So go ye forth on your funeral-way,
And God shall give you speed.
Go with the dead in front of war,
All arm'd with sword and helm,5
And march by the camp of King Bucar,
For the good Castilian realm.
"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 !6
Through the lattice, a wind sweeps by,
And the arms, o'er the death-bed 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 hush'd 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 pass'd!
THE CID'S FUNERAL PROCESSION
THE Moor had beleaguer'd Valencia's towers,
And lances gleam'd 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 sinds where the ostrich runs,
For the shrill horn of Afric had call'd 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 stirr'd;
The stars were shining o'er tower and wave,
And the camp lay hush'd as a wizard's cave;
But the Christians woke that night.
They rear'd the Cid on his barbed steed,
Like a warrior mail❜d for the hour of need,
And they fix'd 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.
There was arming heard in Valencia's halls,
There was vigil kept on the rampart walls;
THE CID'S FUNERAL PROCESSION.
Stars had not faded nor clouds turn'd 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 cuirass'd 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 arm'd before,
And Bermudez the Cid's green standard bore :6
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 the leader circled with steel-clad men!
The helmet was down, o'er the face of the dead,
And 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 their 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 street 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 cuirass'd bands,
Like a lion's tread on the burning sands;
-And they gave no battle-shout.
But the deep hills peal'd, 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 !7
He that was wrapt with no funeral shroud,
Had pass'd before, like a threatening cloud!
And the storm rush'd down on the tented plain,
And the Archer-Queen,8*with her bands lay slain,
For the Cid upheld his fame.
Then a terior fell on the King Bucar,
And the Lybian kings who had join'd his war;
And their hearts grew heavy and died away,
And their hands could not yield an assagay,
For the dreadful things they saw!
For it seem'd where Minaya his onset made,
There were seventy thousand knights array'd,
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 stream'd with its ghostly light,
Where his sword blazed out, there was hurrying flight,
For it seem'd 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 pass'd on!
'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 !9
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 pass'd,
And the hollow pavement rang,
And the towers, as with a sweeping blast,
Rock'd 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 array'd;
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 arm'd 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.
Bivar, the supposed birthplace of the Cid, was a castle, about two leagues from Burgos.
Note 2, page 70, line 24.
Tornaba la Cabeza, e estabalos catando:
Vio puertas abiertas, e uzos sin cañados,
Alcandaras vacias, sin pielles e sin mantos:
E sin falcones, e sin adtores mudados.
Sospiró mio Cid.
The Zambra, a Moorish dance. When Valencia was taken by the Cid, many of the Moorish families chose to remain there, and reside under his government.
Note 4, page 71, line 20.
The calm fortitude of Ximena is frequently alluded to in the ro
Note 5, page 72, line 4.
Banderas antiguas, tristes
De victorias un tiempo amadas,
Tremolando estan al viento
Y lloran aunque no hablan, &c.
ON A FLOWER FROM THE FIELD OF GRUTLI.
Herder's translation of these romances (Der Cid, nach Spanischen Romanzen besungen) are remarkable for their spirit and scrupulous fidelity.
Note 6, page 72, line 11, and page 73, line 15.
“And while they stood there they saw the Cid Ruy Diez coming up with three hundred knights; for he had not been in the battle, and they knew his green pennon."-SOUTHEY's Chronicle of the Cid. Note 7, page 73, line 43.
Alvar Fañez Minaya, one of the Cid's most distinguished warriors.
Note 8, page 73, line 47.
The Archer Queen.
A Moorish Amazon, who, with a band of female warriors, accompanied King Bucar from Africa. Her arrows were so unerring, that she obtained the name of the Star of Archers.
Una Mora muy gallarda,
Gran maestra en el tirar,
Con Saetas del Aljava,
De los arcos de Turquia
Estrella era nombrada,
Por la destreza que avia
En el herir de la Xára.
Note 9, page 74, line 34.
See SOUTHEY's Chronicle of the Cid, p. 352.
ON A FLOWER FROM THE FIELD OF GRUTLI.
WHENCE art thou, flower? from holy ground,
Where freedom's foot hath been!
Yet bugle-blast or trumpet sound
Ne'er shook that solemn scene.
Flower of a noble field! thy birth
Was not where spears have cross'd,
And shiver'd helms have strewn the earth,
'Midst banners won and lost.
But where the sunny hues and showers
Unto thy cup were given,
There met high hearts at midnight hours,
Pure hands were raised to heaven.
And vows were pledged that man should roam
Through every Alpine dell,
Free as the wind, the torrent's foam,
The shaft of William Tell.
And prayer, the full deep flow of prayer,
Hallow'd the pastoral sod,
And souls grew strong for battle there,
Nerved with the peace of God.
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