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;

ller 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 footfall heard in the Alcazar.

With a measured pace, as the pace of one,
Was the still death-march of the host begun;
With a silent step went the cuirassed bands,
Like a lion's tread on the burning sands;
And they gave no battle-shout.

But the deep hills pealed with a cry erelong,
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!

He that was wrapped with no funeral shroud
Had passed before like a threatening cloud!
And the storm rushed down on the tented plain,

And the Archer Queen, with her bands, lay slain;
For the Cid upheld his fame.

Then a terror fell on the King Bucar,

And the Libyan kings who had joined 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 seemed where Minaya his onset made,
There were seventy thousand knights arrayed,
All white as the snow on Nevada's steep,
And they came like the foam of a roaring deep,
-'T was 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 streamed with its ghostly light,
Where his sword blazed out, there was hurrying
flight, —

For it seemed 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 passed on!

Felicia Hemans.

VALENCIA.

VA

VALENCIA! can the wide world show
Aught to exceed thy beauty's pride!
Valencia! but thy charms to know
Is to forego the world beside!

When mighty Soleyman ascended

In magic pomp the yielding sky,
By all his gorgeous train attended,
And by his feathered panoply,
He looked upon the earth beneath,
And saw no land so fair as thine,
And felt thy pure and perfumed breath
Rise rich with incense all divine.

Valencia

not Al Jannat's bowers,
Her streams of molten gems, her flowers,
Her meads where blessed beings rove,
Where houris, with their eyes of love,
Look from their pearly caverns, bright

Can be more pure, more heavenly fair,
And earth, — O, earth no region knows
That may in aught with thee compare!
From the French. Tr. L. S. Costello.

MY

Valladolid.

VALLADOLID.

Y heart was happy when I turned from Burgos to
Valladolid;

My heart that day was light and gay, it bounded like a kid.

I met a palmer on the way, my horse he bade me

rein,

"I left Valladolid to-day, I bring thee news of pain! The lady-love whom thou dost seek in gladness and

in cheer,

Closed is her eye, and cold her cheek, I saw her on her bier.

"The priests went singing of the mass, my voice their song did aid;

A hundred knights with them did pass to the burial of the maid;

And damsels fair went weeping there, and many a one

did say,

'Poor Cavalier! he is not here, 't is well he's far

I fell when thus I heard him speak, upon the dust

I lay;

I thought my heart would surely break, I wept for half a day.

"When evening came I rose again, the palmer held my steed,

And swiftly rode I o'er the plain to dark Valladolid. I came unto the sepulchre where they my love had laid, I bowed me down beside the bier, and there my moan I made :

'O, take me, take me to thy bed, I fain would sleep with thee!

My love is dead, my hope is fled, there is no joy for me!"

I heard a sweet voice from the tomb, I heard her voice so clear:

"Rise up, rise up, my knightly love, thy weeping well

I hear;

Rise up and leave this darksome place, it is no place

for thee;

God yet will send thee helpful grace, in love and

chivalry.

Though in the grave my bed I have, for thee my heart

is sore;

-----

"T will ease my heart if thou depart, thy peace may God restore!"

Spanish Ballad. Tr. J. G. Lockhart.