Jul. Call thy vassals? no! then wipe the drops
Of froward childhood from thy shameless eyes.
So! thou canst weep for passion—not for pity.
Rod. One hour ago I ruled all Spain! a camp
Not larger than a sheepfold stood alone
Against me: now, no friend throughout the world
Follows my steps or hearkens to my call.
Behold the turns of fortune, and expect
No better; of all faithless men, the Moors
Are the most faithless—from thy own experience
Thou canst not value nor rely on them.
Jul. I value not the mass that makes my sword,
Yet while I use it I rely on it.
Rod. Julian, thy gloomy soul still meditates—
Plainly I see it—death to me—pursue
The dictates of thy leaders, let revenge
Have its full sway, let Barbary prevail,
And the pure creed her elders have embraced:
Those placid sages hold assassination
A most compendious supplement to law.
Jul. Thou knowest not the one, nor I the other.
Torne hast thou from me all my soul held dear!
Her form, her voice, all, hast thou banish’d from me
Nor dare I, wretched as I am! recall
Those solaces of every grief, erewhile!
I stand abased before insulting crime.
I faulter like a criminal myself.
The hand that hurled thy chariot o’er its wheels,
That held thy steeds erect and motionless
As moulten statues on some palace-gates,
Shakes, as with palsied age, before thee now.
Gone is the treasure of my heart, for ever,
Without a father, mother, friend, or name!
Daughter of Julian—Such was her delight—
Such was mine too! what pride more innocent,
What, surely, less deserving pangs like these,
Than springs from filial and parental love!
Debarred from every hope that issues forth
To meet the balmy breath of early life,
Her sadden’d days, all, cold and colourless,
Will stretch before her their whole weary length
Amid the sameness of obscurity.
She wanted not seclusion, to unveil
Her thoughts to heaven, cloister, nor midnight bell;
She found it in all places, at all hours:
While, to assuage my labours, she indulged
A playfulness that shunn’d a mother’s eye,
Still, to avert my perils, there arose
A piety that, even from me, retired.
[Roderigo, much agitated—after a pause.
Rod. Such was she!—what am I!—those are the arms
That are triumphant when the battle fails.
O Julian, Julian! all thy former words
Struck but the imbecile plumes of vanity;
These, thro’ its steely coverings, pierce the heart.
I ask not life nor death; but, if I live,
Send my most bitter enemy to watch
My secret paths, send poverty, send pain—
I will add more—wise as thou art, thou knowest
No foe more furious than forgiven kings.
I ask not then what thou woudst never grant:
May heaven, O Julian, from thy hand, receive
A pardon’d man, a chasten’d criminal.
Jul. This further curse thou hast inflicted; wretch,
I cannot pardon thee.
Rod. Thy tone, thy mien,
Refute those words.
Jul. No—I can not forgive.