The following ballads are not translations from the Spanish, but are founded upon some of the "wild and wonderful" traditions preserved in the romances of that language, and the ancient poem of the Cid. (116) SONGS OF THE CID. THE CID'S DEPARTURE INTO EXILE. WITH Sixty knights in his gallant train, To march o'er field, and to watch in tent, Through his olive-woods the morn-breeze play'd, With a thoughtful spirit his way he took, The pennons were spread, and the band array'd, There was not a steed in the empty stall, Nor a spear nor a cloak on the naked wall, Then a dim tear swell'd to the warrior's eye, But the trumpet blew, with its note of cheer, THE CID'S DEATHBED. It was an hour of grief and fear Within Valencia's walls, When the blue Spring-heaven lay still and clear Above her marble halls. There were pale cheeks and troubled eyes, And steps of hurrying feet, Where the Zambra's (3) notes were wont to rise, Along the sunny street. It was an hour of fear and grief, For death was busy with her chief, The Moor-king's barks were on the deep, For the Cid was passing to his sleep, In the silent Alcazar. No moan was heard through the towers of state, No weeper's aspect seen, But by the couch Ximena sate, With pale yet steadfast mien. (4) Stillness was round the leader's bed, And feeble grew the conquering hand, He had fought the battles of the land, What said the Ruler of the field? His voice is faint and low; The breeze that creeps o'er his lance and shield Hath louder accents now. "Raise ye no cry, and let no moan Be made when I depart; The Moor must hear no dirge's tone, Be ye of mighty heart! "Let the cymbal-clash and the trumpet-strain And fear ye not, for the saints of Spain |