ike Fame admire.
Prostrate at proud Castilia's monarch's feet
His land lies trembling: lo, the nobles meet:
Softly they seem to breathe, and forward bend
The servile neck; each eye distrusts his friend;
Fearful each tongue to speak; each bosom cold:
When, colour'd with stern rage, erect and bold,
The hero rises: 'Here no foreign throne
Shall fix its base; my native king alone
Shall reign.' Then, rushing to the fight, he leads;
Low, vanquish'd in the dust, Castilia bleeds.
Where proudest hope might deem it vain to dare,
God led him on, and crown'd the glorious war.
Though fierce, as num'rous, are the hosts that dwell
By Betis' stream, these hosts before him fell.
The fight behold: while absent from his bands,
Press'd on the step of flight his army stands,
To call the chief a herald speeds away:
Low, on his knees, the gallant chief survey!
He pours his soul, with lifted hands implores,
And Heav'n's assisting arm, inspir'd, adores.
Panting, and pale, the herald urges speed:
With holy trust of victory decreed,
Careless he answers, 'Nothing urgent calls:'
And soon the bleeding foe before him falls.
To Numa, thus, the pale patricians fled--
'The hostile squadrons o'er the kingdom spread!'
They cry; unmov'd, the holy king replies--
'And I, behold, am off'ring sacrifice!'[522]
Earnest, I see thy wond'ring eyes inquire
Who this illustrious chief, his country's sire?
The Lusian Scipio well might speak his fame,
But nobler Nunio shines a greater name:[523]
On earth's green bosom, or on ocean grey,
A greater never shall the sun survey.

"Known by the silver cross, and sable shield,
Two Knights of Malta[524] there command the field;
From Tago's banks they drive the fleecy prey,
And the tir'd ox lows on his weary way:
When, as the falcon through the forest glade
Darts on the lev'ret, from the brown-wood shade
Darts Roderic on their rear; in scatter'd flight
They leave the goodly herds the victor's right.
Again, behold, in gore he bathes his sword;
His captive friend,[525] to liberty restor'd,
Glows to review the cause that wrought his woe,
The cause, his loyalty, as taintless snow.
Here treason's well-earn'd meed allures thine eyes,[526]
Low, grovelling in the dust, the traitor dies;
Great Elvas gave the blow. Again, behold,