A joy was seen—joy hateful and unlovely.
I saw an aged man rise from an heap
Of grizly dead, whereon, new murder'd, lay
His sons and grandsons, yea, the very babe
Whose cradle he had rock'd with palsied hands,
And shake his grey locks at the sound of life
With animation wild and horrible.
I saw a mother with her murder'd infant
Still in her arms fast lock'd, spring from the ground—
No, no! I saw it not! I saw it not!
It was a hideous fancy of my mind:
I have not seen it.
But I forget my chiefest errand here.
FIRST WOMAN.
OFFICER.
It may, perhaps, somewhat assuage her grief,
That Othus and Rodrigo, with some followers,
The last remains of the imperial band,
Fighting, in all the strength of desperation,
Around the body of their fallen chief,
Have mov'd to gen'rous thoughts the sultan's breast
Who has their valour honour'd with full leave,
In blessed ground, with military pomp,
Becoming his high state and valiant worth,
To lay his dear remains. This with their lives
On honourable terms he freely grants.
