Opas. Corruption may subvert
What force could never.
Sis. Traitors may.
Opas. Alas!
If traitors can, the basis is but frail.
I mean such traitors as the vacant world
Echoes most stunningly; not fur-robed knaves
Whose whispers raise the dreaming bloodhound’s ear
Against benighted famished wanderers;
While with remorseless guilt they undermine
Palace and shed, their very father’s house,
O blind! their own and children’s heritage,
To leave more ample space for fearful wealth.
Plunder in some most harmless guise they swathe,
Call it some very meek and hallowed name,
Some known and borne by their good forefathers,
And own and vaunt it thus redeemed from sin.
These are the plagues heaven sends o’er every land
Before it sink—the portents of the street,
Not of the air—lest nations should complain
Of distance or of dimness in the signs,
Flaring from far to Wisdom’s eye alone:
These are the last! these, when the sun rides high
In the forenoon of doomsday, revelling,
Make men abhor the earth, arraign the skies.
Ye who behold them spoil field after field,
Despising them in individual strength,
Not with one torrent sweeping them away
Into the ocean of eternity,
Arise! despach! no renovating gale,
No second spring awaits you—up, begone,
—If you have force and courage even for flight—
The blast of dissolution is behind.
Sis. How terrible! how true! what voice like thine
Can rouse and warn the nation! if she rise,
Say, whither go, where stop we?
Opas. God will guide.
Let us pursue the oppressor to destruction,
The rest is heaven’s: must we move no step
Because we cannot see the boundaries
Of our long way, and every stone between?
Sis. Is not thy vengeance for the late affront,
For threats and outrage and imprisonment?
Opas. For outrage, yes—imprisonment and threats
I pardon him, and whatsoever ill
He could do me.
Sis. To hold Covilla from me,
To urge her into vows against her faith,
Against her beauty, youth, and inclination,
Without her mother’s blessing, nay without
Her father’s knowledge and authority—
So that she never will behold me more,
Flying afar for refuge and for help
Where never friend but God will comfort her—
Opas. These, and more barbarous deeds were perpetrated.
Sis. Yet her proud father deigned not to inform
Me, whom he loved and taught, in peace and war,
Me, whom he called his son, before I hoped
To merit it by marriage or by arms.
He offer’d no excuse, no plea; exprest
No sorrow; but with firm unfaltering voice
Commanded me—I trembled as he spoke—
To follow where he led, redress his wrongs,
And vindicate the honour of his child.
He called on God, the witness of his cause,
On Spain, the partner of his victories,
And yet amidst these animating words
Rolled the huge tear down his unvizor’d face—
A general swell of indignation rose
Thro’ the long line, sobs burst from every breast,
Hardly one voice succeeded—you might hear
The impatient hoof strike the soft sandy plain:
But when the gates flew open, and the king
In his high car came forth triumphantly,
Then was Count Julian’s stature more elate;
Tremendous was the smile that smote the eyes
Of all he past—“fathers, and sons, and brothers,”
He cried, “I fight your battles, follow me!
Soldiers, we know no danger but disgrace!”
Father, and general, and king, they shout,
And would proclaim him—back he cast his face,
Pallid with grief, and one loud groan burst forth;
It kindled vengeance thro’ the Asturian ranks,
And they soon scatter’d, as the blasts of heaven
Scatter the leaves and dust, the astonished foe.