Count Julian | Page 7

life 'Tis
easy to despoil, thyself the traitor, Thyself the violator of allegiance.
Oh would all-righteous Heaven they could restore The joy of innocence,
the calm of age, The probity of manhood, pride of arms, And
confidence of honour! the august And holy laws trampled beneath thy
feet. And Spain! O parent, I have lost thee too! Yes, thou wilt curse me
in thy latter days, Me, thine avenger. I have fought her foe, Roderigo, I
have gloried in her sons, Sublime in hardihood and piety: Her strength
was mine: I, sailing by her cliffs, By promontory after promontory,
Opening like flags along some castle-towers, Have sworn before the
cross upon our mast Ne'er shall invader wave his standard there.
ROD. Yet there thou plantest it, false man, thyself.
JUL. Accursed he who makes me this reproach, And made it just! Had
I been happy still, I had been blameless: I had died with glory Upon the
walls of Ceuta.
ROD. Which thy treason Surrendered to the Infidel.
JUL. 'Tis hard And base to live beneath a conqueror: Yet, amid all this
grief and infamy, 'Twere something to have rushed upon the ranks In
their advance; 'twere something to have stood Defeat, discomfiture; and,
when around No beacon blazes, no far axle groans Through the wide
plain, no sound of sustenance Or succour soothes the still-believing ear,
To fight upon the last dismantled tower, And yield to valour, if we
yield at all. But rather should my neck lie trampled down By every
Saracen and Moor on earth, Than my own country see her laws
o'erturned By those who should protect them: Sir, no prince Shall ruin
Spain; and, least of all, her own. Is any just or glorious act in view,
Your oaths forbid it: is your avarice, Or, if there be such, any viler
passion, To have its giddy range, and to be gorged, It rises over all your
sacraments, A hooded mystery, holier than they all.
ROD. Hear me, Don Julian; I have heard thy wrath Who am thy king,
nor heard man's wrath before.
JUL. Thou shalt hear mine, for thou art not my king.
ROD. Knowest thou not the altered face of war? Xeres is ours; from

every region round True loyal Spaniards throng into our camp: Nay,
thy own friends and thy own family, From the remotest provinces,
advance To crush rebellion: Sisabert is come, Disclaiming thee and
thine; the Asturian hills Opposed to him their icy chains in vain: But
never wilt thou see him, never more, Unless in adverse war, and deadly
hate.
JUL. So lost to me! So generous, so deceived! I grieve to hear it.
ROD. Come, I offer grace, Honour, dominion: send away these slaves,
Or leave them to our sword, and all beyond The distant Ebro to the
towns of France Shall bless thy name, and bend before thy throne. I
will myself accompany thee, I, The king, will hail thee brother.
JUL. Ne'er shalt thou Henceforth be king: the nation in thy name May
issue edicts, champions may command The vassal multitudes of
marshalled war, And the fierce charger shrink before the shouts,
Lowered as if earth had opened at his feet, While thy mailed semblance
rises toward the ranks, But God alone sees thee.
ROD. What hopest thou? To conquer Spain, and rule a ravaged land?
To compass me around, to murder me?
JUL. No, Don Roderigo: swear thou, in the fight That thou wilt meet
me, hand to hand, alone, That, if I ever save thee from a foe -
ROD. I swear what honour asks--first, to Covilla Do thou present my
crown and dignity.
JUL. Darest thou offer any price for shame?
ROD. Love and repentance.
JUL. Egilona lives: And were she buried with her ancestors, Covilla
should not be the gaze of men, Should not, despoiled of honour, rule
the free.
ROD. Stern man! her virtues well deserve the throne.
JUL. And Egilona--what hath she deserved, The good, the lovely?
ROD. But the realm in vain Hoped a succession.
JUL. Thou hast torn away The roots of royalty.
ROD. For her, for thee.
JUL. Blind insolence! base insincerity! Power and renown no mortal
ever shared, Who could retain or grasp them to himself: And, for
Covilla? patience! peace! for her? She call upon her God, and outrage
Him At His own altar! she repeat the vows She violates in repeating!
who abhors Thee and thy crimes, and wants no crown of thine. Force

may compel the abhorrent soul, or want Lash and pursue it to the public
ways; Virtue looks back and weeps, and may return To these, but never
near the abandoned one Who drags religion to adultery's feet, And rears
the altar higher for her sake.
ROD. Have then the Saracens possessed thee