# The Siege of Valencia; The Last Constantine: with Other Poems/Songs of the Cid

SONGS OF THE CID*.
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.
THE CID'S DEPARTURE INTO EXILE.
With sixty knights in his gallant train, Went forth the Campeador of Spain; For wild sierras and plains afar, He left the lands of his own Bivar$^1$.
To march o'er field, and to watch in tent, From his home in good Castile he went; To the wasting siege and the battle's van, —For the noble Cid was a banish'd man!
Through his olive-woods the morn-breeze play'd, And his native streams wild music made, And clear in the sunshine his vineyards lay, When for march and combat he took his way.
With a thoughtful spirit his way he took, And he turn'd his steed for a parting look, For a parting look at his own fair towers; —Oh! the Exile's heart hath weary hours!
The pennons were spread, and the band array'd, But the Cid at the threshold a moment stay'd; It was but a moment—the halls were lone, And the gates of his dwelling all open thrown.
There was not a steed in the empty stall, Nor a spear nor a cloak on the naked wall, Nor a hawk on the perch, nor a seat at the door, Nor the sound of a step on the hollow floor$^2$.
Then a dim tear swell'd to the warrior's eye, As the voice of his native groves went by; And he said—"My foemen their wish have won— —Now the will of God be in all things done!"
But the trumpet blew, with its note of cheer, And the winds of the morning swept off the tear, And the fields of his glory lay distant far, —He is gone from the towers of his own Bivar!
THE CID'S DEATH-BED.
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,  On bright Valencia's shore, For Death was busy with her chief,  The noble Campeador.
The Moor-king's barks were on the deep,  With sounds and signs of war, 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 stedfast mien$^4$.
Stillness was round the leader's bed,  Warriors stood mournful nigh, And banners, o'er his glorious head,  Were drooping heavily.
And feeble grew the conquering hand,  And cold the valiant breast; —He had fought the battles of the land,  And his hour was come to rest.
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  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 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 sands 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; 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 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 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 terror 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 wield 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!
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 night,  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.
NOTES.
* ↑ *Originally published in the New Monthly Magazine.
* ↑ Note 1. Bivar, the supposed birth-place of the Cid, was a castle, about two leagues from Burgos.
* ↑ Note 2. 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. Sospirò mio Cid.Poem of the Cid.
* ↑ Note 3. 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. The calm fortitude of Ximena is frequently alluded to in the romances.
* ↑ Note 5. Banderas antiguas, tristes De victorias un tiempo amadas, Tremolando estan al viento Y lloran aunque no hablan, &c. Herder's translation of these romances (Der Cid, nach Spanischen Romanzen besungen) are remarkable for their spirit and scrupulous fidelity.
* ↑ Note 6. "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. Alvar Fañez Minaya, one of the Cid's most distinguished warriors.
* ↑ Note8. ——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 Turquía Estrella era nombrada, Por la destreza que avia En el herir de la Xára.
* ↑ Note 9. See Southey's Chronicle of the Cid, p. 352.