what hymn, whose voice,
To whom among the blessed it arose,
Swelling so sweet; when rang the vesper-bell
And every finger ceased from the guitar,
And every tongue was silent through our land;
When, from remotest earth, friends met again
Hung on each other’s neck, and but embraced,
So sacred, still, and peaceful, was the hour.
Now, in what climate of the wasted world,
Not unmolested long by the profane,
Can I pour forth in secrecy to God
My prayers and my repentance? where beside
Is the last solace of the parting soul?
Friends, brethren, parents—dear indeed, too dear,
Are they, but somewhat still the heart requires
That it may leave them lighter, and more blest.
Jul. Wide are the regions of our far-famed land:
Thou shalt arrive at her remotest bounds,
See her best people, choose some holiest house—
Whether where Castro [35] from surrounding vines
Hears the hoarse ocean roar among his caves,
And, thro’ the fissure in the green church-yard,
The wind wail loud the calmest summer day;
Or where Santona leans against the hill,
Hidden from sea and land by groves and bowers.
Cov. O! for one moment, in those pleasant scenes
Thou placest me, and lighter air I breathe;
Why could I not have rested, and heard on!
Thy voice dissolves the vision quite away,
Outcast from virtue, and from nature too!
Jul. Nature and virtue!—they shall perish first.
God destined them for thee, and thee for them,
Inseparably and eternally!
The wisest and the best will prize thee most,
And solitudes and cities will contend
Which shall receive thee kindliest; sigh not so—
Violence and fraud will never penetrate
Where piety and poverty retire,
Intractable to them, and valueless,
And look’d at idly, like the face of heaven,
If strength be wanted for security,
Mountains the guard, forbidding all approach
With iron-pointed and uplifted gates,
Thou wilt be welcome too in Aguilar—[36]
Impenetrable, marble-turreted,
Surveying from aloft the limpid ford,
The massy fane, the sylvan avenue—
Whose hospitality I proved myself,
A willing leader in no impious war
When fame and freedom urged me—or mayst dwell
In Reÿnosas dry and thriftless dale,
Unharvested beneath October moons,
Amongst those frank and cordial villagers.
They never saw us, and, poor simple souls!
So little know they whom they call the great—
Would pity one another less than us
In injury, disaster, or distress.
Cov. But they would ask each other whence our grief,
That they might pity?
Jul. Rest then just beyond,
In the secluded scenes where Ebro springs
And drives not from his fount the fallen leaf,
So motionless and tranquil its repose.
Cov. Thither let us depart, and speedily.
Jul. I cannot go: I live not in the land
I have reduced beneath such wretchedness:
And who could leave the brave, whose lives and fortunes
Hang on his sword?
Cov. Me canst thou leave, my father?
Ah. yes, for it is past; too well thou seest
My life and fortunes rest not upon thee.
Long, happily,—could it be gloriously!—
Still mayst thou live, and save thy country still!
Jul. Unconquerable land! unrivalled race!
Whose bravery, too enduring, rues alike
The power and weakness of accursed kings—
How cruelly hast thou neglected me!
Forcing me from thee, never to return,
Nor in thy pangs and struggles to partake!
I hear a voice—’tis Egilona—come,
Recall thy courage, dear unhappy girl,
Let us away.