Page:Felicia Hemans in The New Monthly Magazine Volume 14 1825.pdf/23



warrior bow'd his crested head, and tamed his heart of fire, And sued the haughty king to free his long-imprison'd 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! e'en now thy father comes, a ransom'd man this day; 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 press'd, there came a glittering band, With one that midst them stately rode, as a leader in the land; —"Now haste, Bernardo, haste! for there, in very truth is he, The father whom thy faithful heart hath yearn'd so long to see!"

His dark eye flash'd—his proud breast heaved—his cheek's hue came and went— He reach'd that grey-hair'd chieftain's side, and there dismounting bent, A lowly knee to earth he bent, his father's hand he took— —What was there in its touch that all his fiery spirit shook?

That hand was cold—a frozen thing!—it dropp'd from his like lead— He look'd upon the face above—the face was of the dead! A plume waved o'er the noble brow—the brow was fix'd and white— He met at last his father's eyes—but in them was no sight!

Up from the ground he sprang and gazed—but who could paint that gaze? They hush'd their very hearts that saw its horror and amaze! They might have chain'd 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 murmur'd low—and wept like childhood then— —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 sat 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! My king is false, my hope betray'd, my father—oh! the worth, The glory and the loveliness are pass'd 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, And thou hast perish'd in thy chains, as though thou hadst no son!"