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| THE WARRIOR bowed his crested head, and tamed his heart of fire, | |
| And sued the haughty king to free his long-imprisoned sire; | |
| “I bring thee here my fortress keys, I bring my captive train, | |
| I pledge thee faith, my liege, my lord!—oh, break my father’s chain!” | |
| |
| “Rise, rise! even now thy father comes, a ransomed man this day; | 5 |
| Mount thy good horse, and thou and I will meet him on his way.” | |
| Then lightly rose that loyal son, and bounded on his steed, | |
| And urged, as if with lance in rest, the charger’s foamy speed. | |
| |
| And lo! from far, as on they pressed, there came a glittering band, | |
| With one that ’midst them stately rode, as a leader in the land; | 10 |
| “Now haste, Bernardo, haste! for there, in very truth, is he, | |
| The father whom thy faithful heart hath yearned so long to see.” | |
| |
| His dark eye flashed, his proud breast heaved, his cheek’s blood came and went; | |
| He reached that gray-haired chieftain’s side, and there, dismounting, bent; | |
| A lowly knee to earth he bent, his father’s hand he took,— | 15 |
| What was there in its touch that all his fiery spirit shook? | |
| |
| That hand was cold,—a frozen thing,—it dropped from his like lead,— | |
| He looked up to the face above,—the face was of the dead! | |
| A plume waved o’er the noble brow,—the brow was fixed and white;— | |
| He met at last his father’s eyes,—but in them was no sight! | 20 |
| |
| Up from the ground he sprung, and gazed, but who could paint that gaze? | |
| They hushed their very hearts, that saw its horror and amaze; | |
| They might have chained him, as before that stony form he stood, | |
| For the power was stricken from his arm, and from his lip the blood. | |
| |
| “Father!” at length he murmured low, and wept like childhood then: | 25 |
| Talk not of grief till thou hast seen the tears of warlike men! | |
| He thought on all his glorious hopes, and all his young renown; | |
| He flung the falchion from his side, and in the dust sate down. | |
| |
| Then covering with his steel-gloved hands his darkly mournful brow,— | |
| “No more, there is no more,” he said, “to lift the sword for now; | 30 |
| My king is false, my hope betrayed; my father—oh! the worth, | |
| The glory, and the loveliness, are passed away from earth! | |
| |
| “I thought to stand where banners waved, my sire! beside thee yet, | |
| I would that there our kindred blood on Spain’s free soil had met! | |
| Thou wouldst have known my spirit then; for thee my fields were won; | 35 |
| And thou hast perished in thy chains, as though thou hadst no son!” | |
| |
| Then, starting from the ground once more, he seized the monarch’s rein, | |
| Amidst the pale and wildered looks of all the courtier train; | |
| And with a fierce o’ermastering grasp, the raging war-horse led, | |
| And sternly set them face to face,—the king before the dead! | 40 |
| |
| “Came I not forth upon thy pledge, my father’s hand to kiss? | |
| Be still, and gaze thou on, false king, and tell me what is this? | |
| The voice, the glance, the heart I sought—give answer, where are they? | |
| If thou wouldst clear thy perjured soul, send life through this cold clay! | |
| |
| “Into these glassy eyes put light;—be still! keep down thine ire! | 45 |
| Bid these white lips a blessing speak,—this earth is not my sire! | |
| Give me back him for whom I strove, for whom my blood was shed, | |
| Thou canst not?—and a king!—his dust be mountains on thy head!” | |
| |
| He loosed the steed; his slack hand fell; upon the silent face | |
| He cast one long, deep, troubled look,—then turned from that sad place. | 50 |
| His hope was crushed, his after-fate untold in martial strain: | |
| His banner led the spears no more amidst the hills of Spain. | |
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