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| THE MOOR had beleaguered Valencia’s towers, | |
| And lances gleamed up through her citron bowers, | |
| And the tents of the desert had girt her plain, | |
| And camels were trampling the vines of Spain; | |
| For the Cid was gone to rest. | 5 |
| |
| There were men from wilds where the death-wind sweeps, | |
| There were spears from hills where the lion sleeps, | |
| There were bows from sands where the ostrich runs, | |
| For the shrill horn of Afric had called her sons | |
| To the battles of the West. | 10 |
| |
| The midnight bell, o’er the dim seas heard, | |
| Like the roar of waters, the air had stirred; | |
| The stars were shining o’er tower and wave, | |
| And the camp lay hushed as a wizard’s cave; | |
| But the Christians woke that night. | 15 |
| |
| They reared the Cid on his barbed steed, | |
| Like a warrior mailed for the hour of need, | |
| And they fixed the sword in the cold right hand | |
| Which had fought so well for his father’s land, | |
| And the shield from his neck hung bright. | 20 |
| |
| There was arming heard in Valencia’s halls, | |
| There was vigil kept on the rampart walls; | |
| Stars had not faded nor clouds turned red, | |
| When the knights had girded the noble dead, | |
| And the burial train moved out. | 25 |
| |
| With a measured pace, as the pace of one, | |
| Was the still death-march of the host begun; | |
| With a silent step went the cuirassed bands, | |
| Like a lion’s tread on the burning sands; | |
| And they gave no battle-shout. | 30 |
| |
| When the first went forth, it was midnight deep, | |
| In heaven was the moon, in the camp was sleep; | |
| When the last through the city’s gates had gone, | |
| O’er tent and rampart the bright day shone, | |
| With a sunburst from the sea. | 35 |
| |
| There were knights five hundred went armed before, | |
| And Bermudez the Cid’s green standard bore; | |
| To its last fair field, with the break of morn, | |
| Was the glorious banner in silence borne, | |
| On the glad wind streaming free. | 40 |
| |
| And the Campeador came stately then, | |
| Like a leader circled with steel-clad men! | |
| The helmet was down o’er the face of the dead, | |
| But his steed went proud, by a warrior led, | |
| For he knew that the Cid was there. | 45 |
| |
| He was there, the Cid, with his own good sword, | |
| And Ximena following her noble lord; | |
| Her eye was solemn, her step was slow, | |
| But there rose not a sound of war or woe, | |
| Not a whisper on the air. | 50 |
| |
| The halls in Valencia were still and lone, | |
| The churches were empty, the masses done; | |
| There was not a voice through the wide streets far, | |
| Nor a footfall heard in the Alcazar. | |
| —So the burial train moved out. | 55 |
| |
| With a measured pace, as the pace of one, | |
| Was the still death-march of the host begun; | |
| With a silent step went the cuirassed bands, | |
| Like a lion’s tread on the burning sands; | |
| And they gave no battle-shout. | 60 |
| |
| But the deep hills pealed with a cry erelong, | |
| When the Christians burst on the Paynim throng! | |
| With a sudden flash of the lance and spear, | |
| And a charge of the war-steed in full career, | |
| It was Alvar Fañez came! | 65 |
| |
| He that was wrapped with no funeral shroud | |
| Had passed before like a threatening cloud! | |
| And the storm rushed down on the tented plain, | |
| And the Archer Queen, with her bands, lay slain; | |
| For the Cid upheld his fame. | 70 |
| |
| Then a terror fell on the King Bucar, | |
| And the Libyan kings who had joined his war; | |
| And their hearts grew heavy, and died away, | |
| And their hands could not wield an assagay, | |
| For the dreadful things they saw! | 75 |
| |
| For it seemed where Minaya his onset made, | |
| There were seventy thousand knights arrayed, | |
| All white as the snow on Nevada’s steep, | |
| And they came like the foam of a roaring deep, | |
| —’T was a sight of fear and awe! | 80 |
| |
| And the crested form of a warrior tall, | |
| With a sword of fire, went before them all; | |
| With a sword of fire and a banner pale, | |
| And a blood-red cross on his shadowy mail; | |
| He rode in the battle’s van! | 85 |
| |
| There was fear in the path of his dim white horse, | |
| There was death in the giant warrior’s course! | |
| Where his banner streamed with its ghostly light, | |
| Where his sword blazed out, there was hurrying flight,— | |
| For it seemed not the sword of man! | 90 |
| |
| The field and the river grew darkly red, | |
| As the kings and leaders of Afric fled; | |
| There was work for the men of the Cid that day! | |
| They were weary at eve, when they ceased to slay, | |
| As reapers whose task is done! | 95 |
| |
| The kings and the leaders of Afric fled! | |
| The sails of their galleys in haste were spread, | |
| But the sea had its share of the Paynim slain, | |
| And the bow of the desert was broke in Spain. | |
| —So the Cid to his grave passed on! | 100 |
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