Verse > Anthologies > The World’s Best Poetry > Vol. VIII. National Spirit
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Bliss Carman, et al., eds.  The World’s Best Poetry.
Volume VIII. National Spirit.  1904.
 
III. War
Battle Scene
Anonymous
 
From the Spanish by John Ormsby

From “The Cid”

THEN cried my Cid—“In charity, as to the rescue—ho!”
With bucklers braced before their breasts, with lances pointing low,
With stooping crests and heads bent down above the saddle-bow,
All firm of hand and high of heart they roll upon the foe.
And he that in a good hour was born, his clarion voice rings out,        5
And clear above the clang of arms is heard his battle shout:
“Among them, gentlemen! Strike home for the love of charity!
The champion of Bivar is here—Ruy Diaz—I am he!”
Then bearing where Bermuez still maintains unequal fight,
Three hundred lances down they come, their pennons flickering white;        10
Down go three hundred Moors to earth, a man to every blow;
And when they wheel, three hundred more, as charging back they go.
It was a sight to see the lances rise and fall that day;
The shivered shields and riven mail, to see how thick they lay;
The pennons that went in snow-white came out a gory red;        15
The horses running riderless, the riders lying dead;
While Moors call on Mohammed, and “St. James!” the Christians cry,
And sixty score of Moors and more in narrow compass lie.
 
 
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