In mine, a Spaniard’s and a soldier’s wrongs.

Opas.  Julian, are thine the only wrongs on earth?
And shall each Spaniard rather vindicate
Thine than his own? is there no Judge of all?
Shall mortal hand seize with impunity
The sword of vengeance, from the armory
Of the Most High? easy to wield, and starred
With glory it appears; but all the host
Of the archangels, should they strive at once,
Would never close again its widening blade

Jul.  He who provokes it hath so much to rue.
Where’er he turn, whether to earth or heaven,
He finds an enemy, or raises one.

Opas.  I never yet have seen where long success
Hath followed him who warred upon his king.

Jul.  Because the virtue that inflicts the stroke
Dies with him, and the rank ignoble heads
Of plundering faction soon unite again,
And, prince-protected, share the spoil, at rest.

ACT I.  SCENE 3.

Guard announces a Herald.  Opas departs.

Guard.  A messager of peace is at the gate,
My lord, safe access, private audience,
And free return, he claims.

Jul.  Conduct him in.

[To Roderigo, who enters as Herald.

A messager of peace! audacious man!
In what attire appearest thou? a herald’s?
Under no garb can such a wretch be safe.

Rod.  Thy violence and fancied wrongs I know,
And what thy sacrilegious hands would do,
O traitor and apostate!

Jul.  What they would
They cannot: thee of kingdom and of life
’Tis easy to despoil, thyself the traitor,
Thyself the violator of allegiance.
O 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, amidst all this grief and infamy,
’Tis 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
Thro’ the wide plain, no sound of sustenance
Or succour sooths 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’erturn’d
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 alter’d 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 marshall’d war,
And the fierce charger shrink before the shouts,
Lower’d as if earth had open’d at his feet,
While thy mail’d semblance rises tow’rd 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, despoil’d 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 compell 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 abandon’d one
Who drags religion to adultery’s feet,
And rears the altar higher for her sake.

Rod.  Have then the Saracens possest thee quite,
And wilt thou never yield me thy consent?

Jul.