"Let the cymbal-clash and the trumpet-strain
From your walls ring far and shrill;
And fear ye not, for the saints of Spain
Shall grant you victory still.

"And gird my form with mail-array,
And set me on my steed;

So go ye forth on your funeral-way,
And God shall give you speed.

"Go with the dead in the front of war,
All armed with sword and helm,
And march by the camp of King Bucar,
For the good Castilian realm.

66

"And let me slumber in the soil
Which gave my fathers birth;
I have closed my day of battle-toil,
And my course is done on earth."

-Now wave, ye glorious banners! wave!
Through the lattice a wind sweeps by,

And the arms, o'er the deathbed of the brave,
Send forth a hollow sigh.

Now wave, ye banners of many a fight!
As the fresh wind o'er you sweeps;

The wind and the banners fall hushed as night:
The Campeador-he sleeps!

Sound the battle-horn on the breeze of morn,
And swell out the trumpet's blast,
Till the notes prevail o'er the voice of wail,
For the noble Cid hath passed!

THE CID'S FUNERAL PROCESSION.

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.

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.

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.

They reared the Cid on his barded 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 fathers' land,

And the shield from his neck hung bright.

There was arming heard on 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.

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.

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 sun-burst from the sea.

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.

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.

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.

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 foot-fall heard in the Alcazar,

-So the burial-train moved out.

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.

But the deep hills pealed with a cry ere long,
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 !

He that was wrapt 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.

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 !

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;
-'Twas a sight of fear and awe!

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!

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!

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!

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!

THE CID'S RISING.

TWAS the deep mid-watch of the silent night,
And Leon in slumber lay,

When a sound went forth in rushing might,

Like an army on its way!

In the stillness of the hour,

When the dreams of sleep have power,
And men forget the day.

Through the dark and lonely streets it went,
Till the slumberers woke in dread ;-

The sound of a passing armament,

With the charger's stony tread.
There was heard no trumpet's peal,
But the heavy tramp of steel,

As a host's to combat led.

Through the dark and lonely streets it passed,
And the hollow pavement rang,

And the towers, as with a sweeping blast,
Rocked to the stormy clang!

But the march of the viewless train
Went on to a royal fane,

Where a priest his night-hymn sang.

There was knocking that shook the marble floor, And a voice at the gate, which said"That the Cid Ruy Diez, the Campeador,

Was there in his arms arrayed;

And that with him, from the tomb,
Had the Count Gonzalez come

With a host, uprisen to aid!

And they came for the buried king that lay
At rest in that ancient fane;

For he must be armed on the battle-day,
With them to deliver Spain!"
-Then the march went sounding on,

And the Moors by noontide sun

Were dust on Tolosa's plain.

CALL it not loneliness, to dwell
In woodland shade or hermit dell,
Or the deep forest to explore,
Or wander Alpine regions o'er;
For Nature there all joyous reigns,
And fills with life her wild domains:
A bird's light wing may break the air,
A wave, a leaf, may murmur there:
A bee the mountain flowers may seek,
A chamois bound from peak to peak;
An eagle, rushing to the sky,
Wake the deep echoes with his cry;
And still some sound, thy heart to cheer,
Some voice, though not of man, is near.
But he, whose weary step hath traced
Mysterious Afric's awful waste-
Whose eye Arabia's wilds hath viewed,
Can tell thee what is solitude!
It is, to traverse lifeless plains,
Where everlasting stillness reigns,
And billowy sands and dazzling sky,
Seem boundless as infinity!

It is, to sink, with speechless dread,
In scenes unmeet for mortal tread,
Severed from earthly being's trace,
Alone, amidst eternal space!
'Tis noon-and fearfully profound,
Silence is on the desert round;
Alone she reigns, above, beneath,
With all the attributes of death!
No bird the blazing heaven may dare,
No insect bide the scorching air;
The ostrich, though of sun-born race,
Seeks a more sheltered dwelling-place;
The lion slumbers in his lair,

The serpent shuns the noontide glare;
But slowly wind the patient train
Of camels o'er the blasted plain,