From the dim landscape rolled the clouds away— The Christians have regained their heritage; Before the Cross has waned the Crescent’s ray, And many a monastery decks the stage, And lofty church, and low-browed hermitage. The land obeys a Hermit and a Knight,— The Genii those of Spain for many an age; This clad in sackcloth, that in armour bright, And that was VALOUR named, this BIGOTRY was hight.
VALOUR was harnessed like a chief of old, Armed at all points, and prompt for knightly gest; His sword was tempered in the Ebro cold, Morena’s eagle plume adorned his crest, The spoils of Afric’s lion bound his breast. Fierce he stepped forward and flung down his gage; As if of mortal kind to brave the best. Him followed his Companion, dark and sage, As he, my Master, sung the dangerous Archimage.
Haughty of heart and brow the Warrior came, In look and language proud as proud might be, Vaunting his lordship, lineage, fights, and fame: Yet was that barefoot Monk more proud than he: And as the ivy climbs the tallest tree, So round the loftiest soul his toils he wound, And with his spells subdued the fierce and free, Till ermined Age and Youth in arms renowned, Honouring his scourge and haircloth, meekly kissed the ground.
And thus it chanced that VALOUR, peerless knight, Who ne’er to King or Kaiser vailed his crest, Victorious still in bull-feast or in fight, Since first his limbs with mail he did invest, Stooped ever to that Anchoret’s behest; Nor reasoned of the right, nor of the wrong, But at his bidding laid the lance in rest, And wrought fell deeds the troubled world along, For he was fierce as brave, and pitiless as strong.
Oft his proud galleys sought some new-found world, That latest sees the sun, or first the morn; Still at that Wizard’s feet their spoils he hurled,— Ingots of ore from rich Potosi borne, Crowns by Caciques, aigrettes by Omrahs worn, Wrought of rare gems, but broken, rent, and foul; Idols of gold from heathen temples torn, Bedabbled all with blood.—With grisly scowl The Hermit marked the stains, and smiled beneath his cowl.
Then did he bless the offering, and bade make Tribute to Heaven of gratitude and praise; And at his word the choral hymns awake, And many a hand the silver censer sways, But with the incense-breath these censers raise, Mix steams from corpses smouldering in the fire; The groans of prisoned victims mar the lays, And shrieks of agony confound the quire; While, ’mid the mingled sounds, the darkened scenes expire.