Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, ed. Poems of Places: An Anthology in 31 Volumes.
Spain, Portugal, Belgium, and Holland: Vols. XIV–XV. 1876–79.
The Cids Death-bed
By Felicia Hemans (17931835)I
Within Valencia’s walls,
When the blue spring heaven lay still and clear
Above her marble halls.
And steps of hurrying feet,
Where the Zambra’s notes were wont to rise,
Along the sunny street.
On bright Valencia’s shore,
For Death was busy with her chief,
The noble Campeador.
With sounds and signs of war;
But the Cid was passing to his sleep,
In the silent Alcazar.
No weeper’s aspect seen,
But by the couch Ximena sate,
With pale yet steadfast mien.
Warriors stood mournful nigh,
And banners o’er his glorious head
Were drooping heavily.
And cold the valiant breast;
He had fought the battles of the land,
And his hour was come to rest.
His voice is faint and low;
The breeze that creeps o’er his lance and shield
Hath louder accents now.
Be made when I depart;
The Moor must hear no dirge’s tone;
Be ye of mighty heart!
From your walls ring far and shrill;
And fear ye not, for the saints of Spain
Shall grant you victory still.
And set me on my steed;
So go ye forth on your funeral way,
And God shall give you speed.
All armed with sword and helm,
And march by the camp of King Bucar,
For the good Castilian realm.
Which gave my fathers birth;
I have closed my day of battle-toil,
And my course is done on earth.”
Through the lattice a wind sweeps by,
And the arms, o’er the death-bed of the brave,
Send forth a hollow sigh.
As the fresh wind o’er you sweeps;
The wind and the banners fall hushed as night:
The Campeador,—he sleeps!
And swell out the trumpet’s blast,
Till the notes prevail o’er the voice of wail,
For the noble Cid hath passed!