O'ertopping the young trees, On comes the Elephant, to slake He moves it to and fro. But when that form of beauty meets his sight, The trunk its undulating motion stops. From his forgetful hold the plane-branch drops, Reverent he kneels, and lifts his rational eyes To her, as if in prayer; And when she pours her angel voice in song, Entranced he listens to the thrilling notes, Till his strong temples, bathed with sudden dews, Their fragrance of delight and love diffuse. (XII.) Lo! as the voice melodious floats around, The Tigress leaves her toothless cubs to hear; By that enchanting song; The antic Monkeys, whose wild gambols late, When not a breeze waved the tall jungle grass, Shook the whole wood, are hush'd, and silently Hang on the cluster'd tree. All things in wonder and delight are still; Only at times the nightingale is heard, Not that in emulous skill that sweetest bird, Her rival strain would try A mighty songster, with the Maid to vie; (XIII.) Well might they thus adore that heavenly Maid ! Or Grove, or Lake, or Fountain, Musk-spot, nor sandal-streak, nor scarlet stain, A daughter of the years of innocence. And therefore all things loved her. When she stood Quick as an arrow from all other eyes Sought not to tempt her from her secret nest, RODERICK, THE LAST OF THE GOTHS. 1814. ROBERT SOUTHEY. I. Count Julian by the aid of the Moors avenges the outrage of his daughter Florinda and overthrows the Christian power in Spain.-II. Roderick goes into exile, becomes a monk, and, unrecognised in his priestly garments, (III.) confesses Florinda, (IV.) visits his mother, (V.) administers extreme unction to Count Julian who has been assassinated, and then reveals himself, and (VI.) having regained his war-horse Orelio leads the Spanish forces to the reconquest of the Moors, and finally disappears from the field of victory. Dots thus indicate lines omitted. I. THE FLIGHT OF RODERICK. (FROM BOOK I.) BRAVELY in that eight-days fight The King had striven, for victory first, while hope Cried Roderick; and he dropt Orelio's reins, Death soon and short, death and forgetfulness! Of righteousness and judgment after death, And yet 'twas hope; a momentary light, That flash'd through utter darkness on the Cross To point salvation, then left all within Of lightning, smote him. From his horse he dropt, Glued there with Moorish gore. His royal robe, He cast aside, and taking from the dead Evening closed round to favour him. All night Who flock'd like hungry ravens round his head,- With her abhorrent hands,-that agony Still in her face, which, when the deed was done, That it invoked from Heaven.-Oh what a night Bring aught of comfort: wheresoe'er he went And leaving their defenceless homes to seek Nor sacred pageant, with like multitudes His crutches, with her child of yesterday The mother fled, and she whose hour was come Less dreadful than this view Of outward suffering which the day disclosed, Had night and darkness seem'd to Roderick's heart, With all their dread creations. From the throng He turn'd aside, unable to endure This burthen of the general woe: nor walls, A rock of surer strength. Unknowing where, |