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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=339802" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Last Battle of the Cid</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Low he lay upon his dying couch, the knight without a stain,<br>The unconquered Cid Campeadór, the bright breast-plate of Spain,<br>The incarnate honour of Castille, of Aragon and Navarre,<br>Very crown of Spanish chivalry, Rodrigo of Bivar!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sick he lay, and grieved in spirit, for that Paynim dogs should dare<br>Camp around his knightly citadel, Valencia the fair!<br>For that he no more should face them, in his beauteous armour dight,<br>To whom God and Santiago aye gave victory in the fight.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Faintly rising o'er the ramparts came the murmur of the siege,<br>And he could but pray for Christendom, his country and his liege;<br>For his well-belovèd city, granite-girdled, pennon-starred,<br>And the royal wealth of treasure that its stately portals barred.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">“Santiago, at whose altar I did watch mine armour bright,<br>And was girt with golden spur and brand, a consecrated knight!—<br>Santiago, by my vow redeemed at Compostela's shrine,<br>Let the Paynim life-blood only touch these blessed walls of mine!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">“Santiago, warrior saintly, who with Don Fernando's host<br>Stormed and won the gates of Coimbra, guard my fortress on the coast!<br>Keep the holy leper's blessing, though the snow is on my hair;—<br>Strike the base-born unbelievers!—save Valencia the fair!”</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Lo, a sudden cloud of glory filled his chamber as he prayed!<br>Lo, San Pedro stood beside him, all in shining robes arrayed!<br>“For thy love, Rodrigo Diaz, to Cardeña's house,” said he,<br>“I have offered intercessions, and the Lord hath answered me.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">“Thou must die, O well-beloved!—thirty days, and thou must die!<br>Yet in death shall Santiago grant thee still a victory.<br>Thou shalt ride forth to the battle—Santiago shall be there—<br>For the Faith and Don Alfonso and Valencia the fair.”</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Silence reigned within the chamber; none stood near the hero's bed;<br>All that dazzling flood of glory slowly, softly vanishèd.<br>He could only hear the murmur from the ramparts rise and fall;<br>He could only see the cross-bars stretching dimly on the wall.<br>In San Pedro's chapel lay the Cid, his eyes with rapture dim,<br>And proclaimed the wondrous favour that the Lord had granted him.<br>Then he parted from his vassals, and went humbly to confess;<br>And the warrior-bishop clothed his soul in its baptismal dress.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Twas the holy day of Pentecost that saw Ruy Diaz die—<br>Evermore the spotless mirror of Castillian chivalry!<br> <br>They, in whom his will was shrinèd, Alvar Fanez and his knights,<br>Stood to watch the hero vanquished who had won a thousand fights.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">DoXimena, the faithful, with her tears bedewed his feet,<br>And anointed all his body with pure incense, rich and sweet.<br>Then in silence and in sorrow the twelve days of waiting fled;<br>And the warders on the ramparts dared not whisper, “He is dead.”</div><div style="margin:10px 0">In the midnight, dark and quiet, fell the torches' lurid glare<br>On the palaces and portals of Valencia the fair;<br>And a solemn, slow procession, mounted all in royal state,<br>Like the spectre of an army, passed beneath the city gate.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">In the van was borne the ensign, known and dreaded far and wide,<br>With four hundred noblest knights ranged proudly by its side.<br>Toward Castille and Cardeña were those haughty faces set,—<br>And that banner never more did crown Valencia's parapet.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then came mules, with treasure laden, stepping softly on before,<br>Compassed round with knights in armour—to the full four hundred more.<br>Then a band of belted nobles, stern and silent; and amid<br>Their levelled lances, he of Bivar—the Campeadór—the Cid.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">On his milk-white steed, Babieca, whom none else did e'er bestride,<br>Clad in all his princely trappings, did the lifeless warrior ride;<br>Girt with helm and spur and blazoned shield, and grasping in his hand<br>The bright crosslet of Tizona, his thrice-consecrated brand.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Geronymo and Gil Diaz held the slackened bridlerein—<br>His true bishop and true vassal—as they moved on to the plain;<br>And Ximena and her maidens, 'mid the torchlight weird and dim,<br>With six hundred knights in harness, followed slowly after him.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">In the solemn hush and darkness, with no joyful clarion-cry,<br>And no clash and clank of weapons, riding all so silently;—<br>Thus they passed out from the city e'er the summer morning broke,<br>And were found arrayed for battle when the infidels awoke.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Great and mighty was the Moorish host, by thirty monarchs led,<br>But a greater was the army with Rodrigo at the head;<br>For, behold! came Santiago to the bloody battle-plain—<br>Santiago, with a hundred thousand warriors in his train.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Each in robe of shining whiteness, with a red cross on his breast,—<br>Each with fiery sword uplifted or with golden lance at rest;<br>Santiago, saintly leader, on a charger white as snow—<br>Sent to aid the Cid Campeadór in vanquishing the foe.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">All the Paynims looked amazèd on the dreadful beauteous sight,<br>As the tender light of morning softly crept out from the night;<br>Then they harnessed them in silence, sternly grasping shield and spear,<br>And pressed on in serried column, full of wonder, full of fear.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">There was one loud shock of battle, then they wildly turned to flee,<br>And the Cid and Santiago swept their hosts into the sea.<br>Twenty kings and twenty armies in that bloody fight were slain,<br>And were left, with upturned faces, stiff and stark upon the plain.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Fair and shining came the daylight, all in liquid summer sheen—<br>But no more was Santiago, or his white-robed warriors, seen;<br>Only one small train of nobles, riding on, with stately pace,<br>To San Pedro de Cardeña and the great Cid's resting-place.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">By the altar in the chapel, where the monarch's throne doth stand,<br>Sat the dead Cid, robed in purple, with his good sword in his hand.<br>And again the Moorish ensign fluttered proudly in the air,<br>Lifted high above the ramparts of Valencia the fair.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Ada+Cambridge">Ada Cambridge</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=339802" data-title="The Last Battle of the Cid de Ada Cambridge" data-description="Low he lay upon his dying couch, the knight without a stain,
The unconquered Cid Campeadór, the bright breast-plate of Spain,
The incarnate honour of Castille, of Aragon and Navarre,
Very crown of Spanish chivalry, Rodrigo of Bivar!

Sick he lay,..."></div>
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